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saladoffruitcolored · 25 days ago

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Yandere platonic omega father x neglected child reader PT 5

Wedding. Wedding. Marriage

Honestly, Rowan doesn't know when he started to despise the word and everything it means

There was a time, many years ago, when that word brought butterflies to his stomach. At that time, he and that man were deeply in love (or at least that's what he thinks). He still remembers the bells ringing in the background as he gently held his beloved.

If someone had said at that time that he would come to deeply hate the man who was kissing him so softly in front of the church altar, he wouldn't have believed it. He would have laughed, laughed out loud even thinking about this impossible possibility.

But well, life was unpredictable and the impossible becomes possible every day, every moment, for anyone.

He didn't notice the first signs, or rather, he didn't want to notice them. The way Hector wrinkled his nose in disgust around you, the way he seemed indifferent to you, how your crying always seemed to arouse annoyance and never concern.

It was ironic how Hector could be so loving and maternal with the neighbors' babies but was so cold to you at home, he almost never held you and seemed ashamed to say you were a beta

Rowan remembers the first sign that something was wrong, the day of your birth, for months the two of you created expectations and dreams about you, anxiously waiting for the day you would say hello to the world, Rowan remembers that day well, the wonderful where everything started to go wrong day of your birth

Rowan was holding you so tenderly in his arms, he remembers well the look of love in Hector's eyes when he asked to hold you, as soon as he held you it seemed like all the love just disappeared

Hector panicked, started screaming about you not being his baby, he screamed about you being defective and he flailed in panic so suddenly that I almost broke your fragile neck

It was necessary for Hector to be sedated, the nurses said that it is a very normal reaction, the omega instincts are not initially capable of picking up beta pups, initially accepting only omega and alpha pups

The lack of an omega pup's scent makes them anxious

hearing this did not reassure Rowan, in fact it made him more worried, this was his pup, they loved this pup for months and now his mate almost killed him, his mate was not trustworthy with the pup

The only thing superior to the bond of an alpha with his mate was the bond of an alpha with his pup, without him knowing or realizing that day the first seeds of doubt and hatred were born in his heart

Since that day Hector was no longer trustworthy with you, every time the two of you interacted Rowan was just one step behind

afraid that you would be released from your omega father's arms and fall to the ground

He tried his best to ease motherhood, he paid a nanny to take care of you, all Hector had to do was breastfeed you and give you some love in the morning and afternoon that good-for-nothing wasn't even capable of that, at night your care was exclusively his

He doesn't remember when the love cooled down but he remembers exactly what was the trigger that broke the marital cord that united them and killed all the butterflies in his stomach

The house, once a cozy refuge, was now often filled with tension. It seemed like every conversation ended in an argument

The house was silent, except for the screams, what started as a reprimand to your husband for having once again forgotten to pick you up from daycare, evolved into a huge scream. Hector, with teary eyes and an exalted voice, gestured frantically as he screamed

If someone from the outside looked at him, they might even think Hector was the victim

“You don’t understand!!! I need to live my life! You can’t expect me to stop living for myself to stay home and take care of your child”, the volume of Hector’s voice hurt Rowan’s ears

Every day there were the same arguments for the same reasons, already tired and venomous Rowan tried to argue, although his words were always lost amid the accusations

“Mine!? My child!? The puppy is only MINE!? YOU'RE NOT THE FATHER TOO!? You seem to forget that you have a life here!!! That you have a husband and a baby waiting for you at home, you can't just go out with your friends for hours leaving your own baby alone”, at this point he himself was already upset

“You disappear for hours, spend tens and hundreds of dollars on your credit card on gifts and clothes and trips with your friends and you don't have the money to buy a new coat for your baby!!”

Rowan always thought that the two had a good relationship, a solid marriage but apparently he was wrong, the relationship that was once limited to love and trust was now marked by fights and mutual accusations. The influence of Hector's new group of “friends” was quite apparent

A bunch of failed omegas who preached about being free and independent but were still supported by their parents' or ex-husbands' money, whispering sweet nothings in Hector's ears during the day and trying to get into Rowan's pants at every possible opportunity. He tried to tell Hector but his husband didn't believe him and just accused him of being abusive and controlling.

The nights at home that were reserved for spending time with the family were replaced by parties that lasted until dawn. Having to go pick up his husband from parties and see him acting totally drunk and flirting with everyone around was humiliating. It was only worse than having to make up a lie for you about why the omega father was smelling funny and vomiting all over the carpet.

Rowan was feeling increasingly alone and helpless. The loving husband he knew seemed to have been replaced by someone more self-centered and distant. And you, their beloved baby his baby seemed to have been relegated to a secondary position, being neglected while Hector dedicated himself exclusively to his pleasures and addiction

Rowan tried his best to give you all the love you needed but it was difficult to reconcile work, which was the only income in the house, with the almost exclusive squares of a child

“You are being selfish!!! Think of me!! Think of your child!!!”, his voice was increasingly emotional

“Don't you dare talk about selfishness, I sacrificed my youth to give birth to that thing!!!”, Hector retorted with a venom that Rowan had never heard before. “I lost my identity because of that kid!!!”

He doesn’t remember what insults were said next, all he remembers is your scared eyes peering at the two of them through the crack in the door watching your omega father packing his bags

Rowan, at the very least, expected him to look back at you but no, Hector walked forward taking heavy steps towards the exit without even saying goodbye to you

He walked out the door and never came back, the divorce papers arrived a few weeks later, ironically not even a day after the fight one of Hector’s “friends” was knocking on the door offering a “shoulder to cry on”

her cleavage was so big that he was genuinely curious about how her breasts didn’t pop out of her blouse

“Rowan! Rowan!! ROWAN!!!” His best man’s shout snapped him out of his nostalgic, melancholic thoughts. “Your tie is already perfect, man, you’ve been looking at yourself in the mirror for almost 40 minutes, don’t tell me you’re nervous” in the final words there was a tone of amused mockery

“No, I’m not anxious, I was just remembering some things”, the way his life had changed so suddenly once again was disturbing

Three years, it’s been three years since your breakdown, since he put you in therapy and since he met Sarah, his future wife

A little less than a year after starting therapy with you, Doctor Sarah resigned, her older brother who owned a series of hospitals, apparently he died of an allergic reaction after eating shrimp (in a vegan restaurant?), his wife and son also died in a traffic accident on the way to the hospital when they found out about his hospitalization

Apparently there was a problem with the brakes and the car lost control on a hill, Sarah didn’t want to give many details but he saw the news in the tabloids and on TV shows, EVERYONE was talking about it, for months it was the most popular topic in the media

Mainly because it started a fight for the succession of the business, Sarah won because she was the closest blood relative of the couple, much to the anger of the other relatives, there was even an assassination attempt against her that resulted in the entire family of her ex-sister-in-law being imprisoned for life

It was a real scandal, a year later Rowan met Sarah in a market, she recognized him and started talking to him

This event repeated itself daily, it seemed that wherever he was Sarah was coincidentally nearby

He was no idiot, he realized very quickly that she was stalking him, the question was why was she doing it?

Wearing summer dresses and carefully styling her hair to make it look like she hadn't spent hours styling it, just enough makeup to highlight her casual beauty done so subtly that if someone didn't look closely they wouldn't even notice she was wearing it, and her sweet personality totally different from the way she treated him in the office before

Others had tried to seduce him before, he knew very well how this game works

She seemed like the idealization of a divorced man's fantasy: young, beautiful, kind and totally interested in raising taking full responsibility for puppies that weren't hers

The reason became clear not long after when he saw her interacting with you, the way she hung on your every word was very obvious to him, the way she seemed to have to restrain her own hands from tucking your rebellious lock of hair behind your ear

Whenever you were mentioned her eyes would shine in a maternal way, It wasn't hard to see what her ultimate goal was in getting close to him

When he realized this, he wanted to back off, he wanted to put an end to all that force and make it very clear that if she got close to you again he would call the police, but then he realized something

Having only one father was dangerous, if something happened to him, what would happen to you? Your omega father was clearly not interested in you, he would probably take the life insurance money and spend it on his daughters, leaving you in misery

Rowan didn't have any close relatives, you would be alone in the world, but with Sarah the scenario would be different, you would have someone to turn to, someone to take care of you

Sarah made it quite clear that she fully intended to trade you for her heiress, if that happened your life would be set, you would never have a hard time in life. Isn't that what a father hopes to provide for his puppy?A life of happiness without financial hardship.

Money was getting tight, his ex-husband was asking for a raise in his alimony, Hector was claiming that he needed more money to support his daughters he's not their father so why is he the one who has to support those cuckoo chicks!?

Paying for all the courses and clubs you take at school is expensive, private school itself is expensive.

Recently, the Harmonia Beta movement has become stronger than ever. It was only a matter of time before mass layoffs and marginalization against alphas and omegas starts. He noticed his boss making rounds of the offices it's only a matter of time before he gets fired, without his job, how would he support the household? How would he support you?

Sarah came along like a miracle solution, marrying her would mean securing your financial stability, it would mean you could choose any college you wanted he tried his best to save for your university but it's hard being the only one working in the house having to maintain your lifestyle while supporting your leech ex-husband and his parasitic daughters, he tried so hard to save for you that he didn't even try to save for his own retirement

When Sarah indirectly explicitly said she would love to get married in the spring he knew what the right answer was, he took a large amount of money from his university fund taking the money out of there hurt his soul but he knew it was for the best, a small sacrifice, soon you would be an heiress who wouldn't have to worry about saving for university and bought the most beautiful and expensive ring he saw at the most popular diamond store in town

Every decision in his life has led him here, to this moment and he can only hope that be the right decision

Looking in the mirror again, Rowan adjusted his tie for the last time. The perfect knot of the tie seemed like a symbol of the beginning of his new life

Rowan heard his friend babbling again, during this whole time the best man talked nonstop about the breasts of the bride's bridesmaids without even realizing that Rowan was not paying attention

Reading the wedding vows one last time, Rowan mentally prepared himself for the ceremony

I'm doing this for my baby, for my baby, always for my baby. We'll both be okay, everything will be okay

TOC. TOC. TOC

“Mr. Rowan, the first ceremony will begin in 30 minutes. You better start heading towards the cathedral. Everything is perfect. You and your bride will love it...” While the wedding planner escorted the two out of the room and towards the church, Rowan made sure to keep his most pleasant smile on his face. Everyone should think he is a loving groom.

Being the center of attention is tiring, yhe religious ceremony has barely started, but he is already tired of being stared at. He really doesn’t know how he will keep a smile on his face for the next three days of celebration, plus two weeks of honeymoon on a family trip to Brazil.

Arriving at the church, he sees the guests already sitting down. He takes his place at the altar below the priest, a few minutes later, the music starts playing, little children enter throwing flower petals.

Then the bride enters.

Drawing everyone’s attention to her, she slowly walks down the aisle church, her eyes exude satisfaction and happiness, the guests think it's the happiness of marrying the man she loves but he knows very well that the reason for her joy is something else, it's you

After the bride's spectacular entrance that drew sighs of admiration and envy from those present, you enter the cathedral, walking down the aisle holding the rings

The symbolism did not go unnoticed by him

The eyes of the two future married couple shined when they saw you, the reason for everything, you were so beautiful

Handing over the rings and exchanging vows the priest officiates the ceremony

Rowan is no longer divorced, now he is remarried and he doesn't know exactly how to feel about it

#oc #yandere omega #yandere x reader #yandere omegaverse x reader #yandere platonic

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thealogie · 9 months ago

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picture this. you're michael sheen, beloved queer-friendly welsh actor and recent twilight saga vampire. you want your favorite book to become a tv show, and you want to be the lead. so what do you do? you befriend the author. he wines and dines you, you become a confidant in the scriptwriting phase. and in the process of the GO script you decide you don't want to be crowley, actually, you want to be aziraphale. you put in the work for months to influence the author to the same conclusion. so when neil gaiman comes to you one day saying, "i know you joined on to be crowley... but how would you feel about playing aziraphale?" you say, what a novel idea! i was feeling the same way, i just didn't want to say anything! let's do it.

you're michael sheen, the lead in the adaptation of your favorite book. you meet david tennant as your leading man, a rising star (and vocal fan of yours) you've had a few vague interactions with in the past. on set you immediately find the closest friend you have ever and will ever find in your life, and you know this. the romance you have in your (yes, your) show is ambiguous, but you're michael sheen. you think that romance needs to be explicit. so what do you do? you become a nightmare on set. you get really hands-on; you make costume choices, you make story decisions, you tell your author friend at the very end of filming: aziraphale is in love with crowley and realizes it in 1941. now go do it again.

so the author goes and does it again. you get a season 2. you get 1941 part 2. you're michael sheen, and you are the lead of the adaptation of your favorite book, and the romance you littered into the character you built from the ground up has become unambiguous. everything goes according to plan. but, you see, you have a problem: the author you have baby trapped is acting a FIEND on twitter and tumblr. he's saying everything he can to imply aziraphale and crowley aren't sexually attracted to each other. he's getting a bit too bold with his character assumptions, is all i'm saying. so here's what you're going to do: you play it up with your pal david tennant. you made a show with him during lockdown. you're going to depict your lives as even more intertwined and homoerotically codependent as previously possible. you grow even closer. your wives become best friends, too, because how could they not? this has been the plan since the beginning, too. your lockdown show ends. it wasn't enough.

so you, michael sheen, of course you put in the work. if david tennant's there, you're damn sure you're there physically, spiritually, biblically, in whatever capacity you can be. it's not hard. david tennant is a big fan of yours, after all, so he MAKES SURE you're always in the conversation. you have him wrapped around your little finger, this lovely little boy, and so you know what you do next? you become neighbors. you make your directorial debut casting your best friend's wife watching her husband and male neighbor initiate sex with each other. you play into the swinging rumors (that you, michael sheen, had started). you create a narrative that you and david tennant are two homoerotic besties, and is there more going on in the background there? any deeper conspiracy? who really knows, but what you do know is that the world is talking about it.

and you, michael sheen, your entire acting career has led to this moment, your gay quips, your oscar wilde sex scene (and the interviews following), all of your queer roles, EVERYTHING has brought us to this conclusion. you have created the lab perfect conditions where season 3 must have an explicit gay sex scene. i'm sorry neil, my hands are tied! the people are clamoring for me and david tennant to have sex-- i mean aziraphale and crowley to have sex, the public decided this all on their own! i really don't think you have much choice. but of course, i would never deign to tell an author how to practice his veritable craft. i concede to whatever version of series 3 you create, and i will happy to bring this beloved character to his deserved ending.

and why do you say this? because you're michael sheen. you're just an actor who incidentally stumbled his way into leading the queer romance adaptation of your favorite book that wasn't a romance, and you just read the script the way that it was given to you. and if series 3 means an explicit sex scene between you and your best friend david tennant, then what a lovely coincidence that you had absolutely no part in making happen. because what power do you really have?

This is my favorite book I’ve read so far this year. A rare occasion where the author pulls off use of the second person pov. I really felt like I was a beloved welsh actor crossed with Machiavelli when I read this

#michael sheen

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year ago

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✨️Bodhi durran ✨️ that's it.

BUT ALSO

Imagine him being the most amazing boyfriend. I don't know if you have seen lockwood and co on Netflix but that scene where lockwood dresses Lucy's wounds and is looking dead ass deep in her soul smiling, my god bodhi material.

To get to my point if you could write a one shot of bodhi finding out you're injured and going ballistic to anyone that let her out of their sight and got hurt and then finding you trying to wrap your wounds and instantly going all soft and helping I would be forever in your debt

Ps. If you haven't watched lockwod and co it's absolutely worth it.

I haven't watched the show so if this isn't exactly how you pictured this, I apologize✨🤍

Worries

"Where is she?", Bodhi yanked onto one of the recruits, who was in the same formation as you, shirt up. The poor lad looked like he was about to shit himself at best as he stumbled over words. The thing was... Bodhi was fun and games until he wasn't. And that wasn't part come a lot sooner than expected. Considering that the past weeks of him being a section leader had been rather calm. But that sorry fuck just had to show off. Had to break formation. Had to try to prove his piss poor ego and get you hurt.

"You're speechless all of a sudden?", Bodhi shook the guy in his grip, "Answer the goddamn question before you end up like a roasted chicken on the solstice table". You could hear a pin dropping in the background that's how silent the squad had gotten. "I think I saw her entering the building", some other recruit cut in. Bodhi narrowed his eyes, "You think or you saw?", shoving the quivering male he stepped aside sizing everyone up.

"You weak shits better listen and better listen well", he practically growled through gritted teeth. His first instinct was to run after you. He saw the blood gushing from your hand after the coalition. But he also knew his title. Causing a bigger scene than necessary would only turn heads your way. And neither of you needed that. Neither of you wanted to become a target leading to one another. "If any of you will ever do anything similar to what Marco did today", Bodhi grunted. Gods, he felt like Xaden. "I will skin you myself and believe me your dragons will smoke you alive. Dismissed", he practically roared as the recruits hurried away. Bodhi ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair.

"She is up in your room", the voice made Bodhi jolt slightly. Garrick was leaning against one of the pillars. "I passed her, she's fine, man", Garrick continued to speak since Bodhi just stood there, "You did well here too. More and more like our beloved Xaden every day". He knew it was a dig. The two cousins had been compared ever since their interactions were brought to the daylight. "Why don't you go fuck yourself", Bodhi grunted as he walked past his friend. "Gets boring after a while", Garrick chirped in return. Bodhi simply snarled but that of course earned a satisfied chuckle from Garrick.

"Show it to me", the sudden bag of the door practically hitting the wall and the raised voice made you drop the blood-soaked rag. You knew Bodhi was gonna find you eventually. Your dragon was practically counting the minutes for you ever since you had flown back first and dismounted. "Bodhi, it's okay", you tried to keep your voice calm. The wound wasn't all that bad it was the angle and the damaged tissue of the skin that caused it to bleed so much. "Don't you it's okay, me", he grunted, "Show me", his voice was lethal low. He never used that tone with you. It was his section leader's voice. The voice he gave a report in. But it never was showcased around the people he trusted and cared for.

"There's nothing to look at it's...", "I didn't ask, I gave you an order", he cut in, grabbing your upper arm gently so he could look at the damage himself. Bodhi's eyebrows knitted together for a moment, his jaw flexed. "Sit", he muttered motioning towards the bed. "Bodhi", you breathed out. "Baby, I swear to everything holy to me", he exhaled a shaky breath, "you either sit or I am carrying to the healer's wing and will put you on bed rest for a week". You huffed at his threat but you knew that he wasn't bluffing so you followed his orders.

Bodhi was so gentle as he carefully wiped away some of the blood before pressing a clean bandage on your cut, securing it in place. Make sure it's tight for a couple of hours before the bleeding slows down. He would redo it in a couple of hours. Wash it off with a salve he would go ask for. Then another bandage. Then... "Bodhi, I can hear you making plans in your head", you muttered. It was cute watching him fuss at times. It was his way of showing love but you also knew that his head was a wild space and it only took one bad thought to have it all spiraling out of control. "Does it hurt a lot? Do you need something for the pain?", he asked, his concerned eyes searching yours. "Start by giving me a hug and then sit down with me", you said softly, "I promise, I'm fine". You reached out for him, taking his hand into yours, squeezing it.

"I just hate seeing you hurt", Bodhi breathed out, his shoulders drooping. "The feeling is mutual but there are times we can't do anything about it", you reached to run your fingers through his messy curls. That now was completely out of control since he no doubt had been pulling at them. "Do we have a murder scene in the backyard?", you nudged your boyfriend's shoulder, making him snort. "Not yet but we might...", Bodhi exhaled, turning to face you.

"You promise you're okay?", you met his worried gaze but this time instead of answering him you just leaned in and kissed him. Slowly and tenderly. Letting him feel your love. "Good enough proof?", you asked when you two finally broke apart. "Not sure... maybe a couple more kisses", Bodhi thoughtfully nodded his head. You giggled slightly before cupping his face once more.

#bodhi durran #bodhi durran x reader #bodhi durran imagine #bodhi durran x you #bodhi durran fourth wing #bodhi durran iron flame #bodhi durran fourth wing imagine #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #iron flame imagine #iron flame x reader

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mosaickiwi · 25 days ago

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your angle... or yuor devil

Emo has some business to take care of... but you're going to a Halloween party together later wahoo!!! [REDACTED] is he/him only for this since there's some other loser in the scene 🙄

cw: torture in the beginning, implied murder

proceed with caution

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

As if contemplating what to watch on TV, [REDACTED] glanced down at the sight in front of him.

Bound in an old, wooden chair, somebody's agonized cries for help went unanswered, muffled by the torn, bloodied knot of fabric tied over their mouth. They'd been nothing but incomprehensible since the first nail was painstakingly pried from their finger.

The bigger piece of torn cloth was bundled in their lap. Its folds held a steadily growing pile of teeth and fingernails. Some were whole, but most were in pieces from the messier extractions.

Normally, the dark haired man would have more satisfying tools at his disposal for the victim. But he didn't have the chance to run home, especially when a Halloween date with you was right around the corner. After a quick stop at a hardware store, today's (un)lucky winner got dragged into the nearest abandoned building.

Only a couple hours ago, hardly ten minutes after the time you normally took your lunch break, this piece of work had approached you.

Of course, nothing came of it. And you told your beloved partner about the unwelcome interaction right away. Between the usual chatter and flirting once you video called him for lunch, you mentioned it in an offhand comment, a wrinkle in your forehead to boot.

Then you'd gone right back to talking about the holiday, and how excited you were for the party that night. [REDACTED] didn't move on so quickly.

Just as he leaned down, a metal nail poised over the shitstain's knee and a hammer in hand, his phone rang. The items clattered against the floor as he stood and hurried to yank it from his pocket.

The bound and gagged, soon-to-be-done-for stranger looked surprised, but oddly grateful for the brief escape from further torment.

Before he could even offer a greeting, you spoke.

"Hiii! I'm already finished making treat bags at the library. Do you wanna meet me at your apartment for a little while before the party? I'm headed there now."

"I'd love to, but M'not exactly free," [REDACTED] managed to answer calmly despite the whirlwind you lured his heart into. He kept his gaze on the wide eyed stranger in front of him, wondering if they'd test their luck.

Surprisingly, they did their best to stay quiet, the over-dramatic, obnoxious sobs from earlier slowly subsiding into sniffles. He smugly smiled and turned, walking a few steps away. Even with their impending demise, he didn't want to share your voice with anyone.

"Oh," you said. "That's okay." The notable disappointment to your words pained him, and he had to throw a glare over his shoulder at his victim.

It was their fault that he would be missing out on extra time with you. Why didn't they just mind their business, instead of trying to chat you up while waiting in line?

But, [REDACTED] shared some of the blame. He'd begrudgingly skipped the usual lunch break visit at your insistence, since you wanted to surprise him with the matching costumes you were picking up.

"So what are you doing then?" you asked, then passed right over the topic. "Never mind. It's probably work, right?"

"... Yeah. Work," he answered. Admittedly, he was thankful you decided to stop asking questions on your own. And that you didn't remember he normally worked from home. "M'sorry, love."

You hummed in thought. "No worries. Programming hours sure are all over the place. I guess they kinda have to be, with the kind of money you make though." There was a sudden, loud commotion in the background and you softly cursed.

"Angel?" your boyfriend worriedly called out.

"I'm fine! My stupid tail just got caught in the — I mean… I'm fine!!"

The hacker smiled in relief, already excited for the costumes you bought. He didn't trail you or sneak a peek at the store's cameras for once, but he did notice the bright red horns poking out of the shopping bag behind you while you ate. You must've changed into yours before you left. An angel and a demon — only you wanted him to be the angel.

[REDACTED] laughed, almost forgetting the person tied up behind him until they weakly groaned in agony. His smile immediately turned to a frown; he had to hang up too soon for his liking.

He was apologetic as could be. "I won't be able to leave for a while, but I'll make sure to call you the second I'm done."

"You always do," you teased him. "I can't wait to see the look on your face once I give you your costume."

He instantly took the bait, as if he didn't already know. "Really? Why don't y'give me a hint?"

"Hmm… It's… uhh, your favorite thing in the world?"

Ah, that one was too obvious. Still, he wanted to pretend a little longer. The delighted look on your face was sure to be worth the wait. "I'll work hard t'figure it out before I get home."

Your almost impish laughter made his heart skip a beat. "See you soon, Ren."

The phone beeped and the screen went black, taking his good mood away.

With a faint sigh and a roll of his eyes, the dark haired man reached for the sledgehammer leaning against an upturned table. It weighed lighter in his hands than the one he was used to, but it'd do the job just fine.

He turned back towards the stranger, bruised, battered and much too weak to do anything but stare up at their tormentor.

All the joy in [REDACTED]'s demeanor was gone, replaced with commonplace boredom as he slung the hammer over one shoulder. "Guess y'kept quiet enough, so I'll make this quick."

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casually-eat-my-soul · 5 months ago

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I just recently rewatched the Witcher and WOLF WITCHER DEREK HALE and jaskier coded Stiles. I absolutely love the witcher and teen wolf and their ideas kinda overlap.

Geralt and Derek have to same character dynamic —Grumpy, I could kill you on sight, only soft for one person, enough gulit in their shoulders to kill atlas. But in the end a good person who wants to be good, (Derek wanting to be a good alpha, Geralt wanting to be a knight)

Stiles and jaskier have the same coded character, uses a mask to hide the real him in public, cunning and smart, sarcastic little shits, someone who has an infinite patience for a grumpy man.

I’m going to go a little off script because although derek and stiles fit the mold of the character archetypes they would have different backgrounds/motives

So for Derek I’m picturing:

maybe he was from a rich family that were killed by the Argents (Kate 🤢) and he goes to Kaer Morhen (the wolf school) and goes through the trails. Boys his age don’t really survive the trails so the fact that he did made him the strongest to survive so they put him through the trails again making him the “alpha”. The hale pack Erica, Boyd, and Issac were also from the wolf school. He later gets called “the butcher” after he finds Kate later on and kills he and a few knights.

He was dropped off at the wolf school as a child and Talia takes him under her wing as he goes through the mutagen’s that turn him into a Witcher. Kate is one of the witches that are working on the boys, she manipulated him and uses him to sack Kaer Morhen leading to the death of most of the hale pack. Peter goes feral and he is forced to put him down leading to the nickname butcher.

For Stiles there are many different option one could go with because although he shares many traits with jaskier I cannot see him as a bard. Maybe he’s also a Witcher from the cat school who ends up traveling with Derek after it gets a little to dangerous to as a lone Witcher.

Maybe he’s a traveling healer/herbalist/apothecary who keeps running into Derek and healing him. He graduated from Oxford, and helped smuggle out elves into safer locations(spy stiles). Maybe Derek trusts him to save him because stiles smuggled him out of an argent jail cell, a move that could have cost Stiles his life. So as a thank you Derek swears to help protect him in times of need (overprotective bodyguard Derek, my beloved). Stiles allowing Derek to play out his knight fantasy by protecting him.

“Looking after you is my duty”

“Is that the only reason you do it?” (Taken from Epic the movie)

Or maybe Stiles is a spark, he studied at one of the main mage school like Aretuza, and joined the brotherhood. While there he finds a conspiracy to create new Witcher loyal to the crown and the mage schools. One of the trails, Scott. So he grabs Scott and betrays the brotherhood, leading him to seek out Derek to help. Together with the hale pack the take down the corrupt leader and the argents.

There are so many options but the potential is so amazing!! Derek who hates everyone but stiles. The soft intimacy of their interactions. Stiles healing Derek in soft candlelight, light touches on his skin as not to overwhelm him. Derek being surround by stiles scent, a safe place to rest.

#sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #derek hale is obsessed with him #Derek loves everything thing about stiles - his scent - his intelligence- how he talk a lot #Witcher Au #the Witcher Netflix #overprotective derek hale #alpha derek hale #Geralt and Derek are the same person #so are jaskier and stiles

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nyeddleblog · 4 months ago

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A little piece of heaven [Part 4]

Pairing: Wade Wilson x Original Female Character x Logan Howlett. Summary: In Wade's timeline, Iris is his supernice upstairs neighbor. In Wolverine's, she's his beloved dead wife. A/N: This is a Wattpad Fic with an original character of mine that you can find here. Warnings: Deadpool & Wolverine spoilers, kinda.

PREVIOUS PART.

Chapter 4: Wine, weed and Wade.

A week went by and she didn't hear much from Wade or Logan. She wondered if his new roommate had already figured out a way to murder him or if he'd gotten trapped in another reality all over again, yet she found the quiet good enough to begin grading her tests.

She got a carefully curated collection of sweet wine, a good stash of homemade cookies and an old Altoids box that she kept since high-school, with freshly ground weed. She was going to do just fine, she just needed a bit of Chappell Roan in the background and she was good to go.

Or hot to go.

Heh.

Iris didn't go out much on weekends. She usually just put on a good show and tried to retake the work she left during the week, like then, or listened to her playlist while she baked something, like she planned to do that afternoon. It's not like she didn't enjoy people's company, she was just much more comfortable alone, or next to Wade.

To be honest, her whole ex situation had made her a bit of an introvert.

But forty grades in and she was already starting to miss human interaction. And grading over 120 students, about an hour later, made her wonder what she was doing with her life.

She really needed a smoke.

Iris grabbed her cardigan, slipped on her flats and took a hold of the little Altoids box and her glass of wine before stepping out into her balcony. It was that time of the semester where every single student appeared to have lost all of their brain cells.

"Burnout, sugarplum?" she heard Wade's voice beneath her. She let out a sigh, smiling to herself, "Missing me already?"

"Feeling lonely without you" she played along dramatically, rolling a joint. There was a faint smile on her lips as she fidgeted with it in her fingers.

Wade chuckled, his voice carrying up to her. "Aw, come on, Rainbow Eyes. I was just about to raid your fridge. You know, for research purposes."

Iris rolled her eyes at that, imagining the ridiculous anecdote he would tell her once she inquired about his absence, "You craving my questionable left-overs, baby?"

She leaned over the balcony, just to check the reaction he had to the pet name. He looked up at her, mouth agape and then, slowly, he raised Mary Puppins in his hands, enough for her to gently lick what she reached of Iris' chin. Iris giggled loudly at that, and she could hear a frustrated groan from deep within's Wade's apartment.

"He's not taking this well, is he?" she whispered.

In response, Wade looked somewhere inside his living-room and yelled, "Can you shut up? I'm trying to flirt with your wife!"

Iris eyes widened at that and she could only see her friend disappear abruptly, being yanked by a clawed hand. Mary Puppins let a small cry when she was left on the floor, and Iris pouted at the thought, staying with her joint in hand curiously, to figure out what was happening downstairs.

She heard glass break, a few things being tossed aside and some muffled insults before she could realize there were at least 20 tests ungraded. She took a long drag of the joint and came back inside, barely able to imagine the chaos unfolding.

She paused the music, attentively trying to decipher the words being said. The rampage was somewhat comforting, and much more fun than any show she was starting to finish. She finished her joint as she stared at the student's name below her. Miles Morales.

Yeah, that was probably her favorite student. At least one kid who would get into college and appreciate her efforts to educate them.

She finished her joint, careful not to burn the papers. Then, she took a sip of wine and scribbled down the the few notes that praised the kid's wit.

He'd made a great fucking essay right at the end of the test. She smiled sweetly, correcting a few grammar mistakes and underlining the beautifully phrased answers Miles had written. Too focused to hear the heavy steps on the stairs, so the ring made her spill a considerable amount of red tint over the kid's test. She inhaled deeply.

She would have to photocopy it. Couldn't take the risk of anyone finding out she drank while grading, though she was pretty sure most of her colleagues did.

"Wha... What?!" she yelled out, a pinch of annoyance gripping her voice.

"Hey, you were the one giving me fuck me eyes ten minutes ago" She heard Wade's muffled voice let out, making her roll her eyes with a grin, "Don't play with my feelings like that!"

Iris stood up from her comfortable position in the floor and made sure that her knitted shorts were covering her butt cheeks completely, because lord knows what Wade would say if he saw all of that but, thinking it a little better, she raised the waistband and let it hug her curves comfortably. Let him stare for a while.

"Quit fighting or...?"

In front of her, as she swung the door open, where both her best friend and the man of her dreams (literally, that is). Iris raised her eyebrows, wondering what could she possibly have done to deserve this amusing visit, but Logan scanned her figure thoroughly and looked away, and she was once again self-conscious of the length of her shorts.

"'Sup" she tried to appear nonchalant.

"My, my, my..." Wade let out, giving her a little spin, "Look at you, tripping and working. I bet your students love you."

She giggled, stepping aside to let them in, "My students don't give a shit."

Her friend hummed in answer and took in the sight of her apartment. She guessed that, after a week (a bit more if she included the time he was out fighting the TVA) he couldn't see the faint changes she had worked on. A few more shelves, the baby blue paint all over the walls.

It was only a matter of time, she had bought the apartment after all.

"Did you do this all by yourself, sweet cheeks?"

"Who would've helped me, Wade?" she let out, turning to the fridge and walking over to promptly search what she knew Wade was looking for, food. And, just for the sight of moody Logan right behind him, two beers.

He looked good, Iris realized as she gave him the bottle with a gentle smile. I mean, Logan always looked good but it was even better when she was herself, looking at him through her own eyes; she wondered what could her version of that universe have done to put a ring on his finger.

Her ogling was interrupted by Wade putting an arm around her shoulders. She could see the reaction Logan had at that, his jaw clenching, his fists giving a silent warning. It was a lie if Iris said she didn't like that, so she rested her head on Wade's shoulder.

It was impressive how his mouth opened and Logan was pure rage. He said something about Iris' fuckable thighs, she wasn't really sure, but she knew it was more in a playful tone, than a seductive one. Either he was trying to get himself killed, or make his friend objectify her.

"I'm going to finish grading" she stated, gently nudging Wade to the table, "Eat your food, kids!"

He grinned happily in response, getting a hold of Iris' cabinets to take out the plates he was going to wash afterwards with the rest of her dirty dishes, because he wasn't a fucking animal.

"You're a teacher?" Logan inquired.

Iris, already settled on the floor (right in front of her very comfortable couch), looked up at him mindlessly and nodded. She just had five grades left. She was so going to finish them and take a nap, but the gaze burning her skin was a bit too distracting.

"What?" she giggled playfully, "What's so mind blowing about it?"

He opened his mouth to answer but nothing really came out. She realized there was definitely something mind blowing about it, but chose against prying too much and gave him a kind smile instead, taking a sip of what was left of her wine.

She wondered if the ring in his hand had her name engraved on it.

A/N: I'm sorry if it's too serious for a Deadpool Fanfiction but, well, you're in for an angsty polyamory slowburn, with a bit of comic relief interruptions.

#deadpool & wolverine #deadpool #wolverine #logan howlett #wade wilson #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine fanfiction #deadpool fanfiction #marvel #logan howlett angst #logan howlett fluff #kind of a soulmates au #soulmates au #logan howlett smut #wade wilson x logan howlett #deadpool x wolverine

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grison-in-space · 8 months ago

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You know, I've been reading things written by people on the internet for my whole life, or at least my whole life after I was about ten. I'm thirty three now. That means there are people whose words I read on the internet twenty years ago who are presumably still around and occupying the internet—sometimes using names I can recognize from back then, too. (hat tip to my fellow "changing usernames is unnatural actually" brethren; I've only changed one myself twice in the whole world since I was about fourteen or fifteen.)

Sometimes I think about a person I see around occasionally on the internet. That person wrote a story about a character in a rather silly fandom we shared, and I read it as a child just beginning to conceptualize being someone whose opinions might matter. And I remember reading that story at some point, because at that age I had a hyperfixation on that character in that fandom at that time and I read pretty much everything in the genre. I never really got to talk to anyone but the inside of my head about it. My friends didn't read fanfiction, and my parents viewed my reading fanfiction as some kind of depraved, shameful secret. Anyway, I read that story and I remember having some kind of deep realization about how adult humans work while I was reading it.

I learned something about the world from that story. (It was one of those insights that are now so molten alongside my core that it's difficult for me to disentangle them from myself, like "people outside you have their own perspective on your behaviors, but that doesn't mean they have to be right.") And I remember that they know it, because they taught it to me, without meaning to. One of the anonymous impacts on readers that writers never see unless they're extraordinarily lucky.

And I smile, because it's lovely to see them again, and they showed me a skill I still use today. We don't have a relationship of any kind—it would be very difficult to recognize me, I think—but they did me a favor a long time ago. And I remember. Now I get to be reminded that this person still exists, and is still a pretty cool human to be around today, at least for the specific circumstance of internet neighbor. Well, and our modern level of concern about once beloved elders from the distant past going terrifyingly cult-addled and bigoted on short notice.

That has not happened in the slightest. They're just still a pretty nice fandom person who is a bit older than me, who is recognizably the same person they have always been, but more intensely and thoughtfully—like a distilled brandy, not a sour vinegar left out on a countertop too long.

Weirdly, that's a thing I find comforting: this tiny, one way, invisible affection. Every so often I feel this intense affection for a person I've never spoken to or about, because I see them and I love them intensely for a moment and then we both go about our days.

Think about how many interactions you have with people as you go about your day. Wouldn't it be nice to imagine that other people feel like that about you?

I think I'm going to imagine that there's one person that read something I said and thinks that about me. I don't need to ever actually know if it's true: I can just imagine someone who happened to be at a formative moment when they learned something against the background of my words. We'll never know each other as our screennames are lost along the years and we move in and out of touch with parts of ourselves, but we still have that little fond impact on one another, those fingerprints in one another's clay.

It's a nicer world to imagine than the one where no one is paying attention to me, or the only people paying attention to me are mean. And there's really no way to ever know for sure, so why not inhabit the pleasant end of the imaginatory pool if you can?

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theroyalyandere · 1 year ago

Note

i love your writing soooo much!! if it's not too much trouble, may i get some headcanons of the yandere emperor & a commoner/fallen noble darling?

I'm answering this request because this just made me feel things 🫢

Warning: this work contains dark content. Mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of harassment, and gambling addiction, yandere, mentions of death, some graphic description of dead bodies, mentions of trauma, kidnapping, physical assault, torture, mentions of blackmailing, assassination

Kindly scroll away if you do not wish to interact with this post or my blog. Remember this is only a work of fiction and shall not be taken seriously!

authors note: This is actually pretty tame because I want darling to fall in love with yan!emperor. I also made this gender neutral for those who have been looking for content like this. I wanna improve in writing smut.

yandere!emperor x commoner/fallen noble!darling 18+ smut

A little bit of background, your family used to be an established noble house but due to some conflict the previous emperor and the court had taken away your family's title.

The noble family you belonged in was a prestigious name throughout the land, the fall of your house surely caused a lot of catastrophe in your life.

One day you're living lavishly being pampered by your servants and family then the next you're stripped of your title as a noble with hundreds of people as witnesses.

Your father was so devastated he drowned himself in agony alcohol. Your mother had begun to partake in gambling. Your siblings had either become criminals or worked at brothels, truly a fall from grace.

Seeing the destruction and misery that had fallen upon your family, you still tried to do your best to live as an upright citizen of the land.

Despite the numerous whispers you hear, the taunts, and sometimes the harassment from those with two eyes following your every move.

A few years later, the previous emperor had passed his crown to his only heir, the Crown Prince Alastair. A man beloved by many with his aid, the empire had flourished through his genius mind.

You on the other hand, had moved away from the capital, away from the judging stares and malicious mouths you encounter. You managed to live your life and survive through hardship further solidifying your will.

You accepted the fate bestowed upon you and live your life in peace.

One day while washing your laundry at the riverbed, Emperor Alastair has stumbled upon you while he was out on a hunting trip with some nobles accompanying him.

You were minding your own business until an arrow was shot on your way ultimately landing on the poor hare in front of you.

You look up and see a dashing man grinning down at you, an amused glint in his eye as he introduces himself.

He thinks he had seen you before but could not pinpoint when and where but for him, Alastair could not believe he had coincidentally found a beautiful person such as you.

He believes that this is destiny, you are the one he will love and worship in his lifetime.

You are equally charmed by his gentlemanly gestures, quickly ensnaring your heart as you were captivated the same way as you did with him.

You converse for a little while until a group of nobles that accompanied him had appeared where one of them had recognized you.

The noble sneered as he started to mention who you were and started to degrade how desperate you are which effectively makes you cower a little.

The noble had mentioned that Alastair is the emperor startling you that you did not know he was the new emperor making you feel even more ashamed.

Little did you know, Alastair had a dark look in his eyes. Disgust and rage running through him as the noble continued to talk down on you.

You were going to be his beloved, the one who will rule by his side until you're all frail and gray.

Alastair stepped between and stares down at the noble, subtly insulting the noble's own lineage making him regret his mistakes.

Alastair then turns to you, his change of demeanor surprised you as he suggests to accompany you. You admit you were charmed by him and agreed.

He stayed at the village you live in, spending most of his time getting to know you completely winning your trust and affections.

At the last day of his hunting trip he had asked you to go back to him to the capital.

Even though you were reluctant and something has been nagging you to not go with him but due to his charms and you believe you were in love you followed him back to the capital.

As the carriage carries you away, you remembered the noble who insulted you on the first meeting with Alastair.

You curiously asked him and Alastair only smiled and replied that the noble had already gone back to the capital a few days early.

He tells you to not worry and only pulls you closer to him.

What you did not know the man who insulted you was already a decomposing body in the woods.

After a few days, you arrived back at the capital making you anxious due to the trauma.

Alastair felt you tensed up and tried to soothe you with his words and strokes on your skin, distracting you from time to time.

Hiding behind him from the stares was proven to be futile, as he is the emperor, it is natural all attention would be on him.

As you two were walking inside the palace, the servants and nobles lingering and passing by kept their eyes on you and they all began to glare and whisper again.

As you enter the throne room, you and Alastair were greeted by the former empress and emperor who immediately locked eyes with you.

Both of you bowed before the dowager empress and the former emperor, their eyes staring holes right through you.

Alastair rises with grace and a smile on his face. Your face falls as he introduces you as his lover. Everyone in the court gasped and the former emperor's face curled into anger.

His booming voice echoed throughout the entire room making you shake in fear.

He suggests that you should go back to where you came from or else you would tarnish the imperial family's great image.

Alastair chose to fight his love for you even though you haven't confessed to each other yet, you believe that you two had a connection.

Tears began to swell in your eyes but you would not want to let anyone see them fall so you ran away from everyone not knowing where your feet will take you.

You find a secluded place where you sit down to process what happened, questioning yourself whether you truly made the right choice to follow the man you love.

A few minutes later, Alastair finds you and embraces you tight against him.

He apologizes for startling you and declares that he truly loves you. From the bottom of his heart Alastair, is deeply in-love with you.

His father may call him obsessed but no one ever knows what he really feels. Anyone who thinks about separating you from him shall be eliminated.

He tells you not to care about what others say and before you say anything he cuts you off with a deep kiss which leads to you being brought to his chambers.

You strip each other out of your clothes feverishly, grabbing each other's flesh.

Alastair devours your lips in a breathless kiss, a string of saliva connecting you two as he parts away.

He looks down at you with lust and devotion evident in his eyes. He tells you that you're beautiful.

His hardened cock twitches against you, making you feel more aroused. The sight of his large cock makes you drool.

The precum oozing at the tip and the veins decorating the sides makes you want to worship him.

So you asked him to lay back and worship him. At first, he refuses to do so but when you start to stroke his cock he relents allowing you to go down on him.

As you start to worship his cock with kisses and licks, Alastair thinks he's going to go insane with how much pleasure he feels from being teased by you.

Eventually you take his tip into your mouth, curiously swirling your tongue around him before taking him inch by inch until you can't.

Your hands wrap around what you can't reach and you do your best to pleasure him. He starts to lose his composure at the sensation of your warm mouth wrapped around his cock.

He will surely lose his damn mind seeing you make eye contact with him. He couldn't help but hold onto your head as he nears his peak.

He loves the gagging sounds you produced and although it was sudden, you can't deny you loved how he took control.

Alastair brutally thrusts his hips into your warm mouth until he pulls out to paint your face with cum.

You gasp for air when he releases you, feeling your arousal intensify at the feeling of his cum dripping down your face.

He became hard again and this time he got on top of you. Alastair groans as he tells you how much he has waited to touch you and feel you.

He pushes inside you making you arch in pleasure. He fucks you mercilessly for the whole night surely making the whole empire hear your screams and moans.

The next day a servant came in and was shocked to discover the mess that your little endeavor with him caused.

Since then people knew that both you and the emperor often slept with each other causing chaos and solidifying your title as his lover.

There had been a time where he was supposed to meet another noble to become his empress. You were caught being fucked by him at the garden where the meeting place was supposed to be.

The poor woman had to see you being wrecked by the emperor.

You then earned a reputation as the Emperor's whore, a rather derogatory term which bothered you a little.

Alastair became more insatiable sometimes going at it for several hours at risky places.

He also went against his father and continued to cause ruckus.

The former emperor could not separate you from Alastair, he needed to take drastic measures to make you disappear.

Days later, the palace held a huge ball where you were invited at. You enjoyed your time sticking to Alastair, not giving a fuck about anyone and anything for as long as you're with him, you're alright.

Later, Alastair was called urgently making him grumble for being separated from you.

As you were walking towards a secluded balcony, you were suddenly hit in the head making you black out.

You blink your eyes until your vision clears and in front of you were soldiers looking down at you.

They began to beat you until you coughed blood and your body bloomed with bruises.

You were tortured until the sun rises, with your soul feeling hollow. They kept you in captivity where they would mistreat you badly you could not lift a finger.

A day later, you woke up with screams ringing in your ears. A loud bang came from the exit of the cell you were held in. There stood Alastair wearing an armor covered in blood.

He sees you and feels his heart being crushed into pieces at the state you're in.

Everything becomes a blur when he gently cradles you in his arms and guides you away from the cell.

He takes you back to the palace where he commands everyone to take care of you.

Alastair confronted his father who was behind your assassination.

Without a word, he slays his father where the empress dowager screamed in horror at the gruesome sight. Alastair then slays the older woman.

That day blood bathes the whole palace with the amount of bodies that experienced his wrath.

Everyone who he deems to take you away from him is eliminated.

Terror began to spread while at the same time he loomed over you watching your condition.

You slowly healed but every little mistake made by the servants and healers resulted in death.

One time a servant made a loud noise, which triggered you. The servant was immediately beheaded by Alastair himself.

After a while, he introduces you before the people as his official consort by marrying you, ending any marriage proposal sent to him.

Your family found out you were crowned consort and tried to pester you about it. Alastair deems them unworthy and blackmails them to keep them away from you.

In the end, he got you despite still being a little broken. He vows to nurse you back to your old self to the best of his abilities.

For now, he will hold you in his arms and love you till the day he dies.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #royal requests #yandere smut #yandere emperor x reader #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere x gn!reader

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trippingontheescalator · 9 months ago

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Curious about the direction the HP fandom has gone

Okay, so as an old HP fan from way back when the books were first coming out, and then getting hit with the nostalgia and decided to return after years and years of not interacting with the fandom at all, the changes are truly mindboggling and I'd love to get to the bottom of some things.

Like, the disappearance of Blaise Zabini. Blaise was a fan favorite way back when we only knew his name but now I barely hear a whisper of his name. Now, the obvious answer is racism, which I think is the #1 reason why Blaise-pairings have dropped of significantly. Back then we all thought Blaise was a hot Italian girl, and then we found out he's a black man and suddenly people stop writing about him? Hm, yeah, seems the obvious answer (especially considering the popularity of other characters who are just a name on a page *cough*regulusblack*cough*).

Or the rise in Snape-hate. Like, Snape used to be the fan favorite. Everyone loved Snape. The meaner he was, the more we liked him. Being mean to children was a plus, not a negative lol. And this was back when we all thought he was a pureblood who came from a wealthy family like the Malfoys. Now by the time the 7th book came out I had pretty much moved on and so I didn't really see the fallout of readers discovering his actual background, so I don't know if his drop in popularity is classism and learning that he isn't a palette-swapped Lucius Malfoy or not, but honestly I would figure his impoverished background would be a plus in these times. Like Snape is obviously one of JKR's least favorite characters, and considering how she-who-must-not-be-named has destroyed her reputation with her increasing radicalization you'd figure the poor, abused, author-hating character would become more beloved instead of the rich, white, heteronormative bullies who barely even show up in the books. Like with our increasing knowledge of social injustice, I just don't understand why the fandom would want to latch onto the Marauders? And I just can't believe Snape's handful of snippets with Lily is the cause of his downfall (like what's there is barely enough to fill up a few pages, and there are certainly more toxic relationships in the series that are still beloved), or the fact that he was a Death Eater or that he inadvertently caused the deaths of the Potters (we already knew that in GoF and HPB respectively and he was still beloved, and this was when we assumed he didn't give a shit about the Potters or if they died when he went snitching). Draco is still popular. DRACO who doesn't give two shits about slinging around the word "mudblood," as opposed to Snape who actually changed for the better.

Am I just too old to understand? Is this like 90s fashion coming back in style (no, I won't do it again, I don't care if it's cringy I'm sticking with my millennial styles, I did the platforms and the slip dresses and the cargo pants in high school and I'm not putting myself through that again lol you gen z's can pry my comfortable mom jeans from my cold, dead fingers, I don't care if it makes me look old, that's the point, I AM old). Like, in addition to 90s fashion, has the 90s obsession with luxury athletic fashion like Lacoste come back in style? All those fashion ads of rich white people on yachts with popped collar polos? Are people starting to obsess over the Marauders because nouveau riche conspicuous consumption is coming back in style? It can't all just be young kids who have only read AtYD and have never actually opened one of the books, can it?

There also seems to be a trend of treating characters as if they're real people. I mean, we've always done it (Snape Wives, I'm looking at you), but now it almost feels as if the crimes characters commit are treated as if they're real crimes and that liking them is somehow a moral failing on the reader's fault. If you were to say "I don't like Snape, his douchy actions anger me, I'd rather skip all the parts he shows up in" I'd say, cool, I get that. That's normal. But "Snape is an abuser, a racist, and an incel and if you like him you're probably those things too" is fucking weird. Like, Harry and Hermione are not real children. Snape is not a real person. The things that happen in this book have as much influence on the real world as me imagining ninjas breaking into my workplace on a slow day. And that "media does not exist in a vacuum" pisses me off because it's blatantly misused. The pieces of media that have had serious consequences? Jaws, The Birth of a Nation. One resulted in the culling of sharks, the other helped restart the KKK. Do you know what those two pieces of media have in common? They're not about fucking wizards and magic schools. They instead paint a target on real groups. After twenty years nobody has ever tried to hurt a marginalized group of people because of a harry potter book (except for JKR herself).

Anyway, these are just some random thoughts, feel free to chime in with your own.

#pro snape #severus snape #pro severus snape #snapedom #mostly snape some blaise #would love to hear form some marauders fans but im not touching that tag with a ten foot pole #yikes

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coralinnii · 2 years ago

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Being Reincarnated into a New World as the Bad Guy feat: Floyd genre: humor, budding romance note: set in the same universe as previous works (Azul’s and Jade’s ver specifically), no pronouns were used, villain/ess!reader is not a merfolk, 1.6k word count, use of non-canon family name (I’ve officially adopted you),

My wifi is on the fritz again so going online hasn’t been easy but hopefully I can get it working again soon. I’ve been hiding in cafes but my wallet isn’t appreciative because I don’t like going into a cafe and not order anything T_T. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy our number 1 crazy eel boi

Series masterlist

You’re contemplating your life choices as you wonder what on Earth you did to deserve this. You can’t remember what happened that brought you into this world you once thought fictional but you were aware of how you’re probably gonna leave this world if the story stays in its original path.

You were a nameless mob character who was caught in the crossfire of your imbecile brother. During a party, your brother started bragging about your father who was a famous knight and started a knight training program after being given the title of baron, which grabbed the attention of the dangerous son of a marquis family, the Floyd Leech. Since then, the merman would suddenly visit your home to curiously watch the training while your brother continues to brag and even starts talking about how close he is to the notorious Leech family son who, while not the heir, was in line to inherit a great bit of land and some “business assets” from his father.

Your younger brother didn’t think that associating yourself with a family of suspicious background was too bad…until a rival of the Leech family invaded their home and proceeded to interrogate your family for information on the Leech household. Obviously knowing nothing, the rival family ended you and your mother’s future in anger. Your father, heartbroken and weakened by the lost of his beloved and one of his children, collapsed and became bedridden.

Still, you couldn’t hate your brother no matter how foolish he was, especially when he begged Floyd in tears to avenge his family, only to be ignored by the eel merman. “How is it my problem?” He cruelly said as he dismissed your brother to deal with his broken family.

You grew cautious, wary of people associated with the Leech household and any other noblemen that aligned themselves with them, which included the Golden Count Ashengrotto with his new partner, and that family that recently arranged an engagement with the Leech family heir with their only child.

You also taught your younger brother to learn when to hold his tongue, your family’s business is your own and avoid excessively bragging to others as it lures unpleasant leeches (he thought you meant metaphorically).

Then you explicitly told him not to interact with anyone from the Leech family, especially Floyd. You were willing to smack him over the head to get that warning across, telling him, “To him, we’re just toys. Not friends”

This was a clear solution, just don’t meet Floyd…or Jade…and have anything to do with that crazy eel family and your future is secured. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Then one day, at a party…

The night was going well. Your younger brother found a clique of his own to interact with so you didn’t have to worry about catching the attention of a certain someone. Although, while you saw Jade mingling with the crowd, you haven’t seen even the shadow of the other Leech which worries you somewhat. However, you chose to let your guard down to enjoy the ambiance of the party. You deserve to have some fun too.

Some time has passed and soon you felt your body growing tired of all the socialising. You wandered around alone to find a secluded room to rest while contemplating whether you should call it a night. Typically you stay behind until your brother was ready to leave together as to keep a watchful eye over him. But since he’s been on his best behaviour, you wondered if you’re really needed. But then, voices then disrupted your train of thought as you heard someone speaking from the other side of the closed doors of the room you were occupying.

“If you need some time to rest, Sir Leech. I suggest one of these rooms my master has prepared” someone whom you assumed to be a servant spoke but that’s not what concerned you. Did he say Leech?!

A mental battle was going in your head as you assess your situation. Which Leech was it? (Does that matter?) Should you stay? (No!) How would you get out?? (!!)

You looked around in panic as you prayed for maybe a door to a conjoining room, maybe a bathroom to hide in until he leaves. You then looked to the balcony and without a second thought, pulled the doors open. You were on the second floor which wasn’t too bad. The balcony faced the back of the house towards the back garden which meant no one should be there to witness you climbing down. You’ve seen enough parkour videos that you figured you could come of this unscathed.

But the logical part of your brain is pulling you back, telling you that this absolutely reckless, stupid really. You can imagine your dumb brother doing this but your parents urge you to be the level-headed one of the two of you (which you like to argue on, why do you have to be the responsible one?).

But before your senses could come to you, you heard the knobs of the room door shaking, and you decided that you only live once.

So jumping, it is.

Without looking down (in fear of your nerves winning), you leapt off the railings of the balcony and braced for impact. Your clothes flutter loudly in the air as you try to push the fabric from your eyes to watch your landing. But instead of the marbled flooring, you were met with a pair of surprised heterocromatic eyes.

Floyd was sighing in irritation as schools of bottom feeders noblemen rushed over to him and his brother (mainly his brother) in hopes to find themselves in good graces with the Leech household. Jade may have a better facade going but Floyd was having a harder time not to snarl and squeeze the living souls out of these suck ups. In this pompous tank, no one was worth his attention. So, Floyd figured he could kill some time away from the mindless minnows and walk towards the backyard of the mansion, maybe chill out in a tree until his brother finds him.

In no imagination he had thought of for today did he expect to see something - or someone - flying down towards him in a mass of fabric fluttering in the wind. With quick reflexes, the ocean-haired man raised his arms and swiftly caught your waist through the mess of your clothing but momentum still won against the two of you as Floyd fell backwards with you, crashing onto the ground rather unceremoniously. His anger building quickly, Floyd raised his head about to take a good look at the crazy human he’s about to squeeze. But like how quickly his anger started, it immediately extinguished when he did take a good look at you.

He saw you, a flushing mess slightly shaking from your reckless decision to literally take a plunge off the second floor. Your hair in a disarray from the wind and likely the landing as well. And your eyes that Floyd found himself watching in intrigue as a swirling range of emotion was evident in your expressive face. Most visually present was your look of fearful realization.

Floyd Leech. Out of the billions of people you could ever meet, you ended up bumping…ah no crashing into the most unpredictably violent man in this world. Granted, you’re glad you survived your frankly dumb behavior but to be saved by the man that would be your future downfall was just proof that the world was messing with you for sh*ts and giggles.

“Hey you” you let out a small shriek as you hear Floyd call out to you slowly, reminding you of a shark slowly swimming its way to you for a meal, though really what difference is there? “What’s your nam-“

In an act of reckless desperation (your second one already), you didn’t let Floyd finish his question as you rolled over to the side, twisting your body out from the merman’s grip. Disregarding your absolute messy appearance, you sprinted your way away from Floyd who was still on the ground, rounding the corner of the manor to dash towards your carriage. You’ll tell a servant to inform your brother of your early departure later. You just needed to disappear from the menace’s sight immediately.

Though there was no real hurry as the menace in question chose not to pursue as he preferred to watch you flee in such a cute manner, entertained by the way you sped off like a prey in chase.

“Floyd, are you alright?” a familiar voice called out to him from above to which he then recognised and looked up to see his brother on the second floor balcony, the same general area you appeared from, immediately understanding where you came from.

Huh, you just got more interesting.

Floyd ignored his brother’s concern and asked a question back, “Hey Jade, you got any idea who that flying fishie was?”

The Marquis heir, who noticed the opened balcony doors, managed to glimpse upon the fascinating human who not only took a chance at jumping off the second floor, but also managed to intrigue his brother enough to escape his grasp…for now.

“I cannot be certain but I believe that was the first born of the Linni family. The youngest child is still here if you would like a chat with him” Jade oh so generously offered his knowledge to his brother, knowing full well that Floyd has started itching to sink into something fun. And what kind of brother would he be to interfere in his brother’s joy?

Floyd grinned, his sharp teeth visually showing. He got back onto his feet and with one more look towards the path you fled to, walked the other way, back into the manor and towards the party area where he was giddy to have a chat with your brother. You can flee for now, Floyd loves a worthwhile chase.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #disney twisted wonderland #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst floyd #floyd x reader #floyd leech #villainess au

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year ago

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about u | jjk

❝ this song is about a love that you can’t reconcile—wanting to make a home out of a person that has proved to you time and again that they are not a home; they are just a person. it’s about retracing scars, negative patterns, all with the silent belief that moments of communion and understanding might justify months of misfiring and regret. we’re all just trying to get back to that ‘first high’ feeling—an honest endeavor, however futile. ❞

✤ PAIRING jungkook x f. reader ✤ GENRE exes to fwb to strangers, college/grad school au; angst, smut ✤ RATING explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ WARNINGS toxic & self-destructive behavior (inc. jealousy and possessiveness). infidelity (with an external partner). reader is bisexual (which is not a warning but a general statement so the homophobes stay away) and there is a brief mention of coming out. two people who are both too honest and unable to communicate. swearing. cigarettes and alcohol use. kissing, some spitting, fingering, oral sex, protected vaginal sex. every time i asked jess to read this over for me she always came back with "jfc jewel" so i guess this is angsty. unhappy ending. ✤ WORDCOUNT 7.3k ✤ LISTEN TO this was based off of "winterbreak" by muna, but there are bits and pieces of the entire about u album in here, "everything" and "outro" especially. ✤ THANK YOU to muna for writing the album, @the-boy-meets-evil and @hot-soop for reading over this for me multiple times and putting up with all my brainstorming and my beloved @here2bbtstrash for the extra set of eyes. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi, thank you for reading! i cannot emphasize enough how much more sense this story will make if you listen to about u in the background. i would also like to reiterate that these two are maybe not all that likeable most of the time, but i hope they're still human. as i once saw in an ao3 tag, you are more than the worst thing you've ever done.

[ the first. ] You’d read an article once—something about the second time you fall in love.

It’s going to feel different, it’d said. The first time felt like a dream.

As you stare across the kitchen at Jeongguk, you think that might be true. The part about it feeling like a dream, because it used to be a pinky-lavender haze and everything that has come after hasn’t felt so good. Not a nightmare, but close. At least with nightmares you can force yourself awake. You can tell yourself it wasn’t real. You can pretend.

This is as real as it gets, watching him smile over the rim of a plastic red cup. Someone else’s hand on his arm. The girl it belongs to looks nothing like you, and you wonder if she’ll be the second time he falls in love. You also wonder why you didn’t stay home. You wonder about fault and regret and if either of them even matter. No, you eventually decide: there’s just you in Taehyung’s kitchen and Jeongguk on the other side of it and the result of a million decisions in between you.

There had been a plenitude of reasons you’d fallen in love with Jeongguk, but he’s undoubtedly beautiful. Soft, tinkling laugh; a smile that reaches his eyes. Not all that long ago you used to be responsible for both, so there’s a lingering, bitter sting beneath your wonder. Jeongguk is beautiful and no longer yours, and that’s enough to have you retreating to the living room.

Jimin’s at your side immediately. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head that does little to alleviate your guilt. Missing someone is always easier with thousands of miles in between you. All those distractions. Just like a nightmare, distance lets you pretend. Not so easy to do when all those ghosts come back to haunt you; when you can still hear Jeongguk’s soft voice in the kitchen. The music is so loud but you’d be able to hear him anywhere, you think.

Even places he’s not.

Jimin leans down, forces his way into your personal space. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, and his words are warm and wrapped in alcohol, but you nod. You’re scared you might start crying if you open your mouth. Afraid of what might come out besides shuddering breaths, which just makes you feel stupid. Baby’s first breakup, you chide yourself. Maybe Jimin can get you a commemorative ornament.

Taehyung is turning twenty-four and it should be joyous. It is joyous. People that aren’t you are laughing and dancing and pressing their cheeks together as they huddle close to take selfies. Someone you don’t recognize is cackling wildly as they wrangle Taehyung into a headlock and smear cake frosting on his face. Someone else is tutting and running a rag under the tap to wipe it off and then the frosting is gone. It’s hard not to draw parallels.

There one minute and gone the next.

Gently wiped away.

But the feeling lingers, doesn’t it? The tack of the frosting, all the love that transpired between you and Jeongguk. Sometimes you fear it’s permanent—not able to be wiped away with a rag run under the tap, not able to be wiped away at all. Just this burden you’re cursed to carry, because Jeongguk isn’t and can’t be yours but knowing does nothing to erase the past. Doesn’t help you forget. It’s fucked and it’s unfair, but that’s just the way it goes.

“I think I should leave,” you say, watching another scene play out in the kitchen. Jeongguk fills a cup and hands it to a different pretty girl. Everyone here is so pretty. Makes sense; so is Taehyung. Pretty people are drawn to one another like that. “Is it too soon? Will it be obvious?”

Jimin sighs, wraps you in a hug. Says, “Oh, love,” in a way that’s too sympathetic. Makes you sound too pathetic. “No one will blame you. These things are hard.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Not that you don’t appreciate Jimin’s reassurance, but sometimes it all feels a bit silly. Weren’t you the one to walk away? Call it off? Are you allowed to mourn the very thing you destroyed?

And Jimin, bless him, is so patient with you. Asks if you need a ride home and you wave him off, remind him your parents’ place isn’t far, that the cold might do you some good. You tell him you appreciate him and his night shouldn’t be ruined on your account, and you just laugh when he tries to protest, tell him to go get himself another drink.

“Text me when you get home,” he says, voice stern, and you brush that off, too. “I’m serious. It’s late and it’s dark and anyone could be out there—”

“Maybe I should walk you home, then?”

All those articles you read about the second time you fall in love didn’t mention this. Said nothing about the way a voice will always be able to turn your world on its axis and how to right it again. Said nothing about how to coexist with ghosts. Said nothing about what to do with all the yearning and the pain and the stupid, selfish strands of hope. There are paragraphs about an overarching, general grief, but nothing about the specific one living inside of you.

The shock on Jimin’s face is reflecting your own. It’s nice to not be the only one caught off-guard and stammering over their words. It’s nice to have a friend when it feels like your entire world is on the edge of collapse. “I don’t…” he begins. Swallows thickly and turns to look at you, an obvious question biting at the back of his teeth.

You know the answer.

You know that what you should say isn’t what you want, just like you know it isn’t fair, this thing you’re doing. Because you turn to Jeongguk and say, “Are you sure?” which might as well be a yes, because you’re selfish and suspended in this liminal space and don’t want him to go home with anyone else. You don’t want him to move on.

He shrugs. “It’s on the way.”

You say okay. Let Jimin help you into your coat, hide his face in your neck as he tells you to be careful, and that stings. You’ve never had to be careful around Jeongguk before. The two of you never, ever hurt one another—until you did. The kind of hurt your heart hasn’t easily forgotten, is still stubbornly clinging to.

Your heart wants Jeongguk, always.

You want Jeongguk, always, so you let him grab your hand, link your pinkies together. You let him lead you out of the house and don’t turn back to see who might be watching. God, you want to, though. Want all those pretty girls to see that he’s leaving with you. Want them to know it’s your name that’s branded on his heart; your name beneath his skin. For once, you want someone to want what you have.

It’s strange. The two of you have been apart for eight months, and there’s a lot of things you might want to tell someone in that amount of time, but you find it hard now. Don’t know where to start, which words to use. Don’t want to say something stupid, because Jeongguk is just walking you home but you’ve assigned a lot of meaning to it, and eight months is a long time to yearn for something and finally get it.

So you say, “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” because it’s something that’s true and easy to say.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. Drops your pinky so he can hold your hand properly—fully, all five fingers intertwined—and squeezes. “Is it weird for you?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound nervous. Almost sounds like he’s smiling a little, giving you shit. He sounds familiar.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He asks why? at the same time he passes under a streetlight. Lights up golden and amber. He’s beautiful—“I don’t know. It’s just… I guess it’s just been a long time. We didn’t leave things the best.”—and no longer yours.

The Jeongguk walking beside you is not the same Jeongguk that walked out of your dorm eight months ago, tears staining his cheeks, the smell of a goodbye fuck still clinging to his clothes, his skin, sweat still dotting his hairline. This Jeongguk is sharper, more selfish with his laughter, and you wonder about all the ways heartbreak can change a person. How you’re changed for facilitating it. You wonder if Jeongguk blames you before deciding you’re too much of a coward to find out the answer.

“Was it that bad?” When you look over at him, he’s chewing on his lip ring, trying to bite back a smile. “You’ll have to remind me. I don’t remember.”

You stop walking, jerking forward when Jeongguk is left unaware and keeps going. “That’s not funny,” you say. “Jeongguk, that’s not—I did what I thought was best, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing—”

The smile drops from Jeongguk’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, and he’s hesitant to reach out and touch you but he does it anyway. Cups your face in both hands. “I know, it’s okay. That’s just—it’s just life, right? You did what you had to do, babe. It’s okay.”

You did what you had to do, babe.

Did you?

Jeongguk is selfish with his laughter but never his affection, and knowing that feels like an albatross around your neck. You have broken him so entirely, but he’s still kind to you, finds it a worthwhile thing to be.

His eyes go to your lips. Tattooed fingers dimple your face just a little more, dig in deeper. When you dare to take him in, he looks… different. No longer amused, the way he was just seconds ago; now, there’s something dark there. Longing, anger, hunger. Jeongguk looks like he wants to swallow you whole and make you suffer; looks like he wants to cage you beneath him and worship you through the comedown.

I’d let him, you think as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you smell the smoke that lingers, the sweat and the alcohol. I’d still let him.

It’d be so easy to press a kiss there. To feel his skin beneath your lips: flushed, still warm from the party, not all daunted by the bitter winter wind biting at your cheeks. As you lean in further, you wonder if it’ll taste the same. You wonder how much can change in eight months and if all those old comforts change, too. If it’s something inevitable.

Jeongguk moves his hands to your waist. Crawls his fingertips beneath your jacket and finds bare skin. Sucks in the smallest bit of air, and you would’ve missed it had it been any other time, but winter is always quiet and subdued. Always smells transitional, something dangerously close to hope and redemption.

And eight months is a long time to miss the feel of someone’s lips, isn’t it, so you think you can be excused for reaching for something you thought you’d never have again.

The first kiss is hesitant, testing; pressed to the spot just beneath his ear. Maybe you don’t know this Jeongguk, but you know the version of him you used to love—the one you still do—and you know the way he’ll sigh. You know the way his hands will grip tighter. You can still hear it, the way you used to kiss him there and he’d say, don’t start something you can’t finish, baby, and the way you’d laugh and always, always finish it. Can still feel the warmth that used to bloom in your chest. The love.

Jeongguk won’t say that now, you know. Wonder if it’d sound more like don’t start something you already finished if he did. He huffs a small laugh, more an exhale than anything, and asks, “What are you doing?”

And you answer, “I don’t know,” because it’s honest. You admit, “I guess I just miss you,” because it’s true.

A war wages within Jeongguk. You can see the storms, the white flags that are close to being thrown out. Can see the way his gaze flits between your lips and your eyes. What he’s looking for, you don’t know, but the storm rages on. And just like real life, just when you think it’s at its worst, there’s a break in the clouds: a tangible beam of silvery-warm light when Jeongguk tangles his hands in your hair, thumbs at the hinge of your jaw. Jeongguk tilts your head back and looks ethereal in the amber glow of the streetlights.

He says, “We shouldn’t,” and you nod, because you know and the anguish on his face is surely mirrored on yours, but when he follows it with, “let me take you home, let me take care of you,” you find it impossible to care.

You nod.

Everything is amber.

Eight months is a long time to go without the way Jeongguk kisses you: intentionally, demandingly, insatiably. He still tastes the same. Tastes like the first time you’d ever dared to kiss him, back at that party freshman year, tongue flavored with cheap liquor. Jeongguk tastes forbidden and feels like coming home.

You couldn’t say how you make it to Jeongguk’s apartment, but the way you stumble over the threshold feels familiar. The way the door is barely locked when Jeongguk crowds your space; picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist, presses you against it, hips moving on their own accord, rutting, all those little sounds spilling from his lips—everything is familiar. This is not just a practiced song and dance but something memorized. Something instinctual. You could be apart from Jeongguk for years instead of months and your body would still know what to do.

He carries you to his bedroom and you don’t think about who else has been between his sheets, because he puts you down so gently. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck—all gentle, powder-soft. Sounds like spring when you paw at the velvety cashmere of his sweater, pull it over his head, and he sighs. Feels like he’s breathing fresh life into something he shouldn’t, something long dead, but then you skim along his warm skin and your world is reduced to the way it feels like silk beneath your fingertips.

“I still love you,” Jeongguk whispers against your mouth, his inked fingers toying with the button on your jeans. Pops it open, pulls the denim down your thighs. Doesn’t bother pulling them off, only goes as far as your knees. And it’s uncomfortable, the way it’s bunched there, but the way Jeongguk says, “Fuck, missed you so much,” is so sweet.

Everything happens too fast.

Jeongguk leaves your shirt on. Drags it up and over your breasts and kisses at the newly-exposed skin. Sinks his teeth in, lets it hurt for a second before he laves over the marks. Settles between your legs and coaxes an orgasm out of you with his mouth and his fingers. Speaks his praise into the juncture of your thigh, breathless as he touches himself, strokes his cock with the wetness lingering on his fingers. Looks so, so pretty when he sits back on his haunches and says, “Just wanna look at you,” and makes it sound wistful and longing.

Makes it sound like it means something.

He’s still touching himself, still slicking himself up. There’s a split second where he goes to move and thinks better of it. Looks to the side before looking back at you. The storm kicks up again. “Have—” he begins before he swallows thickly. Dares to look hopeful, even through the squall. “Have you been with anyone else? Since…?”

You haven’t. Tried to, once—another stupid party, more cheap liquor passed to your mouth from someone else’s, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t tasted like Jeongguk; hadn’t felt the same. Two puzzle pieces that fit together all wrong.

Jeongguk has, though. Something you’d heard from a friend of a friend that you weren’t meant to. They’d called it a rebound, and it had bloomed so many ugly thoughts in your head. Five months had passed. Jeongguk was fucking someone else in his bed while you were in yours, torturing yourself over whether or not to tell him happy birthday. Whether it was allowed to or not, it’d stung.

(You had. You’d reworded the text a million times, plucked up all the courage you could find before you sent it. It’d gone unanswered, just like you expected it would, and you thought it was because Jeongguk didn’t want to talk to you. Thought you were digging your fingers into wounds that had yet to heal, so it’d stung but you understood.

But Jeongguk hadn’t answered because he was fucking someone else. Had someone else’s taste on his tongue; was panting someone else’s name into the dark. The embarrassment had been the worst part.)

Still does, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you lie. “I—yeah,” you answer. “Just one.”

Looks like it stings Jeongguk, too. “Right,” he responds, blinking back tears, and he’s got a lot of nerve, you think. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just—a condom. Are you…”

“Jeongguk—”

“Are you sure? Maybe this isn’t…” He huffs. Drops the condom on the bed, hangs his head. “What are we doing?”

You stare up at the ceiling. Nothing up there but the swirls in the plaster. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Hurting each other, probably.”

Jeongguk walks his fingers down your thigh. Grips at your skin, wants it to bruise. Wants you to have something to remember him by come morning. “Sometimes I’m really mad at you, you know?”

“Yeah, trust me, I know.”

He nods. Refuses to look you in the eye now that you’re watching him. “I still love you so fucking much and I’m still so angry. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I… fuck, I thought I was over it. I thought I’d see you and not feel a fucking thing.” There’s fresh ink on the back of his left hand. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you notice it now, when he runs his hands down his face.

You also notice the way the atmosphere shifts, the split second in which his heartache bleeds into something else—resolve, maybe. Obstinacy. Like he knows how this is going to end and he’s going to do it anyway. He’s going to find the most painful part and press on it, dig his fingers in, and it’s just an inevitable, foregone thing. Something he can prevent and something he’s choosing not to.

“You fucked someone else,” he sneers. Rips the foil open with his teeth, flashing too white in the dark of his bedroom. Rolls the condom on like it’s an inconvenience. Like you’re an inconvenience. “Was it good? Was it worth it?”

You roll your eyes. Feel the way your breath catches in your throat, because you’re not going to cry. Jeongguk fucked someone else and is vilifying you and it’s hypocritical and ugly and unfair, but you’re not going to cry over it. You’re going to press the gas pedal as far as it can go, say, “Yeah, it was,” and find some wicked delight in the way his eyes squeeze shut, as if it can spare him from the pain.

The two of you used to love each other. Jeongguk used to smile down at you when you were naked beneath him like this. Used to lean in close and whisper that he loved you just as he pushed inside even though you knew, you could feel it in everything he did. Now, there’s no smile. Now, he leans down and spits on your pussy and pushes inside and doesn’t tell you a goddamn thing.

Not with words, anyway.

Because the way he fucks you says it all. Impersonal, desperate, bitter. He grips your hips and fucks into you frenzied and fast. Takes your hand and puts it on your clit and tells you to get yourself off. An inconvenience. Tells you he misses your tight cunt, tells you he misses the way it milks his cock, tells you he misses watching the way you come undone underneath him, but he doesn’t tell you he misses you.

There’s a moment, just after he spills into the condom and stays inside, just catching his breath, when you think he might say it. Might tell you he loves you around the lump in his throat, might apologize, might ask if you two can’t figure it out.

There’s only a moment.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Lets the moment pass. Pulls out and ties off the condom and wordlessly gets up to throw it away. It’s the silence that pisses you off. The disregard. Jeongguk hates you for something you’d lied about doing that he’d done for real, so you can be wordless, too. You can treat him like an inconvenient, cheap fuck, too. You can get up and find your clothes and pull them on and let him watch, words biting at the back of his teeth, and you can tell yourself to feel nothing.

You can say, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” and not shy away from the resentment in your voice, because it’s properly placed. “You fucked someone else, too, so you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Jeongguk.”

Eight months is a long time to miss someone, to play at daydreams. To think of all the things you want to say, the things you’ll do. In not one of them did you think about this: you, fully dressed and stinking of sex, saying, “It’s late. I’ll show myself out.”

Jeongguk, tears glistening on his cheeks, saying, “No, let me—baby, I’m sorry, please—I’ll drive you.”

A shake of your head. Jeongguk doesn’t push it.

Roll credits.

[ the second. ] Jimin wants to talk your ear off about it—the girl you’re seeing.

It’s new and there isn’t much to say. You tell him the two of you met at one of the student showcases put on by the art department and leave off the part about all of Jeongguk’s old friends being there, that he would’ve participated, too, if he hadn’t dropped out after you broke his heart. Leave off the part where you would’ve been there to support him instead, in another life. Leave off the part where it’d just been morbid curiosity: you, not an art student, wandering those halls to see if Jeongguk’s photographs were still framed on the wall.

“Is she nice?” Jimin asks, head nearly knocking into yours as someone shoves by him. “Fucking asshole.”

You nod. “Why would I date someone that wasn’t nice?”

Jimin, perpetually unbothered until he decidedly isn’t, sends you a look that he hides behind the rim of his cup. “Because you’re in your self-destruction era and aren’t thinking clearly.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You know I’m happy if you’re happy, but…” He pauses as he trails off. Tries to wrap his words in something delicate. “It’s pretty clear you still aren’t over it. That’s all.”

You snort. “That’s all?” you repeat, like it’s some small thing. Like it’s normal and fine.

“I’m sure it’s easier to pretend when the two of you are thousands of miles apart,” Jimin amends, and he must see how you bristle, stung by the callout, because his eyes soften. “Tell me about her.”

She’s beautiful and kind and smart. Smokes clove cigarettes and the smell is always clinging to her skin. You know how to make her come but don’t know what she’s majoring in—fashion, you think, because she’s always holding fabric swatches against your skin. Tells you what suits you and what doesn’t. Tells you which textures don’t work, what’s too warm, and she doesn’t need to tell you what’s too cold because you already know it’s you.

She’s beautiful and kind and smart and has no idea you’re still in love with someone else.

But you can’t tell Jimin that, can you? Can’t tell him about how she’d dragged you to a private corner in the gallery and kissed you breathless; the way she made you come on her fingers; the way Jeongguk’s name nearly slipped out of your mouth as you shook. Can’t tell him that she’s got arms full of art. Delicate patchwork; nothing like the harsh, bold colors inked into Jeongguk’s skin, but it feels the same to trace the lines.

You can’t tell him much of anything, so what you settle on is, “She’s nice—good for me,” and it doesn’t sound convincing to either of you.

Jimin doesn’t call you on it, though. Not again. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady, staring into the fire, the flames dancing wildly when you meet his eye. “You need to be careful,” he says. “You’re going to hurt her, too. Maybe worse than you hurt him.”

“Jimin—”

“Just be careful,” he reiterates, and all you can do is nod. What else is there to do besides wait for the inevitable crash and burn?

And it’s a little unfair, you think, that Taehyung grows older every single year. A little unfair that guilt won’t let you decline the invitations. A little unfair that you can still pick Jeongguk’s laughter out of a crowd. A little unfair that these hometown friends-turned-acquaintances still throw sideways glances whenever someone else touches him, as if he still has someone to answer to; as if they’re expecting something.

An hour. You’ve survived an hour longer than you did last year, and it’s not much but you’re still proud of yourself. You’ve had a drink, talked to someone other than Jimin. Managed to ignore the way Jeongguk is ignoring you; the way he immediately leaves a room as soon as you enter. Maybe it’s better like this, you reckon. Maybe it’s what you need.

An hour is long enough. Jimin doesn’t comment on the way your bones crack when you stand to leave. No one needs a reminder of growing older. He doesn’t ask if you’ll be okay, either; if you need a ride home. Instead, he stays quiet as he studies you, clearly wondering if lightning strikes twice. If you’re going to be able to walk past Jeongguk and out the door without making another mistake.

You can at least make it across Taehyung’s sprawling yard and to the house. You can dodge the sweat-slick bodies and the girls sitting in laps. You can toss your empty cup in an overflowing trash can. You can pretend the eyes on your back are well-intentioned.

You can make it to the bathroom.

Annoying, the way your phone has been vibrating all night only to disappoint you. Irrational. You scroll past the emoji-laden messages, the coy flirting, because they’re from the person you’re actually dating—the person you told you were going to sleep early—and not from Jeongguk. You should feel guilty. You should feel guilty, but the face staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look guilty at all.

She looks tired. A little beat-down, but that’s life.

Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve spent the last two years of your life chasing after ghosts.

A knock at the door startles you. Sends your phone tumbling to the floor, screen probably cracked to hell, and you swear under your breath. “Just a minute!” you call out, a little stunned from how threadbare you feel all of a sudden.

Still, the knocking continues, and you’re on your knees on this bathroom floor and all you want to do is cry. You don’t want to be on this floor in this house. You don’t want to keep putting in the effort of maintaining the facades of all these friendships. You don’t want to keep coming back to this town, don’t want to keep being confronted with the harsh reality of all your mistakes.

“Just a fucking min—”

The words die on your tongue, because there Jeongguk stands, all the air in your lungs dissipating at the amount of space he takes up. Even worse when he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You feel like you’re going to drown. You feel like you’re going to scream or cry or both, and you’re still on the floor, still on your knees, and it feels too much like penance when you look up at him. Feels like you’re groveling, praying for forgiveness.

You stand quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to your head, the way your legs tingle. Jeongguk still hasn’t said a word, doesn’t seem like that’s going to change, either, and it’s really all you can do to stay on your feet when everything in you is screaming to collapse.

Eventually, he says, “You’re seeing someone,” and it isn’t a question, not really, but it borders on one. It’s a question and a confirmation and somehow sounds a lot like he’s asking for permission for something.

“I—yeah.” You swallow. “It’s new.”

He hums. Steps a little closer. Leans against the sink. Darts out his tongue to swipe at his bottom lip before he tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Yeah? Does he treat you well?”

“She,” you correct, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Jeongguk, at one point, had known everything about you, but not this. “And yeah,” you add on, barely a whisper, “she does.”

Part of you feels embarrassed. Jeongguk had known everything about you but not this, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty but it still sits there in the middle of your chest. Feels like you’ve been keeping secrets. Feels like shame, even though you aren’t ashamed. Feels like you’re awaiting judgment. But the surprise in Jeongguk’s eyes disappears and something else settles in its place—uncertainty, if you had to guess.

“Are you happy with her?”

You shrug. “Like I said, it’s new.”

And Jeongguk is as emulous as ever, because he asks, “Does it feel like what we had?” and you already know the answer is no.

“I’m not sure anything will.”

It’s honest; you hadn’t said it to appease him, but he looks pleased anyway. You’re starting to understand why so many people write about their first love. Why it’s such a powerful role to fill. Because you and Jeongguk are standing in a bathroom behind a locked door, feet apart from one another, and you think, I don’t think there’s anyone I will ever love more than him even though it’s been two years. You think, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.

You think, I would try over and over and over again if he asked me to.

Later on, when you’re alone in your childhood bed and your face is streaked with tears, only your shame and guilt for company, you won’t be able to figure out who moved first, but one of you had.

Once upon a time, you had known everything about Jeongguk, too. You could recite his taste from memory, but it’s different this time. He licks into your mouth and it tastes like ash—nothing like the clove cigarettes your girlfriend smokes, but close enough that the parallel burns like acid in your throat. It’s close enough that you can keep your eyes shut and pretend again.

This time there’s no softness to be found. There’s just Jeongguk’s mouth pressed to yours, barely letting you breathe, not wanting anyone to hear. There’s just the sink digging into your back. Jeongguk’s hands gripping at your waist, pulling at the hem of your skirt. There’s the frustration and desperation of two people who love each other but will never, ever get it right.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as he spits into his hand and slicks you up, if you’re going to tell her.

There’s you, already too far gone, saying you don’t know.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as you’re clenching around him and dragging him with you to the edge, if you’d come back to him if he asked you to.

There’s you, already knowing the answer to this, too, saying you would.

But this isn’t that and Jeongguk doesn’t ask. When it’s over, he tosses the condom and does a half-assed job of helping you clean up and he doesn’t ask. He splashes water on his face and fixes his hair and he doesn’t ask. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his jeans and he doesn’t ask.

Jeongguk has one hand on the doorknob and he doesn’t ask you to come back. Instead, he asks, “How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

For once, you don’t have an answer.

[ the third. ] You go even farther away for grad school.

You try to put more distance between you and Jeongguk, more distance between you and all the skeletons in your closet, but you just pack them up in different boxes and bring them with you.

You spend New Year’s Eve chain-smoking in your parents’ back yard—that same brand of clove cigarettes, because hearts are easy to break but some habits are not. Sometimes it’s a comfort to hurt yourself in the same way you hurt others, so you chain-smoke and you don’t go to to Taehyung’s birthday party because you weren’t invited and it doesn’t sting in the same way that it doesn’t sting that Jimin doesn’t call you once you’re home because he hasn’t spoken to you in a year.

The clock ticks down to midnight. Someone sets off fireworks. Absolutely nothing changes.

There are no half-baked resolutions. There’s no hope that this is going to be the year you get your shit together. There’s just you and the bed you’ve made for yourself; the autopilot you can’t—won’t—turn off, because you don’t know where you’re going anyway so you might as well just go wherever it’s taking you. There’s guilt and there’s shame and there’s baggage, but they’re all old friends. Those are old scars.

The sweatshirt you’re wearing doesn’t belong to you, and it does little to protect you from the bitter cold that bites at your skin. Jeongguk doesn’t belong to you, either, but he keeps coming back to you like he does.

“Mind if I sit down?”

You shrug, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. The small fire you’d built is down to its last embers, and it’s what you focus on, because you can’t focus on Jeongguk anymore.

“You weren’t at Tae’s.”

“Wasn’t invited.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

He seems to hear what you don’t say. I wouldn’t have gone because I can’t be around you anymore. I wouldn’t have gone because I don’t trust myself with you. I wouldn’t have gone because I’ve burned down every good thing in my life trying to keep you. “Oh. Yeah, that—that makes sense.”

He’d texted you. Asked if he could see you. Just wanted to talk, and you’ve never cared much for symbolism, but nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve had seemed as good a time as any to let it go, so you’d said yes. Now, when there isn’t much to say, all of Jeongguk’s flimsy excuses are laid bare. Transparent.

“Was Jimin there?”

Jeongguk nods. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. Feels like it’s made of concrete. “No. We haven’t talked since last winter break.”

“Because of—”

How cruel, that you’d confessed to Jimin instead of the one person who deserved to know. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shrug again. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s permanent, just until I can get my shit together, I guess. Wasn’t fair to drag him into my mess anyway.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk says, and it sounds like something he wants to be true. It sounds like something he’s said countless times in defense of himself. “We’d—I’d do it if I could.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “of course.”

Silence creeps up again, so you dig another cigarette out of the pack and offer one to Jeongguk that he waves away. “Cloves? That’s a weird choice.”

“Just something I picked up along the way.”

He hears you again: They’re what she used to smoke. It helps me heal to hurt myself with something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I chain-smoke clove cigarettes and I don’t wash the smell from my hands, my clothes, my hair, because it makes me feel less alone.

So he asks, “Was it real?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, flicking the wheel of your lighter, words spoken around the cigarette stuck between your lips. “It never had a chance. Not a real one, anyway.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Know what? That I went away to college and started fucking women?” Jeongguk shrugs. Has the audacity to look embarrassed. “What are you trying to ask me? You wanna know if I keep coming back to you because I’m scared to come out to my parents?”

“No. I don’t know. I just—”

The laugh that escapes you is scorched and bitter. Sounds the way the tobacco tastes. “No, Jeongguk. I keep coming back to you because I keep hoping you’ll ask me to.” I keep hoping you still want me.

“I almost did,” he admits, and you can hear how he swallows around the lump in his throat. “The first time.”

“When you were a dick about me sleeping with someone else? Yeah, okay. You didn’t want me back, you just didn’t want me to be with anyone else.”

He huffs. “How the fuck do you know what I want? You’ve never bothered to ask.”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” comes your response, stilted and practiced. “It doesn’t matter what we want, because we’re just going to keep hurting one another trying to get it right.” You suck in a breath, wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. “And we’re never going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then ask.” Jeongguk startles, looks at you with wide eyes. “Ask me to come back for real, Jeongguk, and I will.”

A beat of silence.

Two, three, four.

Someone sets off another round of fireworks. A dog barks. It’s so cold that you can see Jeongguk’s breath each time he exhales, each time he breathes out instead of speaking. All the words he isn’t saying. And it’s exactly how you knew it would go, but it does nothing to tamp down the devastation in your chest.

You’d confessed your transgressions to Jimin and thought your silence to your ex-girlfriend was a gift, that it was sparing her the pain of what you’d done. Now you understand that someone’s silence can be the most vicious thing of all.

[ the last. ] Graduation looms. It’s the last winter break you’re spending at home.

Your therapist suspects you get your compartmentalism from your parents.

They don’t mention it. They see the stack of boxes and your bare bedroom walls and they don’t say a word about any of it. They watch you pack everything in your car and don’t offer to help. They process their grief silently, and when you can’t stand it anymore, you say, “I dated a woman my senior year of undergrad, you know.”

They don’t say anything to that, either, but it feels good to tell them. Feels a little like freedom and reclamation, like you can be who you are in front of others.

When you leave for good, you don’t want to repackage all those same skeletons.

So you meet Jimin for lunch and you take it in stride that everything is weird, that there’s nearly two years of silence to fill. You don’t ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t demand it of you, just asks if you’re doing better. “I’m doing the best I can,” you answer, and it’s human and honest enough that he accepts it with a warm smile.

Jeongguk is more difficult.

There’s no way to neatly box up that kind of baggage.

You’d intended to stop by his apartment to talk, tell him you aren’t coming back anymore. There’s nothing left here for you, you’d told him, and there was a flash of something. A there’s me, isn’t there? that had gone unsaid, destined for the same fate as a million other unspoken words between you.

Because there is him, but there’s also the way you’re desperately trying to claw back into something resembling normalcy. You’d lost yourself when you also lost Jeongguk, and you need to figure out who you are without him. You need to know who you are once you stop running and let your demons catch up with you. You need to hear what they have to say.

Maybe Jeongguk had said it best last year—“It’s not that easy. I’d do it if I could.”—because you’re nothing if not predictable and self-destructive.

You’re nothing if not naked and on your back beneath him, your fingers threaded through his hair as he rocks his hips into you, more tender than you deserve. His lips are ghosting along your skin and every press feels like a brand. Feels like he’s both making a mockery of you and declaring you ruined for anyone who might come after him. Feels like you’ll love him until you die.

(Some version of you must exist outside of Jeongguk’s grasp—outside of his orbit, his bed—but right now, as he twines your fingers together and pins them above your head, you can’t figure out who she might be.)

Eight months had been a long time to think of all the things you wanted to say, and four years is worse. Four years, and you still can’t bring yourself to ask him to try again, but there’s nothing after this, nothing to lose, so your voice is hoarse and raw when you say, “Jeongguk,” and he groans a little, nips at the column of your throat because he loves the way you say his name. “Jeongguk,” you repeat, because he senses the urgency, hears what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah, baby, say it. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He rolls his hips faster. Before, he would’ve tried to prolong the ending, but he’s hurtling towards it now. There’s nothing after this, you know, but you need the confirmation. You need to finally put all of this to rest. “I want to—” His cock strokes someplace that whites out your vision. “Fuck, want to—want you to come with me.”

He laughs, full of himself, probably smirking out the side of his mouth. “Keep squeezing me like that and I will soon.”

“No,” you insist, shocked at the conviction in your voice, “when I leave. Come with me.”

Everything slows. Jeongguk pulls back, moves his hands to cover himself, and there’s nothing but cold confusion in his absence. “What?”

“I didn’t ask you before. Last year. I just—I left it up to you, and you’re right, I didn’t ask what you wanted, but I didn’t tell you what I wanted, either. But I’m telling you now. I’m asking—”

There was never going to be anything after this.

Jeongguk’s silence says it all.

The way he pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach. The way he fucks as fast and as hard as he can. The way he used to love you openly and honestly and now holds whatever’s left close to his chest like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Someone’s silence can always be the most vicious thing of all.

Roll credits.

thank you so much for reading, and an additional thank you in advance if you decide to reblog my work. as always, my inbox is always open for any feedback! ♡

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