#i was… so utterly wrong. i was so so utterly wrong

[player380]

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- disco pang pang

━━━ ↳ ❝ [ se-mi x f! reader ] ¡! ❞

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in which you try out the infamous disco pang pang ride with your friends in incheon, south korea, and end up having the ride moderator attempt to set you up with the stoic, pretty woman sitting next to you┊2.1k words

contains: potential ooc se-mi (we don't really know too much about her but my hyperfixation has deluded me to believe my own headcanons that were created by the bit we saw her in s2), fluff, some minor hints of sexual content, wlw, teaser x teased, & non-canonical nonsense, au!! the games never took place & se-mi is lowkey loaded (which i may write more about in another fic idea i have oops), i also am not very sure of any korean customs (im a white american) so please please please let me know if any of the manners of this are wrong so i can correct it, also this has not been proofread yet so enjoy any spelling or grammar errors <3

After much debate with your close girl friends, that you were on a trip into the big city with, they had practically dragged you to the long line of awaiting people to try out this silly ride. Each of their hands clasped tightly around your sweaty palms, forcing your feet to shuffle into your spot at the back of the line. It was a warm spring day, the sun beating down only to be combated by a pleasant breeze. So, of course, most would find themselves spending the day at the Wolmi Theme Park in South Korea. The three of you had already spent the majority of the day entertaining yourselves with other rides, though with yourself often choosing to opt out of riding many--given rollercoasters had a habit of making you queasy. Yet, after much convincing and deliberation, you had allowed them to take you on this ride. They had claimed that it wasn't that scary, and was oftentimes quite fun. But as you got into line and saw the ever-moving ride your stomach dropped and your face paled. Laughter and screams echoed around as the current set of riders were being bounced up and down whilst the ride spun everyone in round in differing speeds. As you watched this, you couldn't help but feel the corn dogs you just had thirty-minutes prior rising their way through your innards.

While you stood there, mouth agape, your friends had busied themselves with calling their boyfriends back home in the countryside. Snapping you out of your scared daze, was a smooth laugh from beside--even smoother words following in pursuit.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost," a woman laughed from beside you, your eyes narrowing as they traveled up the body beside you in line. Taking notice of her skinny ripped black jeans, the loose tank top that had a bit of the side tucked into the waistband of her jeans, and a black leather jacket over her shoulders. Her face was adorned in few piercings: just one silver ring on her lip, the other a silver ring on her left nostril (a gem-incrusted sun on where the ring met the visible skin). Her hair was short, some strands of her black hair covering the right side of her head slightly. Her narrow features complimented her stylistic choices. And by all means: the woman was completely, and utterly gorgeous.

After a few minutes of silence, your eyes only widening upon seeing the pretty woman, she spoke up again. "Are you alright? Surely you haven't actually seen a ghost," she replied, her thin brows furrowing slightly as she stared at you--her head cocked to the side just a hair. She was concerned for your wellbeing. How cute.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," you blinked, snapping out of your haze and returning your gaze to the still-moving ride--swallowing hard. "I just don't like rides like this," you added and nodded awkwardly. "Not really my thing."

The woman beside you nodded, letting out a quiet hum as her gaze follows yours up to the ride. "It's not that bad," she commented, letting out a quiet laugh. "Just make sure to hold on tight."

"What?" You asked, misunderstanding her words and her eyes widening slightly.

The woman laughed harder, shaking her head. "The bars, hold on tight to the bars," she corrected, tilting her head. "Or your friends."

You suddenly felt the presence of your two friends who had gotten off facetime with their partners, and were now standing beside you once more--staring at the taller woman with slightly furrowed brows. The woman just nodded once, before turning back around and facing the front of the line. Leaving you to suffer the teasing looks and questions from your friends for the remainder of the wait in line.

Eventually, after growing slightly impatient from standing still for so long, it was finally your group's turn to file onto the circular ride. The eager group of riders all excitedly piled on, sounds of annoyed groans coming from the people who were cut off and had to wait another round.

Your friends rushed to a spot, sitting on the seats and giggling excitedly. Their hands reached behind themselves to grab the plastic and metal bars--wrapping their arms around the slick material in hopes to stay (mostly) still throughout the ride.

You sat there awkwardly, trying to mimic your friend's actions but you found yourself struggling to keep yourself comfortable. You didn't realize the woman who was in front of you in line was sitting beside you until you felt her hands gently guiding your arms to wrap around the bars--her hand resting there for a moment and looking over you.

"Comfy?" She asked you, raising a brow slightly.

Your face, now red, moved up to meet her gaze--nodding awkwardly. "Yeah, thanks," you said, voice quiet, and pressing a small smile up as another bout of gratitude. Her dark eyes traveled over you for a second, smiling and giving a nod back. She moved to sit beside you, leaving the width of a person and a half between you two.

Unfortunately for your humility, the ride moderator had noticed the small interaction and so once the ride started slowly spinning--your face all but heated when you heard the moderator's loud voice call out your descriptor over the speakers. Little did you know the running internet joke that if the moderator called you out, you were done for.

"Are you two together?" The male moderator's voice called out, "you, tweed skirt and the h/c hair. And you, short black hair and the leather jacket," he described. Your heart all but dropped. Before you could reply, the woman next to you beat you to it:

"No, we aren't," she yelled, her voice loud over the mechanics of the machine and the loud sounds from around the theme park.

"Do you want to be?" The moderator called out, a hint over amusement carrying over in his voice.

You shook your head, laughing awkwardly. "No, no it's okay. I came here with my friends," you replied, brows furrowing in embarrassment--trying to ignore the giggles from your friends beside you.

"Ah, no, no, let me fix that," the moderator said, laughing, and your heart dropped from his mischievous tone.

Suddenly, the ride was tilted all the way to the left side and began bouncing slightly. Lifting you up and down from your seat, your sweaty hands barely holding onto the plastic bars as gravity tried to pull you to where the woman beside you was sitting. She seemed to keep her body planted firmly--hardly moving. The ups and downs got harsher, and before you knew it, one of your arms slipped from the bar and you fell slightly down to your left. You felt another leg wrap around yours--realizing it was the woman's, who was trying to keep you steady so you didn't fall.

You grunted as you moved to steady yourself back onto the seat, pulling your leg from hers and attempting to grab back onto the bars. Before you could succeed, another unexpected bump made your other arm slip--letting out a yelp as you stumbled off the seat and about to start rolling on the metal floor of the ride. You didn't go very far before you found your body ensnared by both the woman's legs--holding your torso tightly as to make sure you didn't fall anymore.

As the bumps continued, you felt one of her hands grab your arm and pull you up--setting you on her lap. Your face burned with embarrassment and awkwardness at the entire situation--wishing you hadn't even let your friends convince you to get on this stupid ride to begin with. Her legs entangled with yours, an arm wrapping around your waist and pressing your back tight against her front. Her fingers found purchase on your hip, pressing into the part tightly.

"Are you okay?" She asked, tilting her head so her mouth was right next to your ear, her voice quiet. God was her voice attractive.

You nodded, the consistent bumps making the two of you rise up from your seats occasionally--but your landings were cushioned by the woman's body beneath you. It was almost strangely nice. No. You shouldn't think like that. She was an entire stranger. "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks," you replied, turning your head slightly--though not realizing how close your faces would be. You quickly turned your head back around forward--your cheeks the color of a tomato.

As the ride continued on, the moderator still continued to pick on the two of you, moving you two around. Even with the woman's firm grip on your body, you had somehow ended up turned around--your legs straddling her hips. Her jacket had been moved to wrap around your waist so no one could see how your skirt rid up, allowing some form of modesty. There were some other instances of other people flailing around and landing on others, however you could hardly pay any mind to the others on this ride given your situation. This continued on throughout the ride's duration, before eventually the machine came to a stop--the moderator thanking everyone, though still finding a way to insert a tease about the two women's interactions throughout the ride.

You shakily got off of the woman--pulling your skirt down and untying the jacket around your waist, holding it back out to her. "Um, thanks for this. And for making sure I don't fall," you muttered, looking down at your feet. When she took the jacket, you quickly took off and found your friends at the exit of the ride--trying to ignore the burning throughout your body as their incessant teases fueled your embarrassment.

Before you could get far, a female voice called out and you turned around--your eyes widening as the woman before approached, slightly out of breath from the small jog. Your friends looked at each other with raised brows, both backing away to leave you two to yourselves.

"Oh-- um, hi," you said, brows furrowing slightly. "Did you need something?"

"How long are you in Incheon for? Or do you live here?" She asked, her chest still rising up and down with rapid breaths. She almost sounded hopeful, and a bubbly filling filled your stomach. As if someone had opened a cage of butterflies between your ribcages.

You blinked, looking away from her for a moment. "No, I don't live here. Just visiting with my friends... but I'm not sure. A couple more days, at least. We didn't really have an end date. Why?" You asked, licking your lips slightly--and you watched as her eyes flickered to your slightly damp, pink lips for a moment before she looked back up at your eyes.

"Let me take you sight-seeing around the city, yeah?" She asked, despite her cool demeanor, she almost seemed nervous. "You don't have to, but it'd--"

"Sure," you cut her off, flashing an almost-nervous smile of your own. "I'd like that, my friends and I aren't really super knowledgeable around anyway. I'm sure they'd like it too."

Her face flickered with some unknown expression and she shook her head. "No, not them. Just you... and I," she said, sucking in a long breath.

"Oh," you breathed, your brows raising. "Yeah, my answer is still the same. I would like that," you answered, emphasizing the 'I' in your sentence. The woman nodded, any nervousness or tension immediately lifted from her demeanor.

"Good," she said, grinning. "Let me get your number," she said--pulling out her phone from her back pocket, opening it, and shoving it in your direction with the screen showing an empty contact form to fill out. You nodded, and took the phone to begin typing in some things in each slot. "I'm Se-mi, by the way," she added, her eyes watching you intently--studying every and all aspect of your face.

Once you finished, you looked back up at Se-mi and handed her phone. "Well... just give me a message, Se-mi. I should be free, well, if I can ever escape those two for a moment," she laughed, tilting her head back to where her friends stood--watching the two of you interact with large grins.

Se-mi nodded, watching your form retreat as you handed her phone back and went back to your friends who immediately began pestering you for information on your new 'hot date', as they called it. She looked back down at her phone, studying your name on the contact--trying to burn it into her memory.

"Y/n...," she said slowly, nodding as she enjoyed the feel of it on her tongue. Knowing full well she was going to be saying that name for a long time. Or, well, at least she hoped.

Who knew your friends dragging you onto a silly ride could lead to any of this.

[vyntagess]

bad idea.

summary; the song should say it all.

warnings; not proofread. sexual content, barely any plot, softdom!billie, one use of y/n, reader is cheating.

it was such a bad idea.

she was famous, and you were her friend. you had sex once. it wasn’t to say it was bad, in fact, it was the most mind blowing thing you’d done. the bad thing was that you cheated on your boyfriend for her. so, you ghosted her for a month.

but now, laying in bed, staring at the ceiling with a dull ache between your legs, it made you realise how terrible he really was. you turned your head, seeing him on his phone.

“hey, y/n, i gotta go. catch you later.”

“yeah.”

the front door shut, and you sighed, tossing and turning in your bed for an hour. your fingers were itching to reach for your phone, desperation creeping through your veins. at this point, your brain was between your legs. so, you texted the number you swore you never would for this purpose ever again.

‘billie’

read 11:57

‘omfg don’t leave me on read. i need u. come over.’

‘told u you’d want me sooner or later ;)’

you scoffed at her cocky response, tossing your phone back on your pillow with a groan. at the realisation of what you’d done, you screamed into the pillow.

was such a bad idea, calling you up

when the doorbell rang, you bolted down the stairs, opening the door to billie and a very cold gust of wind. she had a very ‘i-just-woke-up’ look on her. she was wearing an oversized tee and sweatpants, but hell, did she look hot as ever. within seconds, her ice-cold hands were on your face, her lips pressing harshly against yours as the door closed behind her.

was such a bad idea, cause now im even more lost

“fuck.”

you whispered against her lips.

“darling, you’re so pretty it hurts.”

her hands snuck under your shirt, fingers shaky as she undid your bra.

her lips murmured against yours, and she pushed you up against the wall. her lips parted from yours with a strand of saliva, leaving you breathless and needy. those plump, perfect lips that had been plaguing your head for the past month, traced down your neck, her teeth accompanying them as she left small nips here and there. your arms snaked around her back, as her hands cupped your tits. she squeezed softly, making you moan right into her ear. that sound, that tiny sound she'd been craving to hear for months, sent tingles up her spine and threw all her inhibitions out of the window. her hand slipped your clothes over your head, throwing your clothes onto the floor.

clothes trailed behind the two of you as you stumbled to your bedroom, billie's hands pushing your naked body roughly down onto the bed as her lips began attacking your neck. it was evident that she was just as desperate as you were, after your boyfriend left you utterly unsatisfied.

"i need you."

a breathy murmur left your lips as you felt her warmth press down on top of you, your fingers threading through her soft black hair. you could just feel billie's smug grin forming against your neck at your words. her kisses trailed down your body, your nipples ignored and hardening. a groan of frustration built at the back of you throat as her cold fingers massaged your inner thighs, but it quickly turned into a moan as her lips wrapped around your clit. it was an almost animalistic desire that you felt radiating off of billie's movements. your hands gripped her hair tightly.

"god, you're so fucking wet."

she murmured into your sensitive flesh. she wasn't wrong. it was so easy for her to slip two fingers into your desperate, fluttering pussy. when she began to pump her fingers in and out of you, fingers curling almost perfectly to hit that spongy, sensitive spot inside you, your back arched clean off the bed. billie grunted slightly as she felt your tightening grip in her hair, tugging on the strands yet also pushing her face further into your pussy.

her tongue worked overtime, flicking your clit, while her fingers fit perfectly in your squeezing walls. it was like you were just made for her.

"shit, I- I'm close... don't stop, mmh... doin' so good for me, baby."

billie's eyes lit up, her scalp stinging, but at the encouragement, she redoubled her efforts. finally, after what felt like forever (but was probably a few minutes), your thighs locked around her head and your hips bucked. your mouth was open in a silent scream, eyes wide open as your orgasm gushed onto her fingers. billie worked you gently through it, until she heard your whimpering and felt your hands pushing gently at her head.

reluctantly, she pulled away, sucking her fingers clean while keeping your eyes locked on yours with a soft grin. billie made her way back up your body, lips locking with yours as her eyes fluttered shut. it was unlike the rest. it was gentle. tender. passionate. it felt like everything was falling into place. after a while, she pulled back, looking down at you with a small smile, her hair cascading over her shoulders and draping over you.

for a moment, you just stared at each other for a moment. maybe you just totally fucked up your relationship with your boyfriend, maybe you were totally fucked, but damn it did it feel good being with billie.

"you're so good at that."

your voice broke the silence.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

"then you should break up with him."

billie suggested lazily, not really mean it. you found laying her head down on your chest as you played with her hair, massaging her scalp. she winced a bit, but she closed her eyes. listening and letting your heartbeat calm hers, both beating in sync.

"maybe I will."

a/n ; I haven't written smut in a while this might've been wonky and I apologize...

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (08)

chapter eight: ships in the night

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; i’ve been told this is the angstiest chapter yet saur yk you’ve been warned, mentions of past seggsy times, oc is self-deprecating self-sabotaging, oc has an anxiety attack in this one, erhm just Big Sad overall methinks, also could've been more edited but i am a godless monster word count: 7.2k note: wt is backkkkkk!! and it's the penultimate chapter omg :( lowkey nervous about how this is gonna be perceived bc i feel like my brand is Sad™️ and i haven't properly written anything Sad™️ in a WHILE. but yeah, wt8 is yours now have funnn. also ty chessica @matchannie for proofreading!!

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Sorry, I know that comment wasn’t funny Just wanted you to love me, but I didn’t go about it right Sometimes the best advice that I can give Is to bite my lip and listen with my big fat mouth shut tight

big fat mouth - Arlie

You don’t think you can ever forget the look on his face, the hurt in his eyes when the words had tumbled out of your mouth in a panicked frenzy. The regret was immediate, but so was the damage.

Saying things you didn’t mean, watching Minho so utterly defeated that it kills you, and the deafening silence after he had walked away from you on heavy footsteps – you can’t describe how it all felt that night. It’s just… sinking, and sinking, and sinking; endlessly spiraling in an ocean of your own guilt and despair. It’s true what they say – misery loves company.

Distractions don’t work, because whenever that overwhelming dread eases by even a fraction, you’re once again reminded by the bracelet that’s wrapped around your wrist with the tiny dove charm hanging on the side. Neither of you paid it any mind the other night, that much is clear.

You know you should return it to him eventually; it’s never belonged to you and it never will. But every time you go to take it off, you can’t bring yourself to simply undo the clasp and hide the bracelet somewhere you can’t see. It lets you delude yourself into thinking that you haven’t lost him even after what you said, even after you stomped on his heart and left it bleeding where you stood. 

You’d been upset, thinking that you were the only one falling, terrified that you’d crash headfirst into the cold, hard ground because there’d be nobody to catch you. And yet, when Minho told you he loved you, it provided you no relief at all. The fear magnified tenfold, taking over you until you couldn’t see straight, until it consumed you whole.

Home is something you find, and you’ve found it in him. Your sun and your spring and your home, and everything good that you can ever name.

All your life, something is always missing, an empty space that you never learned how to fill. Like when you exit a room and there’s a nagging feeling in your gut telling you that you’ve forgotten something even though all of your belongings are accounted for. Like when you lose your favorite ring, one that’s a little too loose but beloved anyway, slipping over your knuckle without your permission and disappearing forever, and you keep running your fingers over where the golden band used to be until you come to terms with the fact that it’s never coming back and you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning the loss of that familiarity.

You’ve always looked for things you lost in places you’ve never been.

You just want to go home, but you know you’ll only ruin it in the end.

The problem has never been Minho or anybody else. It’s you, and how there’s something intrinsically wrong with you. You paint the ending before there’s even a beginning. You’d rather run and hide than let yourself feel anything, because if there’s happiness then there’s going to be hurt inevitably.

You don’t want him to wake up one day and look at you like you’re a stranger, to realize that he’s wasted his time and effort, that you just weren’t worth it after all. 

It’s funny how, when you’re a child, time seems to move so quickly. One minute, you’re four, maybe five years old, and your mother is refusing to speak to you because she thinks you ruined one of her bags, a large scratch running along the otherwise smooth leather surface like it’s been met with a pair of scissors or simply accumulated on her way to work and she hadn’t noticed until she got home and you happened to be in the vicinity of her anger; the next, she’s letting you relish in all your favorite desserts, cavities be damned.

One minute, you’re being rushed to the hospital with a bad case of food poisoning, your parents staring down at you as if you’re actually about to die; the next, you’re already at home, watching cartoons that you couldn’t understand but you like anyway because they’re full of pretty colors and princesses and fairies.

You don’t remember how your mother came to forgive you for the bag even though it wasn’t your fault, or what the hospital felt like or if what the doctors and nurses did to make you feel better even hurt. You only know that you wish to return to a smaller version of yourself whose memories you can’t even recall, return to a time in which you once so desperately wanted to escape from.

Now, when you’re hurt, time doesn’t pass in a blink of an eye like it used to. It stands still, sucks you down a vortex and makes you feel everything. 

No one ever really warns you about growing pains, that they’re unavoidable no matter how hard you try to avoid them, that they can last a lifetime because you never really stop growing, and it never really seems to ache any less.

Hyunjin: Attachment: 1 Image. Hyunjin: i sent this one in  Hyunjin: u??

You’d almost forgotten about the exhibition until Hyunjin had sent you those texts. Even though you’re not one to neglect deadlines, you suppose it’s fairly reasonable that this one in particular had slipped your mind. You haven’t really been able to wrap your head around that many things after all.

Every semester, yours and Hyunjin’s department rents out a gallery near campus for a whole week to showcase students’ works. It’s nothing exclusive, nothing like a competition where they pit a couple hundred kids against each other just for a spot at a fancy art gallery. Almost anyone in the Faculty of Arts can register before the submission deadline, and you suppose that’s another reason why you’d overlooked it so easily – because you didn’t earn it. It didn’t feel special. It was just another meaningless event to attend.

Regardless, you spent a chunk of an afternoon pondering your selection though it didn’t matter that much, almost two hours dedicated to picking out paintings you realized you didn’t love. Some you even turned out to hate, even though you could remember the pride radiating from you the moments the canvas had felt the last brush stroke. Maybe the glamor eventually wore off, the momentary high that coursed through you when you’d shown your finished works to your professors and peers, and received showers of praise in return.

The piece you chose in the end wasn’t your favorite by any means, but it was one of the only pieces you could still bear to look at without nitpicking too much. It was a painting of the waters, and you’ve always loved the waters.

You could recall the day you went to the promenade by yourself with a need to be away from everyone and everything, and an overshirt that was too light to combat the September evening chill as summer transitioned into fall. You watched the sky slowly darken after the sun had disappeared from view, watched as the buildings on the other side of the river lit up one by one until they made up for the light that retired for the day.

The thin layers made you shiver – the consequence of your poor choice in clothing that night – but there was something about sitting by the waterfront after dark, kicking pebbles around underneath your feet, and the gentle caress of the wind on your face and your hair that made the cold feel welcoming. You always thought the city was more beautiful at night, more calming amidst all of its perpetual chaos. It made you feel like you were inside a dream long forgotten, took you back to a north star that you left to gather dust on an abandoned shelf.

You could recall wanting to dive into that dream again, a dream in which you could chase a perfect version of you that would never exist and find light at the end of the tunnel, instead of returning to the reality where you always wound up suffocating in darkness. You wanted to be free, free from the noise and free from your own life despite one simple truth that you knew all too well – that you could run but never from yourself.

When you were young, it’s the moon that used to follow you everywhere. As you get older, it’s all of the things that keep you up at night.

You could recall your phone buzzing to life in your bag with Minho’s name on the screen, like a sign from the universe saying “Hey, this one’s for you. Don’t drown. You have a lighthouse.” and it was as though he could sense that you were falling, like someone had tied your heart to a rock and threw it into the very river in front of you to sink to the bottom. Your friends often said he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to you. Maybe there was some truth in that.

His voice pulled you out of it, even though he only called to ask if you wanted to come over and eat the boatload of food his mom had sent. He made you want to disappear a little less and in that moment, it was enough.

You left your hiding place to go to him, to lose yourself in stupid jokes and not-too-sweet desserts even if it was only for a couple hours. And when you returned home that night, everything spilled onto the canvas just from memory alone, from the feeling that you were desperately clinging onto with your shaking hands.

You always thought you could only run away to places. You didn’t know people could be escapes too, and somewhere along the way, that was what Minho became to you — your treasured escape, your new hiding place.

You manage to avoid everyone – with the exception of Hyunjin; you do have to see him in class after all – over the two and a half weeks leading up to the exhibition, drumming up excuse after excuse to bail whenever any of them asks to grab a bite together or just to simply hang out. If they saw you, they’d notice your puffy eyes and ask if you’ve been crying. They would ask why, and you can’t find in yourself to make up a lie believable enough for that kind of question.

You think Hyunjin has noticed. He’s a bit of an idiot sometimes, but he’s not stupid and he’s still blessed with the gift of sight. He doesn’t mention anything though, despite you showing up to almost every class with puffy eyelids. You suppose you’re grateful for that.

Minho hasn’t talked to you at all since that night. Doesn’t ask you how your project’s going, doesn’t ask you about the exhibition, barely even speaks in the group chat, not even a boring comment about the weather. What were you expecting anyway? You get it, you do.

But despite the silence, you never doubted that he would show up to the exhibition. If not for you, then he would be there to support Hyunjin.

The only person who really has an inkling that something is wrong is Jess, when you were getting ready together earlier tonight and she helped you conceal your puffy eyes. She’d tiptoed around the question before settling on  asking “Everything okay?” — simple, easy, quickly dismissible if you didn’t feel like sharing.

You didn’t, and she dropped the subject because there was no point in badgering you for answers anyway. 

Chan picked the both of you up afterward, and Jess didn’t have to explain anything to him when she slipped into the backseat with you instead of riding next to her boyfriend.

Now here you are, standing in a room full of your friends and peers, wearing a black dress that Jess helped you choose, and Minho is nowhere to be found. You’d spent all day pacing around, anxious at the mere thought of seeing him and even talking to him. What you hadn’t anticipated was the disappointment, the unbearable feeling in the pit of your stomach in response to his absence. You can’t tell which is worse; maybe every moment without him all sucks the same.

When Hyunjin starts whining and takes out his phone to spam Minho’s messages demanding his location (you’re thankful that it didn’t have to come to you), all he receives in return is a measly “Running late.”

And that’s it. A mere text is enough to satiate everyone’s curiosity. Well, everyone but Hyunjin, because he’s still a nagging drama queen.

Minho is running late, and to anyone else, it’s the most normal thing in the world.

But to you… it means something beyond that. Because this was him. This was your Minho. Your Minho who’s never been known for his tardiness, who’s never once broken a promise, who’s always there for you no matter what.

All you know right now is his absence, and it makes you sink.

You sink, and then you wait. Not a lot to be done about it.

You slip away to a quiet spot, a vacant hallway, to be by yourself while everyone is out there wandering around and gorging themselves on the free food and drinks. You shouldn’t be with them anyway. All you need is to wallow in peace and not be the black cloud hanging over everybody’s heads.

There’s something so incredibly lonely in the act of waiting. Waiting to board a plane, waiting in line at the grocery store. Waiting for a phone call or text message that you know won’t come, waiting for a person whom you can only hope would show up. At the end of the day, that’s what waiting is, isn’t it? It’s wanting. It’s hoping, and if there’s one thing you know about hope, it’s that it’s dangerous.

You wonder if this is how Minho felt all this time, waiting on a girl who’s always prepared to leave. You wonder if, that night, he had expected you to reciprocate his feelings. You did. You do, and a part of you wanted to tell him that you loved him too. The words were there, and yet…

It’s true that you love him, and it’s true that you don’t want to. If hope is dangerous then love is fucking terrifying. 

He’d been so patient with you, so awfully gentle and quiet in the chasm of his waiting that you mistook the tenderness for everything except for what it actually was – love. Or perhaps you did know. Maybe deep down, you knew that you would’ve loved him back with everything you had, with every fiber of your being. That you would’ve let him be the only one to ever really know you, and it felt like a fear greater than you could bear. 

In the end, did you lose him? Can you lose something you never had? It wasn’t a love that you let slip away; it was a what if.

You’re in a room with people who love you and yet, all you can think about is Minho. You miss him so much that it feels like someone has spliced you in two, that it physically makes you ache every second that he isn’t with you. As selfish as it sounds, you want him to walk through the door and you want everything to be okay again. You want to be back in a bubble with just the two of you and a locked box filled with words unsaid. You thought you could stay in that bubble forever, where it was safe and you could pretend that you were happy, and maybe you really were happy with him. But all things — good or bad — must come to an end. The bubble burst, and this was the real world.

You want to undo your cruelty, want him to take back his sincerity. You want an ocean of distance between you and him, you want to pull him as close as humanly possible. All your wants are contradictions. You’re a paradox of puzzle pieces that never seem to fit together.

You want to tell him that it hurts. Want him to make it better because he’s the only one who can make it better.

But miracles rarely happen and there are no shooting stars in sight. Minho was the closest thing you got to a shooting star, burning across your night sky for just a brief moment. Blink and you could miss it. Blink and you did miss him.

Your fingers find his contact in your phone before you could stop yourself, and soon enough, you’re pressing the call button. It’s like drunk dialling, only you aren’t intoxicated. Or maybe you are; maybe you’re under the influence of his absence and how much it stings.

You don’t know why you’re calling him, don’t know what to even say when he picks up.

Thankfully, you don’t have to wonder for long.

“Your call has been forwarded to voicemail. Please leave your message after the tone,” comes the automated voice on the other end.

For some reason, you don’t hang up. You wait for the beep, then you wait some more. It’s not until ten seconds later that you find your voice, the only thing to come out of your mouth is a quiet Hey.

You clear your throat, rub the sweaty palm of your free hand on your dress. “Hey,” you try again. “It’s… me. I’m at the gallery with everyone. Uhm, they’re all waiting for you. Are you on your way? Are you stuck in traffic? Or did you forget it was today? Hyunjin is trying really hard not to blow up your phone–” You pause to chuckle dryly. “But you know it would mean a lot to him to have you here. It… it’d mean a lot to me too if you were here. I don’t know, I assumed you’d come. I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. I just…” Another pause. This time, it’s so that you could take a breath. “Listen, Minho, I didn’t mean what I said to you. I’m sorry I was an asshole. I’m sorry that I hurt you, I don’t have any excuse for that. You deserve better than me. It’s going to pass, you know? I’m sorry if you’ve wasted your time on me, but… you’re going to find someone else, and you’re going to get over it. I’m sorry I fucked everything up. It’s fine if you never want to talk to me again, just please don’t let it get between you and our fr–”

The line beeps again. “To replay the message, press 1. To save the message, press 2. To delete the message, press 3.”

You purse your lips together. There’s still a lump in your throat and no peace to be made. It’s like drunk dialling, only you pull yourself together at the very last second. Your thumb hovers over the dial pad on your phone until you eventually end up on 3, because your cowardice will always triumph in the end. Back to square one. Everything’s still the same as it was five minutes ago.

You force your legs to move, like how you'd force yourself to get up and eat and drink water and shower and be a person these days. When you round the corner, you bump against something solid. A person. The collision isn’t hard enough to knock you backward; they weren’t moving, they’d only been standing still.

You look up at Seungmin, who merely blinks at you. You don’t know how long he’s been here, if he heard anything at all. You swallow once, considering whether you should just play dumb and gauge his reaction or ask point blank if you’ve been caught. He beats you to the decision though.

“You and Minho,” Seungmin says, a bit hesitant, like the topic is weird to bring up. “You’re the girl.”

A deer in headlights, you are. A pathetic one at that, too.

But even then, you’re not panicked, not really. You’re just sad, and the truth was bound to come out eventually. 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” you say.

The discarded voicemail that he overheard, the dejection written all over your face, the silence from both you and Minho recently — it’s obvious to pretty much everyone, and Seungmin is smarter than most.

He opens his mouth and shuts it again like he’s choosing his words. The Seungmin-esque blank stare melting away to make space for some pity, then a question, “Is there anything left to tell?”

You escape to the empty garden in the back where there were a few lonely chairs set up, so you could have some privacy to talk. Despite everything, it feels like you’ve got a little breathing space, just being able to share this with someone. To not have to carry it all on your own. You’re glad that it was Seungmin who found out first. You have a feeling that he would understand, at least to some degree. You’re relieved, even when the first question that he asks is, “So, how did you fuck it up?”

“Why do you just automatically assume it was me?” You’re mildly offended, even though he’s right.

“Between you and Minho, I’d bet on you.” Seungmin shrugs. “You spook easily.”

“I deeply resent that notion.”

He turns to look at you, no trace of any teasing. “Can you prove me wrong?”

But you can’t, and it tells him as much when you avert his eyes in favor of the ground, where you kick at a lonesome pebble sitting among the grass. It lands somewhere between the green blades, lost in the shadows that cast over parts of the garden that are poorly lit.

“So what happened?” he asks, turning away again to stare out at the empty space. You like to think of it as him giving you some elbow room, to ease the pressure of being scrutinized. And as much as you appreciate it, it still takes you another brief moment before you can formulate a coherent sentence, another minute of twiddling your fingers in your lap.

You tell Seungmin about your first night with Minho �� not the details, of course; that would be weird and it’s none of his business. Just that it happened, how you both let it keep happening over the past few months while nobody suspected a thing.

Seungmin nods solemnly, like he’s putting together the missing pieces.

“Did you ever notice anything?” you ask.

“I mean… not about you hooking up, but we thought you’d end up together eventually.” He shrugs. “We always kinda assumed that you two would become those people who make a pact to get married if you’re still single by 40 or 50, if you didn’t get together before then. It makes sense. You and Minho just sort of make sense.”

“Oh,” you say. Your heart swoops. Hearing it from Seungmin makes you sad. Not the same brand of sadness that you’ve been wearing lately though. A different kind, the kind of sadness that’s a little numbing and makes it difficult to breathe. “Well, sorry to disappoint everyone but I don’t think any of it is gonna happen anymore.”

“So… how did it happen?” Seungmin asks again, mimicking explosions with his hands.

You let him off easy without a punch in the shoulder, because you just really don’t have the energy for it right now. “Minho wanted something more,” you tell your friend, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, then with the necklace charm resting on your collarbone. “And I just… I don’t know. I guess I freaked. I… said some awful stuff to him.”

Seungmin hums a sound of acknowledgement. He looks like he’s thinking about it, about you and Minho and what it means. “Classic,” he chuckles after a brief moment, mostly to himself. Maybe he’s thinking about what it means beyond just the pair of you too.

You side-eye him. “You’d know all about it, wouldn’t you?”

He shoots the glance back at you. “What are you trying to say here?”

You remember her, the only girl that Seungmin has ever hinted at liking. He never admitted it out loud to any of you, but you could all see it.

You only used to see her in passing at house parties, and even then, it wasn’t Seungmin nor her who brought the other one around. They would show up separately with their own group, mingle for a while, find each other after a couple of drinks before they disappeared to god-knows-where for the rest of the night. Sometimes, Changbin or Hyunjin would catch them before they could sneak off and insist that Seungmin let everyone get to know his friend.

These brief interactions are all you have with her, meaningless small talk for a few minutes before Seungmin’s patience ran thin and he whisked her away like they’d both intended. You liked her; she was nice, and she was really pretty. You liked her even though you didn’t know her, because she was the one person who Seungmin cared about enough to keep away from prying eyes. A secret shared only between the two of them, a bubble in which only they existed.

The last time you saw her with him must’ve been at least three months ago, maybe even longer. No one really knows what happened, just that she stopped showing up to parties, and Seungmin never brought it up again. You all assumed whatever he had going on with her had run its course, though it doesn’t really stop Hyunjin and Jisung from mentioning her every now and again just to tease him.

“I seem to recall a Halloween party last year and a certain someone was in a bee costume and–”

“Fine,” Seungmin interjects, rolling his eyes. “Fine, we can form our own dumbass club. Happy?”

You laugh a little, even though the whole thing isn’t very funny. Your shared experience is nothing to take pride in.

“So how did you blow it up?” you ask.

He gives you a sour glare before his eyes soften. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and in his silence you find that you and him are more similar in ways that you’ve never cared enough to admit before. This sadness that you carry, you have a feeling that he knows it all too well.

“Like I said, classic,” Seungmin tells you. “She wanted something more. I freaked. I ghosted her.”

A mirror. Two sides of the same stupid coin.

You lean back against your seat. “Did you like her?”

It takes a beat, but his answer comes out as an honest, “Yeah, I liked her. Liked her too much.”

“Why did you do that to her then?”

“Why did you do that to Minho?” Seungmin deadpans, but he doesn’t seem to want a response from you. He just sighs, wistfully adding, “I’ve thought about it a lot. It’s scary to be wanted because it means someone’s putting you on a pedestal, and when you’re on a pedestal, the more it’ll hurt if you fall off. The more they’re counting on you to not let them down, the easier it is to fuck it all up. People like us, we’re flight risks. We can’t help it. We think it’s better to just leave before we can do any real damage. When you said whatever terrible shit you said to Minho, that was the first thing you thought about, right? To be cruel? That’s what I did too. Such a fucking stupid knee-jerk reaction.”

You don’t know how to respond, so you just sit there, completely still. 

Then Seungmin turns to you, and for the first time in all the years that you’ve known him, he’s looking at you, really looking at you. No snarky side-eye, no playful faux glare. Just a strange and unfamiliar sincerity, like he’s asking you to fix what he couldn’t, undo the cruelty that he never bothered apologizing for.

“Minho would understand, you know? If you’d just talk to him,” Seungmin says. “You made a mistake in the heat of the moment. But you want to have something real with him, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to me about this and beating yourself up over it.”

“I told you. That ship sailed.” And you’re standing up for no apparent reason other than the fact that you’re suddenly restless, your stomach twisting in knots out of nowhere. “He’s not even here. He didn’t even show up tonight. I think that’s saying enough.”

Your friend rises to his feet too, probably because he thinks it’s weird to be the only one sitting now while you’re upset and pacing about. It’s not until Seungmin takes a step closer that you realize you’re shaking a little.

“Hey, you good?” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I talked to Minho yesterday. He said he’d come. Maybe something came up or he just–”

Hyunjin’s voice interrupts Seungmin in the middle of his sentence, the excited squeal carrying itself from all the way inside the gallery to the back garden through the door left ajar. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, maybe there’s a reason why people say it. It’s laughable, really.

You and Seungmin both turn your attention to the brief commotion indoors, where you see Hyunjin smiling so big that his eyes have crinkled into crescent moons, where he’s standing with his arm thrown around Minho and shaking him by the shoulders.

These days, it’s easy to pretend that time is standing still. You don’t even know if time is even passing at all; you’re just looking at him, dressed in a black blazer and some dress pants. Casual but he looks good. He always does.

You watch as he says something to Hyunjin that seems to calm the latter down a bit, at least enough for Minho to quickly scan the room, searching. You watch as his eyes sweep through all the people gathered inside, not stopping until they land on you, finding you on the other side of the glass door. Even in this terrible lighting, not entirely visible you assume, he sees you.

There was a conversation you had with Minho some time ago, when you two were sprawled out on your couch munching on strawberry Peperos and not paying attention to the movie that was playing on your TV, when he asked how you wanted your life to be at 40.

You knew what the boring answer was – you wanted your life to be stable, and you told him as much. Isn’t stability always the goal? Maybe a lame corporate job if the whole starving-artist-who-makes-it-big-overnight dream didn’t pan out. A cat and a dog named Mochi and Mocha, if you could afford two pets at once. An apartment that you owned, with framed pictures of everything you loved scattered all over the place, and stupidly cute fairy lights that you often see on Pinterest, and an unfathomable amount of plushies that your inner child was never indulged in. A peaceful and quiet life, at least to some extent. 

The honest answer, the one that you didn’t tell him, was you wanted to not live with regret.

But as you lock eyes with him, for a split second there, you know that you will.

About twenty years down the line, when you look back on your life and think of this chapter, you’ll think about a boy who loved you and whom you loved. How you broke both of your hearts trying to protect your own. You’ll wonder if he’s married, if he has kids, if he still reminisces about the girl he used to love when he was young. If he’s happy and if his dreams came true. If the sadness you caused yourself was worth it, if the pain meant anything at all. If you could go back in time and undo everything, would you?

You’ll get over it eventually – surely you will; heartbreak isn’t the end of the world – but you’ll live with the grief of what could’ve been if you weren’t afraid. You’ll be left to mourn the road not taken, your almost but never was. 

You’re the one who moves first, when it starts to become a struggle just to breathe. You stumble away from Minho’s line of sight, until you find a wall that you can rest against.

Seungmin is quick to follow. “Hey, woah, are you okay?”

Your hands alternate between balling themselves into tight fists and attempting in vain to grab at the flat surface of the concrete. There are no words that you can form to answer him. Only your ragged breathing and your pathetic effort to take in some air through your mouth.

“Okay, shit, uhm,” Seungmin sputters. “Hang on.”

Then he’s taking off. You don’t know how long he’s gone for, where he’s gone off to, and frankly, you can’t really bring yourself to care. Your hands abandon the wall in favor of your dress, something that you can actually hold onto. Your trembling fingers clutch the hem of your dress like they’re pretending it’s a lifeline, bunching and twisting the fabric in your sweaty palms. Hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t at all.

Even over the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you could hear new footsteps coming out into the empty garden. Rushed at first, then they stop for a brief moment. You know who it is before he even approaches you.

Damn that Kim Seungmin.

The familiar scent of his cologne greets you before his voice. You spent hours and hours enveloped in this scent until it was dulled by sweat from the activities you were engaged in, if it wasn’t already softened by the kisses you would leave all over his skin.

When he calls your name, it comes out so soft, like you never broke his heart in the first place and that night was only a figment of your twisted imagination. He sounds so gentle, yet it sends you further down the crippling spiral. You don’t deserve him; maybe you never did, despite what Seungmin tried to put through your head earlier.

“I’m fine.” But you know your appearance has already betrayed your words. The first thing you say to him in weeks, and it’s a lie. You’re still leaning against the wall with your arms wrapped tightly around your trembling frame and your eyes squeezed shut. It’s a pitiful sight. Even more so when it registers in your brain that it’s Minho of all people who’s witnessing it. 

He doesn’t say anything else, only lets out a sigh, and then his hand is on your body, a warm palm touching the small of your back out of habit before he moves it upward to rub between your shoulder blades. “Can you breathe?”

His question makes you all too aware that there’s something gnawing inside of your chest, makes you think for a second there that you’re going to die though you know that you won’t. You shake your head with your eyes still closed, your breathing coming out more ragged by the second. You can’t even bear to look at him and absorb the worry in his eyes; you’re sure you’ll only cry if you do, and it’s the last thing you need right now.

But it turns out that seeing Minho’s face isn’t the only thing that can bring you to tears. When you feel him tug at your arms, his warmth on your bare skin, you start crying anyway and that makes it even harder to breathe. There’s not a single ounce of resistance in your body, your limbs obeying him easily when they untangle themselves around your waist to fall by your sides as he pulls you into his chest, with one hand over your sternum and his thumb rubbing back and forth. He’s careful about it too, like he’s handling broken pieces of something that used to be beautiful.

“You’re okay,” he says, but you’ve got your face pressed into the crook of his neck and your tears are staining the collar of his shirt. “You’re gonna be fine. Just… listen to me.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to speak next.

“Name three things you can see,” he says. “You don’t have to say it out loud. Just think about it.”

You open your eyes finally, angling your head until most of your vision isn’t obstructed by the proximity of his body. Minho tightens his arm around you, and you blink away some of the tears.

Your black heels that your mom got you for your birthday a while ago.

The grass, darkened green and damp.

Him. 

“Three things you can hear.”

Light chatter coming from inside the gallery.

Cars passing by on the adjacent street.

Him, the sound of his breathing.

“Three things you can touch.”

The soft material of your dress against your skin.

The bracelet, hugging your wrist, weighing you down like an anchor.

And… him.

Him, him, him.

You don’t know what reason Minho makes up to excuse you for the rest of night, but you don’t bother asking. There’s really no space left in your head to think about it twice, to care about leaving your friends or feel guilty about Hyunjin because he was so excited about today. It’s too much; all you want is to go home, get away from here.

Minho calls you both an Uber back to your place. During the entire ride, he doesn’t say a word and neither do you. And even though you mostly opt for looking out the window at the other cars and houses and people passing by, every now and then you could feel his eyes on you from the other side of the backseat.

When you arrive, he keeps a hand on the small of your back as you make your way up the stairs. When you unlock the door, you leave it open so he could follow you inside. You suppose that one is a force of habit. You’re not used to shutting the door in his face. At least, not in the literal sense anyway.

Then it returns, that gnawing feeling. A feeling far too colossal for your body to house. It sits somewhere inside your ribcage, sharp and desperate, with claws trying to dig its way out. And for the first time in maybe ever, you understand what it truly means to want something this badly. You love him, and it hurts. You love him even though it hurts.

Minho moves around the place while you remain frozen in the middle of your own apartment, as if he’s the one who lives here and you’re just visiting for the night. You let him take off your makeup (with a wipe; you’re going to hate yourself in the morning), let him help you change into clothes that you can sleep in, even let him tuck you into bed like you’re a helpless child. If he notices the bracelet on you, he doesn’t say anything. Everything is done in silence.

You don’t look him in the eye. You don’t think you can handle what you’ll find there.

But you do reach for his hand when he tries to leave now that there’s nothing left for him to do here. There’s not a single thought behind your action, just a need to have him near.

“Can you…?” 

You aren’t brave enough to finish the question, your voice trailing off and the words dissipating like smoke after a lonely cigarette drag. You’re being selfish right now, you’re awfully aware of this.

Minho doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even let out a single sigh. For a second there, you think he’s about to leave you here, cold and alone, just like you had done to him. It would be nothing less than what you deserve.

But then he’s shrugging off his blazer and your heart is in your throat. When he slips into bed beside you, something hurts, the kind of ache that spreads all across your chest and makes your lungs burn.

Earlier tonight, he could’ve walked away and let you be somebody else’s burden. Your friends were all there, it’s not like they would’ve left you stranded.

You’re not really sure what to think. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hate you, but maybe it’s just enough confirmation that he doesn’t hate you more than he loves you.

You break the deafening stretch of silence with a whisper, “I’m sorry.” You don’t know what the apology is for. Are you sorry for that night, for the things you said to him? Are you sorry that you’re only yourself, that he just had to go ahead and fall for you of all people? Sorry that you’re too much of a coward and a lost cause to love him right? You don’t know, but it feels appropriate to apologize. You owe him that much.

“Don’t…” Minho says after a while. “You don’t have to do that.”

The familiar sensation returns – the one that stings the back of your eyes, burns your nostrils and makes you all choked up. You try to hold your breath and will it away, but the first tear spills without your permission, and you can’t help the shaky inhale – close to a gasp and followed by a sniffle – that punctuates your lungs when they start protesting against the sudden lack of oxygen. 

You grip the sheets so hard you think you could rip through the fabric and dig into your own palm. It’s a pathetic feeling, like a strange kind of embarrassment that you can’t quite describe. The room is deadly quiet; you know there’s no way he didn’t catch the noise.

You hear Minho shift from where he lays behind you, some rustling when he moves against the duvet and the mattress. “Don’t cry,” he sighs. And it’s still so gentle. You’ve never known him to be anything but gentle.

You bite the inside of your cheek, blinking some of the tears away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… don’t cry.” It sounds like he’s holding something back but you aren’t sure. “Don’t cry. Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning, if you want.”

You sniffle some more, and maybe that makes Minho think he still needs to appease you even further. He reaches out finally, to brush a comforting hand against your arm. “Go to sleep. Promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You don’t know if you want to talk in the morning, because there’s nothing for you to say. All you really have is what he’s already heard – I’m sorry, like an utterly broken record. But you want him to stay even if it’s only for the morning. Even if all he’ll get is silence at best and choked up breaths at worst. Your last-ditch attempt at grasping straws, a futile effort to chase running water.

“Okay,” you tell him, and neither of you says anything afterward. The tears keep falling for a while, and at some point it tires you out enough to slip into a dreamless sleep.

When you open your eyes hours later, the sun is already up. The clock on your phone reads 7:06AM and the first thing you register is an uncomfortable dryness in your throat. Behind you, the bed is still warm. You can actually feel it underneath your fingertips when you reach out, the warmth dwindling from the side of the bed that’s been left vacant. Minho has never broken a promise to you before.

He’s gone, and you sink again.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.01.2025]

[asagewitch05]

(you inspire me sm)

Dick isn't sure why, but the scene in front of him hurts. There's nothing wrong with it; in fact, it's so wholesomely domestic that it should make his heart all fuzzy and warm- like how he gets when he gets to spend some time with his siblings, or when Damian sleeps over.

But it doesn't. It makes his heart twist painfully, like someone is trying to tug it out of his chest. It doesn't make sense, and that hurts too. Why does this bother him so much?

Bruce is sitting, chatting with Tim about some science article, with Jason sarcastically adding in every once in a while when he looks up from his Jane Austen- Pride and Prejudice, again. Steph and Duke are gossiping about some celebrity, while Barbara scrolls through her phone, trying to find the cat picture she had saved to show Damian, with Cass peering over her shoulder. Alfred is watching them all with a small uptick of his lips, a slight crinkle to his eye that shows how happy he is.

Dick doesn't fit in this scene. He knows he can, if he sits on the free couch, or on Jason's couch where he was splayed because he'd- begrudgingly- make space for him. Damian would likely sit beside him with ease, managing to finally tell him about an art assignment he has to do.

But he doesn't just slide into it like the rest of them. He can distantly realize he's been standing in the shadow of the doorway for a while, but no one has noticed. Even him.

He's pretty sure the issue is Bruce. He'd had a rapport with Bruce, he'd had a dynamic and he still does, but it isn't like his siblings and Bruce. Bruce doesn't have that same smoothness of chatting about his life anymore. That same ease.

He remembers the Titans being utterly horrified that Dick had trained so hard under Bruce, been so mistreated and neglected (although he still found that hard to swallow as a concept because Bruce was just Bruce. That was how he acted. Except not with Jason. Or Tim. Or Steph or Cass or Duke or Barbara. It's just him and Damian. And he'd finally understood why the Titans were so upset and angry at Bruce when Dick saw how Damian was being pushed to the side because he didn't deserve that.) He remembers even more so how angry they were that Bruce only treated Dick that way.

And Dick has shrugged it off and smiled because the performer, the supporter he is wouldn't just let himself admit that it was wrong.

He is glad, though, that no one else got that cold shoulder. The pure exhaustion of training until you passed out and then getting up and doing it all again. He did have to admit that it kept him alive and safer when he was with Slade, but still. He guesses that's why he watches them closely, when they train or spar with Bruce. Because Bruce never knew Dicks limits as a kid, why would he know theirs?

He feels guilty, and horrible for that wretched twist of jealousy in his gut, at both his siblings and his teammates. Their mentors knew limits. Knew when to stop. They knew that passing out or vomiting up bile was more than enough reason to just stop training for a bit.

'Why couldn't he have had that Bruce?' is what he always asks himself. But then he remembers that they would have gotten that Bruce too if Dick hadn't charted out some of the path for Bruce. Smoothed out his ragged edges.

So he shoved down that writhing feelings monster in his gut and puts on his best smile and walks in, sitting down at the free couch.

After all, he is but a performer.

Me after making this:

I hurt myself so bad man. Not even joking this was painful to write (totally not projecting *at all*)😭😭😭

Edit: now cross posted on AO3 under the title 'The Pain of Being First' and the user ASageWitch05 cause that's me!

Ok, but a canon-divergent AU where Bruce is a terrible father figure to Dick, but he doesn't know it.

Of course, in canon Bruce is far from being a perfect father (even a good one in many cases), but at least he cares about Dick, even if he has a peculiar way of showing it (I'm talking to you, Bruce, who decides if saving the world is worth it only if Dick will be okay).

But imagine an AU where everything happened the same, or almost, except that neither Alfred nor Bruce cared to show, not even kindness, but that much empathy for Dick. However, in this AU Dick's father was not very affectionate either, so Dick does not associate male figures as affectionate.

It's not until Dick is with his team that he learns... That's not normal.

Dick: So... You guys didn't train until you pass out? Weren't you taught that the only way to get better is to push your own limits?

Roy: *wanting to kill Bruce* No, Dick. The first thing they teach you is how to stay safe, you know, avoid getting to the point where you pass out from the effort.

Dick: Oh.

Donna: Dick, you should rest, you're hurt. You literally have a broken ankle.

Dick, who is at the gym, doing arm exercises and twists that are not at all safe for an injured person: I'm fine, Donna. I'm just warming up. I've been on patrol in worse conditions.

Donna: Wdym by that? Worse???

Dick: Yes...? Villains don't take a break just because you're hurt, you know that.

Donna: That's why there are other heroes to help!

Dick: Don't you guys have a rule about not taking help from anyone? That shows weakness and...

Donna: No, Dick, no.

Dick, confused: Oh.

Wally: Please tell me you're not doing that thing again.

Dick: What thing?

Wally: Not sleeping or eating to be on guard.

Dick: Well, it's my job, so...

Wally: You. Are. A. Human. YOU NEED REST AND FOOD.

Dick: I'm fine, it's not like...

Wally: Don't you dare say that Batman made you stay in those conditions for more days. That's NOT normal, Dick.

Dick: ... It's not?

Dick: So... you guys aren't on guard all the time waiting for your mentors to surprise attack you to test your reflexes?

Roy: I swear to God I gonna kill him.

Donna: I'll help.

Wally: On it.

Dick: *panics*

It's even worse for his friends when they discorver that his siblings are being treated much better, as after he leaves, Bruce and Alfred finally begin to notice how to treat children.

Dick was literally trial and error.

[oneforthemunny]

more mafia!eddie and baby bea please!!!!!!!

i thought today about him and baby bea. about how eddie would be absolutely petrified to hold her when she is first born. a complete moment of horrified vulnerability as he holds her so close to him. he’s terrified he’s holding her wrong, so he holds her with both hands, but he’s also terrified of holding her too strong like he might hurt her or break her, so he’s just so petrified.

wide eyed in the delivery room, looking at you with desperation. “am i doing it right?” because he is SCARED!! he’s so overwhelmed with love and literally would do anything and everything for her, and at the same time feels like he has no clue what to do.

once he gets the hang of it tho? oh, he barely lets her out of his sight. you have to fight him to hold her because he is a “baby hog” as you call him. he’s enthralled with her entirely. every feature, every cry, every coo, everything. completely and utterly enthralled.

also makes gareth, max, and jeff all drive with him home from the hospital in separate cars. not bc he’s scared he’ll get ambushed or something insane, oh no, because he’s scared someone will get too close to him while he’s driving ten under the speed limit (for the first time in his life) and he’ll kill them. plain and simple, he will kill them if they got too close or if they hit their brakes and made him hit his. so max is in front, gareth and jeff in the back of him, creating like a barrier all the way back to the house because nothing is happening to sweet baby bea.

[thef1diary]

teamprincipal!carlos fingering you after he heard you say bad things about yourself after a race and making you praise yourself 😵‍💫😵‍💫

— good god nonnie 🥵 he will never let anyone speak badly about his driver. 18+ content below

The door to Carlos’ office slammed shut behind you, the tension in the air thick enough to suffocate. You paced the room, tugging at the sleeves of your race suit, anger and self-loathing swirling in your chest. The race had been a disaster—or so you thought—and the words spilled from your lips before you could stop them.

“I’m so fucking useless,” you muttered, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I’m a goddamn joke out there—”

“What did you just say?”

Carlos’s voice stopped you in your tracks. It was low, sharp, and full of disbelief. He stood by the door, his arms crossed, his dark eyes narrowing on you like you were a problem he needed to fix.

“I—” you stammered, caught off guard by the intensity of his glare.

“Don’t you dare,” he muttered, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. His tone softened, but it was no less commanding. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that.”

Before you could respond, his hands were on you, one gripping your chin to tilt your head up, the other slipping around your waist. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your apology, silencing every self-deprecating word you wanted to say.

The kiss was rough, possessive, yet tinged with something almost tender. You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you closer, your bodies flush. His hardening cock pressed against you, and your hips instinctively ground against him, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Do you have any idea how fucking incredible you are?” he murmured against your lips, his voice laced with both anger and something softer—almost hurt. “How can you think otherwise?”

His hands found the zipper of your race suit, tugging it down to your waist. Beneath it, your fireproofs clung to your body, but Carlos was quick to strip you of the top, exposing your bare skin. His gaze raked over you, dark and hungry, as his hands cupped your tits.

“Let me remind you,” he said, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, rolling them between his fingers until they hardened under his touch. The sensation sent sparks straight to your pussy, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Sir,” you breathed, your body arching into his hands as he pinched and teased. The attention he lavished on your nipples had you squirming, your thighs pressing together in search of relief.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice softening as his lips brushed along your jaw, then down your neck. “So beautiful, so fucking perfect.” His hands continued their work, alternating between gentle caresses and rough pinches that left you gasping.

The heat pooling between your legs was unbearable by the time he pulled back, his hands sliding lower. He turned you around, pressing you against the edge of his desk. His palm slid beneath the waistband of your fireproof leggings, finding your bare, slick cunt.

“You’re dripping,” he said, his tone low and full of approval. “All this for me, hermosa?”

You nodded, your breath hitching as his fingers dipped into your folds, spreading your arousal.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, sliding two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit. His pace was maddeningly slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating. “Now, tell me what I want to hear.”

“I—I’m sorry,” you started, but his fingers froze. His other hand grazed up your back until he reached the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair before he tugged harshly.

He leaned closer, and you were able to feel the heat of his body surrounding you. “Wrong answer,” he whispered in your ear, his voice dark and dangerous. He pulled his fingers out of your pussy and slapped your clit, the sharp sting making you cry out.

“Sir, please!” you whimpered, your body trembling as he teased you mercilessly.

“Try again,” he said, sliding his fingers back inside you with a rough thrust. “Say something good about yourself.”

“I—I’m good enough,” you stammered, the pleasure building in your core.

“Louder,” he commanded, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

“I’m good enough!” you cried out, your hands clawing at the desk for support.

“And?” he pressed, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, making your legs shake.

“I’m a good driver,” you whispered, the tears pooling in your eyes as you struggled to believe your own words while focusing on the pleasure building.

“The best,” he corrected, his pace quickening. “Say it.”

“I’m the best!” you sobbed, your body shaking as the tension coiled tighter and tighter.

“Good girl,” he purred, his lips brushing against your ear as he worked you closer to the edge. “Now cum for me. Show me how much you believe it.”

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as he continued to thrust his fingers into you, drawing out every drop of your release. The wet, filthy sounds of your orgasm filled the room, your cries of pleasure muffled by his hand over your mouth.

As you slumped against the desk, breathing heavily, Carlos carefully flipped you over, a small smile gracing his lips as he noticed your tinged cheeks. He leaned down, grazing his lips over your neck before pressing a firm kiss to the spot behind your ear.

“Remember this, princesa,” he murmured, his voice softer but no less authoritative. “You’re mine. My driver. The best one on the grid. And I don’t let anyone—not even you—talk shit about my driver.”

want more team principal!carlos? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[do-not-fold-spindle-or-mutilate]

Oh no it's dumber than that. The progenitors were billions of years ago. They somehow manipulated initial conditions to ensure each planet would produce humanoids literally billions of years later. I the process, they buried a map in the strands of primordial DNA so that various humanoid species would have to work together to assemble the whole thing, and the map led to a message explaining that that's what they did. The message assumed that it was found by a galactic civilization working in harmony and peace and gently congratulated its recipients for the achievement.

The search for the message nearly started an interstellar war on a scale well beyond anything star trek ever actually shows because starfleet, the klingon, the romulans, and the cardassians all assumed it was a superweapon with absolutely no evidence. Pretty much the only person who didn't assume that was Picard, and he was still scrambling to get it first just in case.

Between the baffling premise, bleak picture of interstellar realpolitik, and utterly bonkers interpretation of how evolution works, it manages to be more of a "the racist UFO cults are wrong because none of them are crazy enough" vibe.

Great episode.

So Vulcans are space elves. Do fantasy elves also bleed green or does that just happen to them in space

[planetpedri]

Hii! I love your fics I was wondering if you could do Pablo torre bf hcs thank you!!🫶🏼

Pablo Torre Boyfriend Head Canons ! ‘ oh i believe, they’re meant to be. Something, somehow, someday. ’

Bf!Pablo who . . . said the first ‘I love you.’ It was messy and accidental—he’d been wanting to do it romantically, but he had never been able to hold a secret from you. And ever since he said it, he never stopped. He said it when you were making dinner, when you were cleaning, when you were simply walking beside him. He is just so deeply and utterly in love with you.

Bf!Pablo who . . . doesn’t mind PDA. It’s not his absolute favorite thing, he likes to keep it intimate between the two of you. But, he always holds your hand in public. Sometimes he’ll kiss you too—mostly on your forehead and cheek, but it’s all you need.

Bf!Pablo who . . . does everything and anything for you. His love language is definitely acts of service. He will make you your favorite meals just because. If you break something, he’ll go and get it fixed the second he has the time outside of training and games. If you stare longingly at a pet on the street—he’s bringing you to the pet store the next day. Anything to see a smile grow on your face.

Bf!Pablo who . . . is very timid and quiet. You do a lot of the talking in the relationship. He prefers to listen to you speak since he wasn’t one to talk often, but that is not to say this boy doesn’t get his yap on. There are times he speaks so much about some random topic, it leaves you speechless. His cheeks will flush when he realizes.

“Sorry, am I rambling?”

“Yes, and I love it. Keep going!”

Bf!Pablo who . . . hates when you’re upset. The rare moments when you do argue and fight, it weighs on him heavily. He’ll practically get headaches from how much it stresses him out. Even when you are in the wrong he can’t find it in himself to stay angry with you for too long. Sure, he’ll wait until you inevitably apologize, but the second you start—well, he’s already sighing thankfully and pulling you into a hug.

Bf!Pablo who . . . adores you most ardently. He could stare at you for hours and never get sick of you. He would be content just spending every minute of every day hearing you talk about one of your new interests. He loves watching you do your makeup or do your skin care or.. well everything for that matter! In his eyes, you are perfect.

Bf!Pablo who . . . loves when you come to his games. He’ll even scan the crowd (when he knows you’ll be there) to find you before he relaxes and gets ready to play. He will make sure to lift a hand in your direction and you’ll be sure to send an air kiss his way. He will smile and shake his head, but his heart fills to the brim at the small action.

Bf!Pablo who . . . does everything to assure you are alright. If you are sick or depressed or anything that has your mood being anything but happy—he’s finding a way to change that. Whether it’s ordering your favorite snacks or bringing you home a gift basket—he’s doing it. If you want alone time, he’ll give it to you without a complaint. If you need to lay in his arms for hours, he’ll let you without hesitation. At the end of the day, you are the one that keeps him grounded so he will do the same for you.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to bet tagged in any of my posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @sakashq @ar4ujos @lechrts @be11ingham @joaoflms @spidybaby @piastri-fvx

[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: A chat with a stranger has your world turning on its axis as you try to navigate your relationship with Joel.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of SA (not depicted in detail) Language, death.

Word Count: 3.6k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Useless. It was a certain funny feeling that had always lurked at the back of your mind. 

Everything that’d ever happened to you, be it falling off your bike and scraping your knees or screwing up your relationship with Joel, you were utterly useless. 

Even now as you stared at the clinic doors you felt it. Useless. Worthless. Empty. 

“Y’okay?” 

“Fine.” 

Joel led the way into the clinic. Down a hall, a right, then a left, and then the wood of an old door was staring back at you. 

“Dr. Hill said she was real hostile to Tommy last night.” Joel says softly, “I’ll be right outside if something goes wrong.” 

You nod and take a deep breath. Pushing the door open to reveal the woman that had become the talk of the town. 

The woman was still tied to the small cot the clinic room held. Both skinny arms were tied to one of the bedposts with a piece of rope. 

“Get out.” She hisses, refusing to look at you 

Your eyes sweep over what isn’t being obscured by the blankets that cover her lower half. Long arms poke out of the paper-thin hospital gown Dr. Hill must’ve given her. Discolored bruises litter the skin making it look ugly and thin. Her face, which should’ve had the youthful glow of a woman in her mid-twenties, was gaunt and grey with sickness. 

“Dr. Hill said she was runnin’ a real bad fever, don’t get too close to her in case she’s contagious.”  

Joel’s warning filled your mind as you gestured to a seat about five feet away from the bed, 

“Mind if I sit?” 

The woman, Lana, didn’t speak or make a motion to stop you as you settled into the stiff wooden chair, a small oof leaving your lips when one of your knees popped, you were feeling your 44 years of life right now. 

Lana watches you cautiously. If she were untied, you’re sure she might bolt for the door and sprint out of the clinic. She reminded you of a skittish deer. The look on her face was one you knew well. It was a look you’d worn for weeks so many years ago, one that only one man could pull from a woman. 

Adam. The joining link between the two of you. Even now, a day after his death you shiver like he’s here in the room, staring at you. If you squint hard enough you might see his face painted on the wall, looking at you with that lopsided smirk he often wore when things went his way. 

You wondered how long she’d spent with him. Was it more time than you? Less? How did he treat her? Did he pretend to save her from his comrades? Was The Walrus still breathing somewhere on this Earth? 

The scars that hide under your shirt threaten to burn right through the warm fabric. A sweat breaks out on your skin. Fuck, this was ridiculous. You wanted to leave and go home. 

You take a deep breath, you don’t want to do this. Talking to this stranger, what good could you possibly do? You were always screwing up, why should this be any different? 

You sit in silence, staring at the way the paint is peeling on the wall across from you. Perhaps you could just lie to Dr. Hill and say this lady rejected you too. The older doc wasn’t even here, how would he know if you didn’t try to “connect” with Lana? 

“Who’re you?” 

Lana makes the first move, breaking the silence that you’d been plotting to keep. 

You blink dumbly, you hadn’t expected this. Stuttering out your name you look at her. She has bright blue eyes with tangled blonde hair to match. Long lashes flutter as she stares back, saying her own name quietly. 

“What happened to the man with the mustache?” 

Tommy. He was probably currently across the clinic probably cooing at his new baby and helping Maria wobble her way to the bathroom. 

“He’s not important right now.” You say, deciding not to tell her about something she didn’t need to know. 

She scoffs, shifting beneath her blankets, “So are you the boss then? Sent him in first to get information from me?” 

Your face remains neutral, in what world would you be running Jackson? Surely she didn’t think you were that kind of person. 

“No. I’m not the boss. There isn’t actually one person in charge here at all.” You say 

She shakes her head in disbelief, “There is always someone in charge. Just let me meet him.”  

You explain how Jackson functions to her, its council, how you all share things with each other, trading amongst yourselves. Lana listens intently, you can tell she's impressed by the picture you paint in her head. 

“How do I know you’re not lying?” She asks warily

“You don’t.” You respond, “Just have to trust me.” 

Her gaze drops to her lap and winces when her wrists twist a bit in her binds. 

“Trusting people is dangerous.” 

You nod in agreement, you know that the last time you’d fully trusted a stranger you’d left with more trauma than you could carry. 

“Alright,” you say, “I’ve shared with you, and now I want you to answer some of my questions. Then, if I think you won’t run off, I’ll untie you.” 

She looks at you tentatively, her eyes brimming with apprehension as you ask your first question, 

“What were you doing with Adam?” 

The door to the exam room slams open. Joel jumps as you pace over to where he’d dozed off on a bench in the hallway. Your worried expression makes him panic as he gets to his feet. What had happened? 

“What’s wrong? She hurt you?” Joel asks, his eyes scanning for any injuries 

You shake your head, pulling away from him when he steps closer to you. 

“Where’s Tommy?” 

“With Maria. Said somethin’ about learning to swaddle his kid, why?”

You turn on your heel, legs propelling you towards the direction of Maria’s room. Joel scampers after you, his knees popping when he matches your frantic pace. 

“Slow down.” He huffs, “Tell me what’s goin’ on.” 

Your warpath continues as you reach Maria’s room, your hand lands on the handle and Joel grabs your upper arm, turning you to face him, 

“What’s happening?” He asks he needs to know before you go in there to his brother.

Your mouth gapes as the door opens anyway, a disgruntled Tommy standing in the doorway. 

“Babies sleeping, you two are loud.” 

Perhaps Joel should care more about waking his new niece, but all he wanted was for you to tell him what the hell was going on. What had you so panicked you looked like you might throw up? 

“Tommy,” Your eyes tear away from Joels, “Tommy, we need to get every person who can shoot up on the walls.” 

“What? What’d the girl say?” Tommy asks, disgruntled as he pulls the door shut, shielding Maria from whatever is coming next.

Joel worriedly looks at you, your chest rises and falls as you take a deep breath, eyes still fixed on his brother. 

“Joel and I, we killed the man who came in with her.” 

Tommy’s head swivels to look at Joel, anger settles on his features as he opens his mouth to discipline his older brother. 

“What? Joel, we talked about this, you can’t just kill-” 

“Would you let me finish?” You huff

Joel shoots his little brother a look, he has no fucking idea what Adam had done, who was Tommy to tell him who he could and couldn’t kill? At this point, Joel would gladly kill Adam a thousand times over and it still wouldn’t be enough revenge for what he’d done to you.

“They’re raiders. Well, he was. Adam, he and Lana were sent out to scope Jackson out. Lana’s from a group they killed months ago. She’s…She was his…” 

Joel watches as your voice dies in your throat. Your hands nervously twist together as you stammer over what you’re trying to say. 

Lana was you. Adam had apparently made it a habit to torture and assault the women he came across. Joel felt anger flash through his system. That fucker hadn’t deserved the bullet you put in his skull. Joel should’ve made it longer, for you, for Lana, for whoever else Adam had hurt over the years. 

“She give you a number? How many are there?” Tommy asks, clearly understanding what you’re trying to say. 

You shake your head, “I dunno, she said there were at least over 15. She um…spent most of her time with Adam and-” 

The door is pulled open again, and this time Maria stands there, wrapped up in a big fluffy bathrobe, her hair is messily pulled back, eyes are lined with dark bags from her new child. 

“We need more patrol shifts. Wall security needs to be doubled.” She says, “Tommy, I want you to get the council together for me,” She glances at Joel her eyes scanning his form, “Have Joel lead a group with our best shooters out as soon as possible. Make sure they're not coming for us right now.” 

Joel knows he’s always been on thin ice with his sister-in-law. She’s never quite clicked with him yet here she was putting Jackson’s safety in his hands. 

He gives her a firm nod, “I’ll get goin’ now.” 

Tommy grabs Joel by the arm, his face is serious, with not a smile in sight. 

“Be careful.” 

He gives his little brother a pat on the back, Joel would be fine. Twenty-one years in the apocalypse, he could handle a few raiders. 

There's a warm breeze as he leaves the clinic. Who were Jackson’s best shooters? Tommy was one but he’d be rallying the council and up on the wall all night. That left him, Brett, that Louis fellow wasn’t half bed either. It’d be better to have at least four though, the more manpower the better. 

“Joel!” 

He turns around to see you, racing out of the clinic to catch up to him. What the hell were you doing now? 

“Let me come.” You demand when you reach him 

“What?” He looks down at you, “No.” 

Your brow furrows in disappointment and Joel sighs deeply. 

“Sweetheart, yesterday, we…”His eyes scan your face, you’re not mentally ready for this he can tell, “Yesterday you handled a big piece of your past. I just don’t think you’re cut out for this.” 

Joel isn’t expecting the slap that comes. His face stings from your palm meeting the skin of his cheek.

“Fuck you.” You scoff, “I’m going.” 

Joel watches as you stomp off towards god knows where. His legs pump after you as you huff when he falls into step with you, grabbing you and pulling you off into a narrow alleyway. 

“Didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart. I just meant that you…maybe you should just stay back, and take some time to think about…” 

He isn’t good at this, giving people advice. He’s better at giving orders and letting them carry them out. 

“Think about what, Joel? About what Adam did to me?” 

You take a step towards him, crowding his personal space. 

“I’ve thought about that for years. Every night I’m terrified he’ll show up and rip me out from under the blankets and get on top of me.” 

Joel feels his heart drop. You’d been living in fear of Adam for so long and here you were trying to go right back out there, closer to the men he worked with. 

“Exactly why I want you to sit this out. It’s going to be dangerous.” He says 

You give Joel a hard shove to the shoulders, and he stumbles back. He couldn’t let you go out there, what if you got hurt or they got overwhelmed and you were captured? What the fuck were you thinking, asking him to just let you out of the safety of Jackson. 

“I need this Joel. Why can’t you see that?” 

Anger boils in his chest. You needed this? What you needed to get shot? Taken by those men again? Turned into a slave for their sick pleasures? 

No. Joel couldn’t let that happen. He hadn’t been there to stop it the first time but he could now. He was going to do what he should’ve twenty years ago, and keep you safe. 

“You need to stay put. Here. Behind the walls where I know you’re safe.” 

“I need this.” You beg, tears in your eyes, your voice a whisper, “Joel please…let me feel useful again. I want to stop them. To stop them from taking another me or another Lana.” 

Joel lets out a deep sigh. He understood where you were coming from but he couldn’t let you come. Beyond the walls was unpredictable, he knew that better than you did. You’d spent years here in Jackson and he’d just walked across the damn country with a teenager. 

Your face is set in a hard stare as you look up at him. He can’t tell what you’re thinking as your mouth opens again, 

“I’ll leave without your blessing, Joel. This is me telling you, I’m going.” 

Joel shakes his head, no you just didn’t get it. 

“I’m going. It’s just a matter of if I’m going with you and your group, or alone.” 

Joel reaches out, his hand shakes a bit as he cups your face. A gentle gesture he remembers you used to relish in so many years ago. In another universe he’s sitting on his couch back in Texas, holding you as you giggle and watch a stupid rom-com with him. Instead, he’s standing here, an old man with hands dipped in the blood of so many as he tries to keep you safe and out of the reach of the monsters of this world. What a horrible hand the world has dealt him. 

Joel thumbs away a tear that hovers on your cheek. You whisper another please to him and his heart squeezes. 

Fine, he’ll let you go. Besides he couldn’t keep you safe if you ran off on your own to hunt these men. At least this way you’d have him at your side. 

“You listen to me out there.” He orders, “You understand? No running off on a revenge path.” 

You nod and sniffle a bit, turning your face to nuzzle closer to his touch. 

Joel leans in, his lips meet the warm skin of your forehead. A kiss brushes the skin of your forehead as he pulls you into what is probably a bone-crushing hug from your point of view. Your voice trickles into his ears again, warm as the spring breeze that floats through the town, 

“Thank you, Joel.” 

Three hours later, you ride out of Jackson. Joel leads you and two other men, Brett and Louis out along the furthest patrol route Jackson’s people watch. You grip Pepper’s reigns tight enough that your knuckles go white. 

Brett and Louis are fine. They’re both decent shots from what you can remember. It helps that they’re both young and filled with muscle. You found yourself wishing you had more mass, bigger biceps, and stronger legs. If you were tackled how long would you be able to survive with a man twice your size above you? Surely if any of these men you were after recognized you, you’d be killed. Not that it bothered you. Death was a much sweeter release than being taken by any of them again. 

Lana had said that there were at least over 15 men in Adam’s group. She said they often split up to do recon and patrol shifts, and that some of them had been close to the dam when she and Adam were “taken” in by Jackson’s patrol unit. 

You wondered who was leading them now. Lana said she spent most of her time with Adam and some other man named Paul. The fact this group had grown so much over the years made you shudder, all you knew was that Adam wasn’t at the head of it. Lana said he often mentioned a boss to her, a man she had never gotten the chance to meet. 

Lucky her.

The sun began to set as Joel suggested that they hole up in an old cabin up ahead. The other two men agreed and before you knew it you were sitting in between Joel and Louis eating a sandwich Ellie had made for you. 

Brett and Louis take the first shift of watch and leave you and Joel in the cabin. A single camping lantern sits on the ground, just barely illuminating the room. 

“You can have the bed. I’ll sleep down here.” Joel gestures to the old couch that had been pushed off to the side of the room after Brett deemed it too moth-ridden to sit on without it falling in on itself. 

You shake your head, he couldn’t stay there. He’d done so much for you, even if his rejection the other day had pissed you off, he deserved a bed. 

“We can share. I don’t mind.” 

Joel, as it turns out, snores. 

Loudly. 

You huff and turn onto your side. You wish you had a pillow to stuff over your head so the sound could be muffled a bit. God, he sounded like a fucking lawnmower. You should’ve just let him have the couch. 

You groan and flop onto your back. It’d been years since you shared a bed with him, if only 35-year-old Joel was here, he wouldn’t snore like this. Sure an occasional snort, and maybe a fart or two but at least he was quiet most of the night. 

“What’s wrong?” Joel mumbles from your right 

“Nothing. Go to bed.” You huff 

A beat of silence, had he gone back to sleep? 

“You’re upset,” Joel says, turning on his side to face you. 

The pale moonlight illuminates him as you turn to look at him in the darkness. You face him, scooching a bit closer so your noses are only inches apart. 

“You snore.” You say 

Joel’s brow knits together in confusion, “No I don’t.” 

“You do. You sound like that lawn mower you used to keep in your garage.” 

“You mean the broken one that smoked when it was turned on?” 

“Yeah.” You huff, “You’re that loud, Joel.” 

He grumbles a sorry and you smile softly. He looks pretty like this, his face illuminated by the moon, and his tired eyes staring into yours. Grey hairs litter his beard as you try to imagine what it might feel like pressed against your face. 

“I feel like Ellie would’ve told me I snored.” Joel thinks out loud 

“She’s clearly trying to spare your feelings.” You grumble, your eyes beginning to droop. 

“She’s a teenager. She wouldn’t spare your feelings even if you were dying.” Joel huffs 

You giggle, how right he is. Ellie was the most judgemental little girl you knew. Even that Dina girl who had once told you your shirt was ugly wasn’t as bad as Ellie.  

Joel throws off an impressive amount of heat as you lie there, fighting your drowsiness. You scoot a bit closer to him, craving the warmth he provides. 

“I liked what happened earlier.” You softly admit when your nose brushes his 

“Hmm?” Joel’s eyes lazily pull back open to look at you.

“In the alley. You give great hugs.” You smile, “They’re real bear hugs.” 

“It’s probably all the extra fat I’ve been lugging around. Y’gotta stop sending me cookies.” Joel sighs, his eyes fluttering shut again. 

You scoff, “Please. You’re anything but fat.” 

He rolls onto his back and Joel’s hand comes up and pats his belly from on top of his shirt. 

“This says otherwise, sweetheart.” 

He can’t see it, but you roll your eyes. 

“Went up a size or two on my belt since gettin’ into Jackson as well.”  

You push yourself up onto your elbows and poke your finger into his cheek. His eyes open again and jealousy twinges in your chest. Why was he blessed with such nice eyelashes. Those should be yours, he had no use for them. 

“There’ll be no body shaming on my watch, Mr. Miller.” 

“You’re makin’ me feel a thousand years old, calling me that.” He mumbles 

“Yeah, yeah.” You brush him off, “Just between you and me, dad bods have always been better than six packs.” 

Joel’s gaze flits over to you and he looks at you a bit incredulously. He must think you’re full of shit. 

“I’m serious.” 

You smile and flop back down, breaking the invisible boundary between the two of you but resting your chin on his chest. Part of your body rests on top of his now and he makes no motion to push you away. It’s a familiar position, one you had enjoyed so many years ago. Perhaps yesterday had just been a fluke. 

Joel huffs a small breath as if he’s saying he doesn’t believe you. 

“I’m going to bed.” You mumble into the soft fabric of his dark blue shirt. 

Joel is quiet, still as a statue under you as your eyes flutter shut. Then, his deep voice fills the room again, 

“I’m sorry. For yesterday. Pushing you away like that…You were hurtin’ and I was…well, I was scared.” 

“It’s alright.” You quietly reply, your finger drawing a circle on his t-shirt-clad chest. 

You don’t know what else to say to him. You knew yesterday had been the wrong move. Trying to get him to sleep with you after everything with Adam. You knew that wasn’t what you wanted. You had just been craving love and acceptance, you wanted to be wanted by someone. 

You wanted Joel to want you. 

Next Part

Yummy fluff. Hehe.

I need to figure out wtf I should name Tommy and Maria's kid. I wonder what HBO is gonna name them.

I can't believe Season Two is confirmed for April.

Season Two spoilers in the next little note:

Ugh, I'm so scared...Joel, STAY AWAY FROM GOLF PLEASE I BEG!!

God, Pedro needs a helmet. First Oberyn Martell and now Joel... :(

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter, I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

@lunaticgurly  @orcasoul  @snowlycanroc  @freythecrazyfae

@person-005 @greenwitchfromthewoods

@elli3williams @yawnzzzzzzzz @am-3-thyst  @concrete-jungleeee

@cherrypieyourface  @kanyewestest @bambisweethearts

@sarahhxx03 @loveisacowboyyy @amyispxnk @lou-la-lou

[antinousletmehit]

Antinous anon from earlier: headcanons of an Antinous x Reader where she is very aware she has the worst taste in men and literally every red flag he sends her way she just twirls her hair about. Like. Antinous threatens someone for talking to her and she tucks hair behind her ear and flutters her lashes at him about it. (Aka she's the average Antinous fan. This is a self callout)

୨୧┇Antinous x Fem!reader

୨୧┇warnings: Antinous calls reader a whore, antinous is his own warning, and antinous is really mean here

୨୧┇ Oh antinous anon keep those requests coming

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ─── Antinous was leaning casually against a marble column in the great hall, his dark eyes fixed on you like a hawk. He had that dangerous energy about him, the kind that kept everyone else at bay but somehow drew you closer.

You were sitting with one of the other suitors, a harmless enough young man who had dared to strike up a conversation. He was polite, sweet even, but your focus was splintered. You couldn’t help but glance at Antinous every few seconds, feeling the weight of his gaze like a storm cloud rolling in.

The poor suitor didn’t stand a chance.

“So, uh,” the young man stammered, gesturing vaguely, “do you enjoy weaving? I hear it’s a favorite pastime in the palace.” You nodded absentmindedly, twirling a strand of your hair around your finger. You weren’t even paying attention to his question anymore. Your mind was completely occupied by the man who was now pushing off the column and stalking toward you. Antinous moved with predatory grace, his strides long and deliberate. The suitor didn’t notice him until it was too late.

“Move,” Antinous said, his voice low and sharp as a blade.

The suitor blinked, looking up at Antinous with wide eyes. “I—I was just—”

“Talking to her.” Antinous’s tone made it clear he found the act utterly unacceptable. He leaned down, his face inches from the suitor’s, and added, “Do it again, and you’ll regret it.” Your lips parted slightly, and you felt heat creep up your neck. You knew you should be concerned maybe even appalled, but instead, you found yourself twirling your hair faster, your pulse quickening for all the wrong reasons.

The suitor stammered something incoherent before scurrying off like a frightened rabbit. Antinous straightened, his dark gaze now locked solely on you. “Why do you even bother talking to them?” he asked, his tone dripping with disdain.

You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the grin threatening to spread across your face. “I wasn’t really paying attention to him,” you admitted, your voice softer than you intended. Antinous stepped closer, looming over you in that way that should have been intimidating but wasn’t. Not to you.

“Good,” he said, his lips curving into a smirk. “You shouldn’t.” His possessiveness was a red flag so bright it practically lit up the entire room. And yet, you found yourself twirling your hair again, unable to stop the giddy flutter in your chest. “You’re being ridiculous,” you said, though your tone lacked any real conviction.

“Am I?” he asked, tilting his head. “I just don’t like seeing what’s mine being bothered by fools who think they have a chance.” Your breath hitched at the word mine. Rationally, you knew you should roll your eyes or tell him off, but instead, you bit your lip, the heat in your cheeks impossible to ignore.

“You’re so dramatic,” you teased, though your voice came out shakier than you intended. Antinous noticed. Of course he did. His smirk widened as he leaned in, his hand bracing against the chair you were sitting in, caging you in.

“Dramatic?” he echoed, his voice dropping to a low, almost seductive murmur. “Maybe. But admit it, you like it.”

You looked away, trying to gather your thoughts, but the truth was written all over your face. Antinous chuckled, his confidence practically radiating off him.

“Thought so,” he said, straightening up. “Now, come on. I don’t trust the rest of these idiots not to bother you again.”

He offered his hand, and despite every logical voice in your head screaming at you to reconsider, you took it without hesitation.

As he led you out of the hall, you couldn’t help but glance up at him, your heart racing. Sure, Antinous was full of questionable morals, but somehow, you found yourself not caring. If anything, you found it maddeningly attractive.

And judging by the smug grin on his face, he knew it too.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The hall buzzed with the usual chaos, suitors drinking, boasting, and tossing dice across the long tables. You were perched on a bench, politely entertaining a normal conversation with Telemachus. He had approached you with genuine curiosity, asking questions about your day with a boyish charm that was endearing but hardly romantic.

Yet, across the room, Antinous had been watching.

You didn’t notice him approach until the shadow of his tall frame loomed over you both, his piercing eyes locked on you with an intensity that made Telemachus stop mid sentence in confusion.

“Enjoying yourself, are we?” Antinous drawled, his voice sharp and cold.

You blinked, startled. “Antinous, I was just—”

“Talking,” he spat, his lip curling into a sneer. “Talking to him.” Telemachus stiffened but didn’t respond, clearly unwilling to provoke Antinous further. You, however, felt your pulse quicken, not out of fear, but something else entirely.

“It was harmless,” you said softly, though your tone lacked any real attempt at defending yourself. Antinous’s dark laugh sent shivers down your spine. He leaned down, his face mere inches from yours, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper that only you could hear. “You’d talk to any man who gives you a moment of attention, wouldn’t you? Like a desperate little whore.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not from offense but from the strange thrill they sent through you. Instead of pulling away or arguing, you tilted your head, batting your eyelashes at him in a way you knew would only fuel his temper.

Antinous,” you said, your voice light and teasing, “are you jealous?”

His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “Jealous?” he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “Of Telemachus? Don’t flatter yourself.” But the way his gaze burned into yours said otherwise. You twirled a strand of hair around your finger, feigning innocence as you smiled up at him. “You’re awfully upset for someone who claims not to care.”

Antinous’s hand shot out, gripping your chin firmly but not harshly, forcing you to look directly at him. “You think this is a game?” he hissed. “I don’t like sharing, and I sure as hell won’t tolerate this.” Your heart raced, but not from fear. If anything, his possessiveness only made your smile widen. “Oh, Antinous,” you said sweetly, leaning just enough to make him notice. “You’re so…romantic.”

He froze for a moment, clearly taken aback by your lack of shame, or perhaps by how much you seemed to be enjoying this. Then, his expression darkened further, his grip on your chin loosening but not pulling away entirely.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

“Am I?” you replied, your tone playful as you tilted your head, still twirling your hair.

Antinous stared at you, his frustration evident, but beneath it, there was something else a flicker of something more primal that he couldn’t hide. He finally released you with a scoff, standing straight and glaring at Telemachus, who had wisely stayed silent through the entire exchange.

“Stay away from her,” Antinous snapped before turning his attention back to you. “And you, come with me. Now.”

You followed him without hesitation, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips. He may have been furious, but you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered at his intensity. Antinous might have called you every name under the sun, but somehow, it only made you want him more. Freakyyyyy

[elvissdollete]

Dear Elvis,

Happy Heavenly Birthday. I don’t even know where to start because there’s so much I want to say. My heart feels so full when I think of you, but it also aches because you’re not here. I love you, Elvis. I love you more than words could ever hold, more than the sky holds stars, more than anything I’ve ever felt before.

You don’t know me, and we’ll never meet, but somehow, you’ve become such a huge part of my life. You’ve given me hope on days when I had none, strength when I felt like I couldn’t go on. Even when I feel lost, you’re like this quiet light guiding me through. You make me want to be better, to fight harder, to believe in myself when it feels impossible.

Sometimes I laugh at the thought of it. Maybe it’s the 74 years between us. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been gone longer than I’ve been alive. But here I am, completely and utterly in love with you. It’s crazy, isn’t it? To love someone I’ve never met, someone who lived in a world so far from mine. And yet, here I am, writing to you like you’re right here, like you can somehow hear me.

I’ve seen how people talked about you. How they judged you when you gained weight, like your worth could ever be measured by something so shallow. They didn’t see the real you, Elvis. The man with the golden heart, the one who gave so much of himself to everyone else. To me, you were always perfect. Not because of how you looked, but because of who you were. You could have weighed a thousand pounds, and I’d still love you just as much. You’ll always be Elvis Aaron Presley to me—the man who makes my heart feel things I didn’t know it could feel.

I heard once that you were afraid people would forget you, that you thought you’d just fade away when you were gone. But Elvis, you couldn’t have been more wrong. No one has forgotten you, and no one ever will. You’re everywhere. In the music, in the stories, in the hearts of so many people, including mine. People don’t just remember you—they love you. You’re more than a legend; you’re a part of us.

And me? I miss you, Elvis. I miss you like I’ve known you my whole life. It’s this ache that doesn’t go away, this emptiness I can’t fill. I think about what it would’ve been like to see you, to hear your laugh, to feel the warmth of your presence. I wonder if you would’ve noticed me, if you would’ve smiled at me just once. I know it’s a silly thought, but it stays with me anyway hehe.

You’ll always be my everything, Elvis. My heart, my inspiration, my love. Even though you’re not here, you’ve left a mark on me that nothing could ever erase. Thank you for being you, for giving so much of yourself to this world.

And, oh God. Dear Jesse, happy birthday to you too ❤️ I don’t know much about you, and I never will. You were here for such a brief moment, and then you were gone, like a whisper in the wind. But even though you never had the chance to live a full life, your presence shaped the one who did.

You were Elvis’s first connection, his other half, and I believe a part of you always stayed with him. Maybe you were his quiet strength, the part of him that kept going when life got too hard.

Even though we don’t know you, Jesse, you’re not forgotten. You were loved from the moment you existed, and you’ll always be remembered as a part of him. Rest peacefully.

And again, Happy 90th birthday to both of you. I love you, Elvis. I always will.

Forever yours,

Shai ❤️

[armandsfangs]

for the first time in many insomnia plagued years, when daniel stumbles into his coffin for the first time, he dreams

he dreams of his first apartment in new york, sunlight streaming through the windows, illuminating the bronze crescent of alice's shoulder peeking out from white linen sheets, her dark hair splayed out on the pillows, her youthful face lost to the haze of faulty memory

is something wrong? she asks without speaking

"I miss you," he whispers, because it's safe to admit it here, in this dreamscape

i'm right here, beloved

"You're going to leave me."

even so, you'll always have a part of me with you

"Don't give me that shit, I want all of you!"

but the dream is already fading, the sunlight beginning to crackle on his skin and he panics, calling out

"No, don't go! Don't make me forget! Please — "

and the name on his lips is

" — Armand!"

he shoots up and slams his head against the inside of his coffin, gasping and utterly alone

as he nurses his headache, he feels the cold kiss of a chain around his neck

a gold necklace with a vial of unmistakable blood

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

moms best friend sevika x masc reader?

I know I took so much time writing this but I just wanted it to be perfect! Also, I know it’s short and I’m SOOOO sorry. I’ve been soooooo flipping busy :(

Masc4Masc

Sevika x Masc Female Reader

( Head cannons + Fluff and Slight Smut)

Cw: Mentions of sex (though not in detail).

MEN DO NOT INTERACT OR I WILL BE BLOCKING!

Proofread (finally) || Note: I hate it when those fuckers int w my page. like NO, men do NOT follow me. istg. i’ve blocked like 8 of them already.

Your mom was one of those people who talked to everyone. Who was friendly with everyone. And, she just happened to be close to Sevika. They were practically best friends, inseparable, two peas in a pod.

Your mom invited Sevika to every small gathering. Be it a family dinner, or even a family gathering, the tall woman would be there. And that’s what sparked her attraction for you.

One thing she didn’t expect, ever in her life, was to be into to someone half her age. You. Who she’d been eyeing ever since she’d first seen you.

It wasn’t only your face that had her utterly mesmerized, it was the way you carried confidence with you everywhere you went. The way you talked, smiled even. Her curiosity about your sense of style was skyrocketed when you’d worn one of your more.. masculine outfits at home. The woman would be lying if she said she didn’t find it hot.

Sevika had a staring problem. At first, you found it a bit.. intimidating. The way she’d narrow her eyes and smirk at your responses to your mother. The way she stood tall and assertive, it was a bit scary. But slowly, as the two of you bonded, she was actually just a like any other woman. You’d even found out, it was more of a hunch, that she was a lesbian.

Sevika was into a lot of things you were. Music. The thing the two of you most bonded over. Everytime Sevika was invited, you’d always come downstairs from your room and show her a new album your mom had bought you. She even gifted you one on Christmas, one that was expensive.

Something that made her sure you were just as into her as she was you was the way you looked at her. The way your eyes would stare into hers whenever she opened her mouth to talk. The way your eyes would travel down to her lips whenever you looked her way. And even the way your lashes lightly fluttered whenever she placed a hand on your shoulder. She was sure you were into her.

As easy as it would’ve been to make you hers, your mother was sure to freak out— to disapprove.

Sevika took her time. She waited. There was tension, intimacy, between the two of you, and you both knew that.

But, one thing that caught her off guard was the fact that you made the first move.

Your mom was on an anniversary dinner, and it just so happened that she told Sevika to “babysit” you. Bad idea.

It started off simple. Sitting next to her on the couch, thights brushing, and shoulders touching. It escalated to somthing much more complicated. You kissed her, let her know her assumptions were correct— that you wanted her.

And, of course, Sevika kisses you back with just as much passion as you.

Your relationship with her was a secret. And it was gradual. Sevika wouldn’t be scared to give you a few looks from across the room, and neither would you be. Your mom didn’t suspect a thing, not when she’d gently pat your back or lightly nudge you. What was so wrong about that?

You’d even make excuses just to see the woman. It went from doing your mom’s errands and dropping things off at her place to being able to go there for no reason at all.

Your mom trusted her, and when she was out of the house, you’d drive to Sevika’s place and crash there. Either relaxing or eating her out, enjoyed your visits— she did aswell.

As much as she tried to keep her “tough and rough” act, whenever you’d kiss her she’d completely melt. Ever so slightly, you could feel her hips squirm and her breath heavy, it was like she was begging for it. Maybe she was?

Top or bottom? How ‘bout both! Receiving and giving, Sevika was a switch. From stuffing your face into her dark cunt, whimpering your pretty little name, to strapping you down and making you beg for mercy. You enjoyed both sides of her.

There was a sense of thrill in your heart whenever the two of you were together. It was the fact that one wrong move could get you in trouble. It was risky, but so much more worth it.

And don’t forget to thank to your mother, you’d found the right woman to take care and love you because of her.

[girl4music]

“Also it’s Galinda giving up because her attempt to change Elphaba’s dress with magic utterly fails. For some reason that is never explained, Galinda simply has extreme difficulty with preforming magic until after Elphaba has to go rogue and Morrible finally settles for her instead.“

It doesn’t need to be explained. The answer of why is in the action of trying to change Elphaba’s dress itself.

Magic - in all classical understanding of it - only works by intention. But that intention has to be authentic.

If it’s not authentic then the magic either fails or does something entirely different from what is expected.

Glinda intends to change Elphaba but she doesn’t really understand why she thinks she needs to. So she gives up the attempt and simply just lets it be. Lets her be.

Morrible only settles on Glinda in the end because she can control her. It’s not about her magic. It’s about how easy it is to make her do as she wishes for her to do. But what she finds is Glinda doesn’t really make it easy for her at all because of what she’s learned from Elphaba.

That resistance and defiance is now apart of her character when that was never how she used to be.

She used to just go with it if it was in her favour. If it would be a benefit to her. But she doesn’t do that anymore. Or not as quickly and easily as she used to.

Sure Morrible can still make her do things. But she’s not so welcoming about it anymore now she understands what it all means and what her part to play in it means.

And she wouldn’t have understood any of that if not for Elphaba being in her life and the journey they’ve been on in what was right and what was wrong. It just sticks. And it sticks with her until the end. Until Elphaba’s end.

There are several ways you can interpret the ending. I don’t know how they’re going to do it in the movie. But I personally take the perspective that Elphaba was only ever doing what she believed was the right thing to do and the Wizard/Morrible twisted that into wickedness. But even though I believe that, it’s not really the point of why it happens that way. You’re supposed to reflect.

And reflect on all of the characters. Not just Elphaba.

Why do they do as they do? What does it take for them?

[seas-of-silver]

"Alya, we've talked about this hundreds of times - in all our lives we and our friends have never met someone called Marinette Dupain - Cheng - she is just a figment of your twisted imagination!"

‘Alya, we've talked about this hundreds of times - in all our lives we and our friends have never met someone called Marinette Dupain-Cheng - she is just a figment of your twisted imagination!’

Alya barely suppressed a growl as she glared at Nathaniel. ‘“Twisted imagination?” Seriously?’

Chloé scoffed. ‘Yeah, twisted. I mean, honestly - super-powered villains? Magical terrorists and superheroes? Who, by the way, are all animal themed and get their powers from tiny gods in jewellery? Alternate universes and time travel? Ugh! And the bit you’re flipping out about is some chick that supposedly meant to be in this class? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.’

‘Alya, we’re worried about you,’ Rose said, her wide blue eyes swimming in genuine concern. ‘You’ve been so different this past week; you look and sound and behave like our Alya, but what you’ve been saying is just so unlike yourself!’

‘It’s kinda like you’re living a nightmare in real time, or something,’ Juleka muttered, and the whole class nodded in agreement.

The whole class bar Adrien and Marinette.

Alya was smart. She had figured out something was seriously wrong when she woke up last week and found herself in her room instead of Marinette’s, where she had been sleeping over. It became even more concerning when she arrived at school and Marinette was nowhere in sight. Then she had started to panic when the seating arrangement was different, Adrien wasn’t at school either, and worst of all - Nino barely knew her.

She spent the first class trying to casually enquire about Adrien and Marinette, which led to confused responses and almost getting reprimanded by Ms Bustier, who was still their teacher and had apparently never had a child, and Chloé’s father was still Mayor of Paris.

One reassuring discovery Alya had made before lunchtime was that Adrien Agreste still existed in this weird world, but had apparently never been to their school. She also discovered that Lila Rossi had also never been to their school, but that good news was quickly soured when she found out that Lila now has strong ties to the Agreste family, and was frequently seen with them. But that didn’t stop Alya from trying to contact Adrien, though she had no success.

Alya had then started to research, and kept researching throughout the week. This weird world had no mention of recent Miraculous use; no Hawk Moth, Mayura, Ladybug or Chat Noir, and nothing of note in Shanghai or New York. Her Ladyblog was also non-existent, which was discomforting in and of itself. And there was no Marinette.

That was the part Alya was struggling to grasp. No Marinette? A world without Miraculouses was something Alya could wrap her head around, as was a reality where Adrien never went to their school, but no Marinette? So she had researched that too. Everything Alya had expected to exist were also missing - the sunglasses and album cover (and subsequent magazine article) Marinette made for Jagged Stone; Marinette’s winning submission in the derby hat competition held by Gabriel Agreste and the runway show it was displayed in; her fashion photoshoot she did with Adrien and Juleka… none of it could be found.

Alya knew this was no dream that she had found herself in - this felt more like some sort of akuma attack-related displacement… but Alya couldn’t remember there being an akuma attack while she was in Marinette’s room. The last thing Alya had remembered before waking up in this weird world was setting up for a girl’s night in while Marinette went on patrol with Chat Noir, as the new Butterfly villain, Malachite, had been annoyingly active as of recent. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

And now all her friends and classmates were looking at her like she was the weird one. Perhaps she was, at least to them.

‘You’re right, Juleka,’ Alya said sombrely, ‘this is a nightmare. Either I’ve somehow ended up in an alternate universe, or something god-awful must’ve happened for the whole world to forget about the Miraculouses in Paris, for Adrien to never have come to school here, for my own boyfriend to barely know me apart from just being one of his classmates, and for my best friend - a girl who meant so much to nearly everyone in this room - to completely vanish off the face of the earth!’

Everyone flinched at her raised voice, but she didn’t care. She was too angry, too confused, and too hurt to care about something as minor as that.

‘I- ugh! I feel like I’m going insane!’ Alya cried out, her eyes starting to sting. ‘I know what has happened here - I’ve lived it! I was a part of it! You all were part of it! But why don’t you remember? Why does no one remember? Ugh, it’s like, I don’t know, like someone’s messed with reality and gotten rid of any trace of Marinette and the Mira…cu…lou…ses…’

Alya felt violently ill. How could she have not thought of that? It all made perfect sense. But if that was really true, then Malachite must have…

‘Oh, God,’ Alya whimpered, sinking to the ground unsteadily.

The class bin suddenly appeared in front of her, just in the nick of time, and a kind, familiar hand held her hair back.

‘Can someone get the nurse or Ms Bustier?’ Nino’s voice came from right beside her. ‘She’s not doing good.’

People moved around her, but Alya could barely take it in. Her mind was overloaded with fear and horror. She needed to prove this horrific theory wrong.

‘Shh,’ came Nino’s voice again, his other hand starting to rub soothing circles on her back. ‘You’re not well, dude, and you’re shaking.’

She couldn’t dwell on that for long, as a loud commotion was happening outside and getting closer. Fear spiking within her, Alya forced herself to stand and get into a fighting position, ignoring Nino’s protests. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else, not without a fight.

The door slammed open, and Alya hesitated.

‘Alya? Thank goodness!’ Adrien cried, looking disheveled and winded. ‘I got your letters - you remember too?’

Her hands wavered. ‘Yeah. What do you remember?’

‘Oh, finally!’ Adrien exclaimed, relieved. ‘I thought I was going insane when I woke up to find Mother and Father alive and Lila-‘ he growled out, as if saying the name was like ash on his tongue, ‘-of all people was now a long-time family friend, which is revolting. But no one knows about the Miraculouses or Ladybug and Chat Noir or Hawk Moth or Malachite or akumas or anything!’ 

Alya wanted to cry - out of relief or grief, she wasn’t sure.

‘And you!’ Adrien said, pointing at Nino. ‘You hung up on me!’

Nino blinked. ‘So… that wasn’t a prank call?’

Adrien looked mortified. ‘You’ve… you’ve forgotten me? For real?’

Nino opened and closed his mouth, looking entirely uncertain about anything that was going on.

‘I was sure that you would remember me,’ Adrien continued, shaken, before looking back at Alya. ‘I tried to call everyone that I could remember the numbers of, but even Marinette isn’t picking up!’

Alya felt sick again at the mention of her name.

‘Surely you were able to get in contact with her,’ Adrien pleaded, putting his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’ve been stuck under Father’s and Lila’s thumbs for this past week, and I was only able to escape just now.’

With Adrien so close, she could see the anxiety, desperation and fear that was threatening to consume him.

‘Please, Alya,’ he begged, ‘please tell me you found her and she’s okay. She’s in danger, and I need to ensure she’s safe.’

All Alya could do was shake her head. She felt Adrien’s hands tremble and saw his eyes fill with tears as he began to hyperventilate, before he crumbled to the floor and let out a soul-crushing cry that shattered her heart.

[trevuorzegras]

━╋ BETTING, PART FOUR

summary: in which y/n y/l/n falls for the wrong guy, who turns out to have just bet on her. 4/4

mark estapa makes a bet that y/n will fall for him, for a great price of $100 from his friend, adam fantilli.

stranger to lover to enemies to lovers.

pairings: mark estapa x fem!reader

prev part

her.

That very night Y/N found herself being driven to the airport by Quinn. Dylan had originally offered to go home with her to Florida, but she didn’t want to take away from his time at the lake house. Quinn, bring the soft spoken, and caring person he was, not once tried convincing her to stay. He knew she needed time. Time to process everything, knowing the guy she had loved only saw her as an opportunity for some quick cash.

The ride to the airport was completely silent besides the quite hum of the wind outside, and the occasional sniffle from Y/N.

Quinn kept his eyes fixated on the road ahead of him, every so often looking towards Y/N with worried eyes. He didn’t speak, neither of them did, they sat there in silence. Quinn wasn’t sure there was anything he could say to make her feel better.

him.

Mark sat around the bonfire head in hands as Adam, and Ethan tried to comfort him. Adam’s on about how it was just a bet, and it wasn’t like he actually liked her, and this pushed him over the emotional edge, “I did! I fucking love her Adam, and you’ve fucking ruined it.”

Adam looked towards him with a look of shock on his features. Mark loved Y/N? This had been completely new information for not only Adam, but everyone sitting around the fire. Besides Dylan, of course. Dylan had seen the way Mark had looked at his friend, and it wasn’t just a ‘friend’ way.

Mark had stood up, and began pacing. Dylan is the first to speak as everyone else around him sat in shock. “You’ve got to give her time, she’s going to need it, but you’ve got to make it up to her.”

Mark knew he was right. Y/N was the best thing to have had happened to him in a long time, and me needed to make it right.

The rest of the weeks of being at the lake house had passed. Mark had decided waiting until Y/N, and himself were back at school was the best decision.

He wanted to give the girl time to process what had happened. He knew he owed her that if nothing else. Y/N had spent the rest of her summer in Florida, with her mom. Her mom knew little about what had went down in Michigan, all she knew was that Y/N had come home early due to a situation at the lake house. She hadn’t pried to get information from her only daughter, seeing that she was in distress when she had arrived back at home.

Y/N wasn’t too sure about returning back to school, seeing as she knew she’d have to see Mark. She ended up sucking it up, after a very long discussion with her mom about how important finishing school is. While her mother didn’t know much about what happened at the lake house, she knew it couldn’t affect her school experience.

So, when the time came, and school started back up, she went. As much as she didn’t want to see Mark, Y/N loved school, and wasn’t going to let a guy effect that. She avoided her friends like a plague, attending her classes, and going straight to her dorm. She stopped going to parties, and group hangouts.

She occasionally talked to Dylan, but for the most part, no one had heard from her. So when Ethan had reached out, asking to meet her at a local coffee shop, she was utterly confused.

Though, she decided to go anyways. Oh how she wish she hadn’t. Agreeing to meet Ethan Edwards at an off campus cafe was truly her worst mistake ever. When she walked into the cafe, the cool air from inside hiting her briefly. As she looked towards the table Ethan had said he was sat at she was met with Mark. As soon as their eyes met, she turned around to walk away, “Wait!”

She didn’t turn around, only coming face to face with Mark when he grabbed her wrist, turning her around to face him. It had felt like the lake house all over again for her. She didn’t cry, all she could do was stare at him. Mark let her wrist go, before clearing his throat. He was tense, Y/N could tell that just by looking at him.

“Listen, i know this is shitty, using my bestfriend to get you to speak to me. I know you probably hate me, and truthfully i wouldn’t blame you, but i need you to know that i love you. The bet was nothing to me once i realized i was falling for you. I should’ve told you, i know. I’m sorry i didn’t, but i want to fix this, i want to fix us.”

Y/N looked at him utterly dumbfounded, Mark loved her? Her eyes scanned his for any hint of a joke. His eyes held a look of sincere emotion, as he waited for her to say something. “Listen Mark,”

He looked at her, waiting to be completely rejected by her. Of course he couldn’t blame her if she did reject him, she had every single right to, “You hurt me.”

“I know, baby.”

Y/N’s eyes widened with shock at the use of the pet name. Mark had never used the name on her before, only ever using ‘Sunny,’ or ‘Sunshine.’ She swallowed the lump of emotion that formed in her throat, “It’s not going to be an easy process to just get over what happened. You, and i both know that.”

Mark nodded at her words, a glint of hopefulness in his eyes. “I know, i don’t expect you to get over it. What i did to you was so fucking shitty, and i can’t ever forgive myself for doing that to you.”

It was Y/N’s turn to nod, “I love you, Mark. I want to get past this. All i ask from you is patience, and to never lie to me again.”

“Never again, i promise.”

And he did keep that promise.

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hello finally finished this, who cheered? my request are still open if anyone has any requests! ( not proof read )

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