#im just projecting my issues onto my reader

[sinstear]

need to make my reader so insane, batshit crazy, and a fuck head who has major issues, trust issues through the roof, can’t help but be sassy when someone they don’t like appears, no filter havin ass, has a fake friend detector up their ass, voices too many opinions that could end up with someone in tears, says too many kms jokes until someone is questioning their sanity, but turns into a golden retriever obsessed lover when their girlfriend is around but idk if you could handle all that, sigh

[mono-dot-jpeg]

big sister - hyun ju

summary; a big sister will always protect, but when will she be able to relax?

genre/extra tags; one shot, found family, fluff, hurt/comfort?, canon typical violence, i dont like the second season writing, but i can not deny myself this diva, that's mother !!, teen! reader, hyun ju is the only reason i decided to watch this season, slight canon divergence bc i have the mind of a goldfish, canon typical sad heavy conversations, big sister is written to be seen as the korean honorific "unnie", older sister moments written in the point of view of a younger sibling, unintentional love letter for my appreciation to my sister, reader is implied to be some form of lgbt but not out (im projecting)

[platonic] [gender-neutral reader]

[warning; mentions of transphobic ideas]

a/n; before people ask, no, im not doing requests for this show. i just don't feel fully comfortable writing for squid game. i just really wanted to write this because, believe it or not, i write for my enjoyment. even i do switch off here every few months or every other month.

dinner had rolled around after an intense "game" of life or death. how you managed to survive this long is beyond you. but you might have a strong idea of why you're living so long, and it was the strong woman who was sitting beside you with some of the other women who were surviving so far.

the old lady had pointed out that hyun ju was not like other people. and it really was odd to her. but hyun ju was used to that. more than used to it. she lived through it since she decided to come out.

you listen to the conversation, not really putting your two cents in as it seemed like there was no right time to butt in. but as the conversation continued, the mood was just a little lighter. and that was more than enough morale. the old lady seemed to slowly understand hyun ju and her struggle.

you've zoned out so much, you almost fail to notice hyun ju sneaking an egg onto your shabby given lunch box meal. you look up at her as she gives you a warm look before pretending that she didn't just do that.

you mix the rice with not much thought, spilling some bits of rice and egg over its metal container before you slowly eat. unbeknownst to you, hyun ju glances back at you as if to make sure you're actually eating and not staring off with a tired look that no teen or child should have. you've seen everything, you're part of this sick game, she may not know your story, but she knows you don't deserve any of the bad you've been through.

you're the youngest in the entire room, a room filled with people with insurmountable debt and issues. hyun ju can only imagine your worry, your anxiety, the burden.

when the first game got serious, you were trying your damned hardest to keep your fear contained under the watchful eye of that robot scanning every movement. she was right in front of you, keeping you safe along with the rest of the people who lined up with her. you look like you wanted to cry the moment you got to the finish line. if she wasn't full of adrenaline at the time, she probably would've heard how hard your heart was beating.

somehow, she had taken two people under her care. you and young-mi. how could she not care about a young woman like young-mi and a teen like yourself? two anxious people forced to live a life full of debt and pain when you both deserved nothing but comfort and love.

people start lining up in their beds for nighttime. gi-hun was very insistent on being careful at night. it was dangerous. some people were not behind just killing others at night to sweeten the pot of money that loomed over everyone's head like a golden sun.

as most of the adults started to climb in their beds, you stand awkwardly. you weren't a stranger to sleeping a room full of people, but you were definitely a little paranoid after what gi-hun was talking about.

you find yourself naturally gravitating to hyun ju. her presence was just so calming, and she was so caring for others. it was hard not to get attached. young-mi had taken to calling her big sister. and you found yourself doing the same when you call out to her softly.

"big sister?" you gently tap at her arm as she turns to look at you. she silently urges you to continue speaking with a gentle look. you can see the tired in her eyes, but she looks at you, unwilling to say no. "this is embarrassing..." you mutter.

"it's okay. i'm here." she reassures you.

"can i stay with you tonight? i'm-" you choke a little bit on your words, not only out of embarrassment but fear. "i'm really scared. i don't wanna be alone." you confess.

she softens, "i would love to let you, but it's too risky. if people come for us, it would be very hard to fight back. i'm so sorry, kid." she opens her arm out for a hug, and you take the comfort you can get in this shitty place. "i will do my best to keep you safe, alright? when we get out of here, i'm going to find you again, and we can help each other, yeah? i'll protect you."

you nodded with her words, not finding the heart to say anything. she takes this as a sign to start guiding you into your bunk bed on top. at least the top bunks would be somewhat safer for you. you hesitantly climb into bed. "if a fight breaks out, hide. run. just be safe. i will find you, and you'll be safe." she continues to reassure you the best she can.

"okay. goodnight big sister." you whispered. "please be safe."

"i will." she said with a calm confidence that only she could pull off that didn't make you feel worried for her.

you hope that you get out of here, so you don't have to see the worried exhaustion in her eyes anymore.

she was a big sister by heart and soul. you just hoped her big heart wouldn't lead her to her doom. she protects and gives, but when will she relax?

[botboots]

Saw that your requests were open so what about TFP cons with an adorkable teen human reader? A really close friend (the emotional support bundle of joy™) that is really artistic, kind, understanding and just a pure cinnamon roll, what would be the bots reaction to the lil' human? Optimus, Ratchet,Bulkhead, Arcee, BB, and if you do the kids then the kids. If not the other bots, stay safe!

im back!! so sorry for the long ass wait, had so much going on in my life recently (graduating, going back home, etc.) but hopefully i'll be back to posting somewhat regularly! tysm for the continuous support :] love seeing the notifs pop up every day this is one of the first asks in my inbox (and i completely forgot that the prompt said reader was part of the cons... whoops) and i've wanted to get it done for a while now! have so many more to get through but will get them done eventually - this isn't the best but its cute <3 and you can 100% tell who my favs are lmao warnings: none word count: 939 (GN reader)

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

Optimus:

he finds your outlook on things is a nice change of pace compared to the more pessimistic views that some members of the team can have at times

values your compassion greatly, often turning to you as a confidant over the time you’ve gotten to know each other. a mission went wrong and he’s putting all the blame on himself? you’re there to reassure him in a heartbeat, reminding him that he did his best and there’s always another chance; you keep him grounded

has an innate interest in art and writing - he used to be an archivist, after all

so he enjoys watching you indulge in your hobby, your excitement about it reminds him of his younger years of being a clerk at iacon when he would become giddy over a newfound archaic text

he’s very fond of you and makes sure you know it, taking note of the small things you like and getting you whatever little gift he can manage to find - genuinely thinks you’re cute and likes seeing you happy :] 

Ratchet:

while it may have taken him a little longer than the others to warm up to you fully, he grew to start looking forward to your company (despite his his best efforts to hide it)

he appreciates your quiet company; you’re much less rambunctious than both the other humans and his own team - you complain a lot less too, probably one of his favorite qualities about you

like optimus, your bubbly attitude gives him a much needed break from the dreary duties that come with being the autobot medic

you often find yourselves working in tandem, with you sitting on the couch working on your newest project while he stands at his terminal typing away. occasionally you’ll walk over with a nervous smile, and with a roll of his optics he’ll lower a servo for you to climb into and lift you up onto the corner of the console, huffing when you chirp a thank you before the both of you quietly return to your tasks (he enjoys it, really)

while he’s not one to vent his frustrations to you, he’ll always be open to listen to you vent about yours. even if he doesn’t respond with much, he’ll offer logical solutions and observations for whatever issue you’re having

Bulkhead:

the big guy loves art, having been exposed to his fair share of it by miko, and is very encouraging when it comes to your projects

he might not get some of the nuances or meanings of the things you make, but he tries - oftentimes making you laugh a bit at the sheer amount he misses. it’s endearing though, and you appreciate the effort

too fidgety to sit and watch you do anything for too long, but he’ll offer to drive you to a vista for some inspiration while he does his usual scouting routes, miko tagging along of course. she’ll probably bring her sketchbook with her and sit next to you and draw, chattering the entire time while blasting some music from her ipod, offering you one of her earbuds

Arcee:

similar to ratchet she takes a while to get used to you, a little cold at first to your attempts at friendliness

she notices how happy you seem to make everyone else and eventually makes a legitimate pass at being friendly despite how awkward it feels

but with how eagerly you accept it she doesn’t feel as bad, sighing in relief as you immediately start filling her in on how much you’ve enjoyed your time with the autobots

she’s not much of a conversationalist (especially when it comes to humans) so your chattiness is almost a relief - not having to keep up fake interest and energy with someone puts her in a more comfortable position; especially since you’re not one to comment on it like others tend to

will sit and watch you work on whatever your newest project is, a comfortable silence shared between the two of you

rambles about random stuff from her past sometimes - you turn out to be one of the few people she trusts enough to mindlessly dump her thoughts to, both good and bad

Bumblebee:

one of the first to get to know you, overly excited about having a fresh face around

super curious when he sees you working on something, a barrage of questions translated from mechanical chirps and whirrs with the help (and annoyance) of ratchet

he’ll actually try and mimic some of your art on the walls of hidden ditches where he and rafael hang out, excitedly bringing you along to show off his latest work and buzzing happily when you praise it

will eventually, with your encouragement, try and make something original - he ends up finding it pretty soothing and an easier way to feel understood; communicating his feelings without words can be unsurprisingly helpful for someone who can’t use any of his own

you’ll spend hours hanging out and working on your stuff - he likes when you help him with his own art, adding your own brushstrokes to the concrete wall

he’ll let you sit up on his shoulder just to watch him make whatever he feels like making, or even just taking you on joyrides in the desert where he doesnt need to worry about anything going wrong

while it’s usually you, him and raf hanging out he does enjoy spending solo time with you - usually in silence or one-sided conversations, but you understand each other well enough without words

will also figure out what your favorite songs are and surprise you with them; he loves when you get all giddy about literally anything

[love-belle]

'cause summers go so fast !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which her only goal for the summer was to make it through the season without bashing someone's head in and have fun; not introduce more than half of her colleagues to her family and certainly not showing them around her hometown. but, universe always did fuck with her.

or

for when you realise that you don't have to be sorry for doing it all on your own. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

real life // f1 grid x fem!reader // lewis hamilton x fem!reader

warnings - language. unhealthy and toxic familial relationships. daddy issues. mommy issues. issues. a lot of self projection in this one so !!

author's note - hi hi hi :) this is a series that im truly excited for and i know that i have like two series in progress but yeah !! this is gonna be me self projecting my feelings onto the reader so beware and don't make fun of me <3 i love you so much!!

chapter i ⋆·˚ ༘ *

❝if i wanted to watch a man and woman scream at each other, i would just go and have dinner with my parents — can i leave?❞

chapter ii ⋆·˚ ༘ *

❝are you okay? i mean, i did watch you fall down the stairs and lay on the ground for about ten minutes saying that you deserved this.❞

chapter iii ⋆·˚ ༘ *

❝oh my god, i shouldn't even have to say this but please, do not bite my cat. her name is coochie — STOP LAUGHING!❞

chapter iv ⋆·˚ ༘ *

❝look — i'll speak on behalf of everyone, we think you're cool and the only reason we didn't really hang out with you is because you intimidate us. a lot.❞

chapter v ⋆·˚ ༘ *

❝charles is a decent driver and we can make a run for it. go inside, tell them to fuck off, throw water at their face, scream at them and then we're getting the fuck out of here.❞

...more !!!

[lawliet-ryuzaki-ryuga]

The Hunt

Shouma Toriashi X reader ( chapter 1)

Word count: 1163

TW: not really just so strong language…

Summary: life as we know it can change in an instant, and so do feelings and the people you meet.

MASTERLIST

chapter 2

A/N: HEY GUYS this is just a small project I wanted to start! I just got done reading the manga so I’m going to re-read it and hopefully I can better depict the characters better!! I HOPE YOU ENJOY ( p.s. DONT WORRY IM GOING TO HOP BACK ONTO MY OLD STORIES OF L AND LEVI! )

It was another day of school and homework on homework that’s been passed out.. I never understood why they bombard us like we don’t have other classes to work on.i look over to see Yoshino already walking towards my desk, with that I sit up straight ready to hear what she has to say .

“ hey Y/N do you want to come over? Shouma and I are going to study together?” Yoshino asks while putting both her palms flat against my desk and looks down at me.

“ oh yeah sure..” I nod in agreement. Behind me is shouma but he’s usually in his own world .

“Great, well I guess this is where we part ways, we’ll meet at the school entrance after this period.” With a firm nod Yoshino walks away and out of the once shared classroom we had. I stare at the class room door watch as students walk out together all looking the same as the other. Ever since I was younger I saw majority of everyone the same. Bland and simple, each face the same as the last.

At first glance people might look at us and think what an Odd group, then again we are really only each others friends. But it was for the first time that I saw people. I saw character in both Yoshino and Shouma. Deep in thought I shake out of it, and With that I get up and gather my things getting ready for the next class, physical education.

Oh how I dreaded that class, simply because it’s where both shouma and I lose our cool.

“ Hey” you kick Shouma’s chair to grab his attention. “ get up before we miss our last class.” With a look that could kill Shouma glared at me but gets up to follow.

I finally changed into the PE outfit but as always the bottoms are just too short. “ are you kidding Me I literally got then in a bigger size to hopefully be longer!! CURSE YOU ABNORMALLY LONG LEGS!”

You and Yoshino are one of the tallest girls in your class, in the whole school in fact and everything you’ve come to wear has always been an issue with length. With a sigh I muster up the courage to leave the changing room, and to my disappointment none other than Toriashi Shouma is waiting outside the female dressing room.

“Couldn’t find any shorter shorts Y/N?”

“Shut up Toriashi, these are the longest pair I have.” I huff walking away from him.

Today was a game of volleyball, not my favorite but one that i can stand. That is until I found out Shouma is on my team! Ugh I swear if I lose because of him, he’s dead meat.

“ better not fuck this up Shouma.”

“ Don’t worry, maybe if you had a bigger ass I’d be distracted.”

How dare he… that’s it he’s dead. I try to ignore his comment and walk to my center position like the team agreed on, waiting for the game to start.

During the whole game I could feel someone’s eyes on me, analyzing every movement. I should be used to it, considering being friends with Yoshino, she has hundreds of eyes watching her every move anytime we go out in public. But this gaze is different .. much different.

As the game continues on, And like always Shouma and I are fighting for dominance on our side of the court.

“ you idiot, I said it was mine! Why did you jump forward!”

“ because it was clearly in my side Y/N”

“ no it was not Shouma and you know it! You did it on purpose, there was no reason for you to be that close to my back!”

Mid game while we were taking the 3 min break trying to switch sides of the court, Shouma comes up wrapping something around my hips.

“ what are you doing?” I look down at what’s around my hips and up to the person who’s hands are tying The Jacket into a knot.

“ just keep it on”

“ Shouma you’re supposed to keep your arms covered” I whisper yell at him, I swear he never used his brain.

“Just keep it on.” He mumbles before walking away, with a sigh I just brush it off and try to focus on the game. Shouma has always been so annoying like my brother. Always trying to boss me around and oh does it make my blood boil. What makes me more upset is i always try my best to make sure he’s always covered at all times and no tattoos peak through, but he just doesn’t care.

The game finally ends and I walk up to him ready to hand him his jacket back.

“ here take it ba—.”

“ I said keep it on Y/A.”

“ the game is over, I’m giving it back to you now.”

“ No, go change, once you are changed you can give it back.” He grabs the sleeves of the jacket and ties it back firmly around my hips. I’ll be damned if he thinks I’m just going to listen to him.

“ I said take your damn jacket bastard!” I untie the jacket and chunk it at him and walk away back into the changing room. This man infuriates me, it’s not like I wasn’t Thankful but I will not be bossed around, especially by him! Who does he think he is , my father?

I quickly change out of my outfit and back to my regular uniform once I’m showered and clean. With that I grab my bag and belongings and walk out the changing room, that is until I see what looks like a fight about to happen.

“ Keep your eyes and comments to yourself.” Shouma is holding one of our male classmates against a wall. I can only imagine why this is happening.

“ Shouma that’s enough, let's go.” I grab his other hand that was free and pull him away from the poor boy. The thing about Shouma, he’s well behaved for the most part, but there are times where he’s a ticking time bomb.

“ This is why I tell you to cover up your tattoos, if you don’t want people looking Listen to me.”

“ and the next time I tell you to keep the jacket ,listen to me. There won’t be a next time actually, next time you’re wearing my jogging pants.” He fights back with an attitude in his tone.

“ Like hell I am, they are too big on me.”

“ i don’t care.”

“ I’m not going to wear them, focus on covering your tattoos and stop focusing on me.” I bite back with the same attitude.

“ and rather they focus on my tattoos and not on your whole legs!”

“ Hey, what’s going on guys? You guys can be heard miles away.” Yashino walks up to where I and Shouma are standing .

“ He’s blaming me that my shorts are too short. That’s what he’s complaining about Yashino .”

“ Excuse me ? Shouma do you think we want to be this tall where nothing fits!” Yoshino jumps into the argument.

“ I’m not blaming anyone, both you and Y/N need to just wear pants instead during physical education.” Shouma closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“ you don’t tell us what to do!” Both Yoshino and I yell in unison.

“ you know what… I don’t give a fuck , lets just go home for fuck sakes.” Shouma pushed through, leading the way back to both him and Yoshino’s place.

[andkisses]

♡ a good way | beomgyu ♡

despite the director casting you and beomgyu, your best friend, as the romantic leads, you both promise it won’t change anything between you

♡ beomgyu x gn!reader | wc. 9.1k ♡ genres/tropes: college!au, friends-to-loves, theater!au, hurt/comfort ♡ mentions of/warnings: injuries, lmk if there's anything else ♡ a/n: this is a rewrite of a fic i wrote and posted YEARS ago; unfortunately it was eaten up when i accidentally deleted my blog :’) it was originally for joshua from svt; i changed some of the times in the fic from the original, so if it’s a little wonky that’s why :’) pls enjoy ! <3 at the time it was my longest fic, now only second to roman holiday ^^ a/n 2: apologies for my absences ! i had some health issues even tho it was supposed to be my break :') im doing well now ^^

♡ masterlist ♡

It was strange. Weird. Practically unfathomable and there must be some kind of mistake. The play had those two characters as romantic leads. The ones who slowly turn to look at each other, catch the starry glint in the other’s eye before slowly leaning in, before slowly closing their eyes, before slowly feeling their heartbeat accelerate because oh heavens this is it—before slowly kissing each other for the first time with such tender passion some members of the audience start to cry.

Those roles were not ever meant for the ones who have been friends since seventh grade, where one of them accidentally tripped and tossed their lunch all over the other, rendering the former an apologetic mess and the latter slightly smelling of garlic for the rest of the day. Not for the ones who stayed up far too late binge watching whole seasons of anime because they finally turned in that big project and it’s in fate’s hands now. Definitely not friends who are each other’s best friends, always. Never them.

But when the director swings back to the two of you, the mischievous and excited glint in his eye is unmistakable. His giddiness even bubbles over and he repeats himself, happily gazing between you and the best friend of 8 years standing beside you. “Beomgyu, Y/N, you will be the best two leads this stage has ever seen.”

You don’t want to talk about it. You avoid it for as long as possible. Have every conversation about everything else possible except the one topic that actually needs discussion. The trees outside are slowly losing their crunchy leaves, littering the ground with crimson and gold and sprigs of chocolate in between. They rustle and fuss when walked over, and shuffle down the street in a hoard of warning, proclaiming threats of the bitter winds of winter that would soon approach and engulf everyone whole.

Some mornings, you can see remnants of late-night frost on window panes, icy designs laced over the glass in the early morning hours. The grass glistens and shimmers with frozen dew, and the sidewalk is slippery enough to encourage walking slowly or bypassing concrete altogether and walking through the dead leaves. Some nights, you can see your breath curl as you wait outside the diner, a translucent white beast disappearing into the night. As night draws darker earlier, the air grows colder, like a mysterious ghost. One moment, you’re warm—the next, a bitter chill sprints around you, immersing everything in a coldness that drills past your layers and settles into your bones.

But you’d wait a thousand years in the cold just to walk him home. You’d wait forever if it meant seeing him one last time before the day ended and blurred into the next through a series of dreams and quiet darkness.

Beomgyu is one of the last few people out of the diner; he never closes, but he stays as long as he can, helping out and cleaning before his boss gets angry and tells him to “go home! Don’t you have homework?” When he steps out onto the street, making sure to close the door behind him, he’s safely bundled up in a black pea coat and a plaid woolen scarf that, when wound up, nearly encompasses his neck, chin, and even the bottom tips of his ears. When he sees you waiting for him again, he smiles, eyes lighting up like firecrackers and his grin is so warm it starts to defrost your bones, slowly but surely.

“You know you don’t have to wait for me?” he says, falling in step with you as the two of you began the chilled trek back to your apartment.

“Yeah,” you shrug, “but then who will make sure you don’t get lost on your way back? Or, I don’t know, get eaten by a star-monster?”

“A star-monster?” He quirks his head towards you, raising his eyebrow in mild but amused confusion.

You nod your head. “What if the stars gang up on you and snatch you right off the face of the earth and you disappear into the sky? And no one knows or can save you because I wasn’t there? Hm?”

A bitter chuckle escapes his lips. The white curl of his breath fills the air in front of him before it fades, taking the bright look in his eyes with it. “Then I guess I wouldn’t have to be a part of the musical, would I?”

Silence washes over you like a breaking wave—it hurts and stings, knocking everything away and tossing the tiny ships around into chaos. The only sound now is the brush of the wind skirting the leaves down the street with you and the distant city noise. The heels of your shoes hit the pavement in time together, and your breaths slowly start to match up. But something’s off; you feel it in your heart and your bones begin to ache again as the cold ice returns once more, spreading their chilled fingers across them.

Somehow, you find your voice, but it’s quiet and small. “It couldn’t be that bad, could it?”

Beomgyu shrugs, looking anywhere but you. He throws his head back and stares up at the night sky, where the stars kindly twinkle back at him, almost as a promise of we’d never steal you away. You look up, too, but all you see is a menacing darkness that you’re not sure you can get rid of. It feels like it’s bearing down on you, pressing down on your head, your shoulders, and your heart. With it comes a dark doubt, one that oozes into the cracks of your armor and makes you start to question things. It beckons out the dangerous thoughts—the what ifs—and coaxes them into the light and forces you to acknowledge them. What if... this changes things. What if... it ruins things. What if...

“Y/N?”

Your gaze drops back down. Beomgyu stands a few yards ahead of you, in the light of one of the yellow streetlamps. You must have stopped while lost in thought, slowing down until you ended up stuck in between two lamps, in the shadowy part. “Hm?”

He shakes his head. “You just stopped walking.” He turns toward you completely and quickens his pace until he’s beside you again. The look on his face screams of concern, of wondering if his best friend is fine or if it’s something he can’t fix. He reaches out to take your hand in his. “Is everything okay?”

Your heart swells, but it still feels as if it will break, shatter, crumble at any time or place. It feels like porcelain, that if it isn’t handled with care and marked FRAGILE, it will ruin to the point that nothing can fix it. You know what question you have to ask; it’s weighing down on your tongue and you’ll have to force it out.

You gulp, and you can feel your hand shaking in his. Beomgyu’s eyebrows knit together, his starry eyes trying to search for what’s wrong. For what is in need of helping. You stare back at him, garnering the courage to ask the question that’s been plaguing you since roles had been assigned. “The show–it won’t change anything between us, will it?”

And then, he does something unthinkable.

He laughs.

Beomgyu lets go of your hand and bends over in half, practically cackling at the idea, whisker dimples on full display. When he stands back up again, he’s still laughing hard enough he crinkles into your frame, resting a hand on your shoulder and burying his head into your neck, an arm resting across his stomach. His body shakes with laughter, and it’s infectious. A grin slowly spreads across your face, and then a giggle works its way out until the two of you are both laughing like fools. You may be between two lampposts in the shadows, but there’s light where you are.

When the laughter finally subsides to gentle smiles, Beomgyu takes your hand again and tugs you close. He starts walking again, pulling you along, swinging your arms between the two of you. He knocks into your shoulder jokingly, and the both of you smile harder.  “Of course not,” Beomgyu says. His smile is pure, assuring. The hand in yours is warm, stable. “Nothing will ever change us.”

Seventh Grade.

The auditorium was full of anxious students, the buzz of noise telling the story of those who were waiting for their turn to shine on stage. The lights were turned on as bright as they would be for a performance, and the stage was decorated with real props from last semester’s performance, a steampunk rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. No one thought the director could pull it off, but when the curtains closed for the last time that first showing, everyone was left starstruck and a new round of students was inspired to try out for the next performance.

A loud clap from the director thundered through the auditorium, signaling for attention and shocking you into your seat a little further. The red fabric bristled against whatever skin your sweater didn’t cover. Outside, the harsh winter weather pummeled the barren landscape, the dead, empty tree branches getting whipped by the bitter, unforgiving wind. The light dusting of snow made everything brighter, almost to the point it hurt to look out the windows at the white world. Inside, however, was full of warm tones and warm breaths. The heat of the auditorium practically had you sweltering, making you wish you had worn layers instead of a bright green sweater. The threads around the collar began to itch at your neck, and you tugged at the hem in search of relief. You really wanted to be here. You really wanted to audition. But the number of people and how long you’ve waited has started to play mind games with you. What if they don’t get to you today? What if they skip over you entirely for someone else? Someone with more theater experience from prior years than you, a complete newbie? What if—

“Hey, uh, is this seat taken?”

You looked up, still fiddling with your itchy collar. It was the boy from the day before—Beomgyu. The one who had accidentally tripped over someone else’s backpack and thrown his lunch all over you. He looked like a complete wreck, one hand holding onto the wrist of the other arm, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes as he struggled to even look in your direction. You shelf your own nerves and offer up a kind smile and pat the seat, which he hastily filled.

It’s quiet between the two of you for a while afterward. On stage, more students rotated through songs and performances, some spectacular and others a little lackluster. It was beginning to become monotonous, and your mind started to wonder if you had gotten here earlier, would you have already auditioned by now? But then something happened. A student walked on stage, introduced themselves politely, and then began to blow everyone and every other performance out of the water. The way they moved, spoke, sang—everything they did was captivating and you felt yourself leaning forward in your seat, drawing ever nearer to the practically perfect audition. There was no music playing in the background, but their vocals and stage presence was more than enough. The entire auditorium erupted in applause when the student on stage finished.

“Wow,” you breathed out. You’d practically fallen out of the chair—feet standing on tiptoes, elbows on knees, chin rested in your cupped hands with a shimmer in your eyes. That. You wanted to be like that. Bewitching, enchanting, and utterly spellbinding.

“I know right?” the boy whispered beside you. The two of you turned to look at each other, and somehow, in the back of your mind, you registered he was sitting the same way you were, looking completely and utterly enraptured with the previous performance. He stared into your eyes—the first time, you noted—and you could see the stars, like a secret milky way full of wonder. There was a serious note in them. “Let’s both do our best so when we grow up, we can be that good.”

“No.” You shook your head, and Beomgyu’s face collapsed into confusion. You shook your head again, this time with a mischievous grin spreading across your lips. “No, when we grow up, we’ll be way better.”

A murmur ripples around campus. Sophomore year of college, and all of high school behind you. You’d think you would be used to it by now, the way quiet words spread around so sneakily but somehow always managed to make their way to your ears, too. But when the girls in the bathroom see you and slyly turn away, whispering how you and Beomgyu have the romantic leads, how of course they do, you can’t help but feel the knot in your stomach form and twist your insides until you feel pressure on your heart as well. Until it feels like you’re about to burst and spill everywhere. You want to spin at them, throw your hands out, and tell them how it’s not like that! That there’s nothing between the two of you except for friendship, the purest of kinds! Stop thinking that way!

But the wiser part of you, the one that’s been through high school, knows that they would just nod their head and try to hide their smirk. You can’t change their minds; they’ll always be thinking and imagining what they want.

Outside, the halls teem with people trying to get to their next class or break. You debate on stopping by your locker near the theater—you won’t need your books again until you go home thanks to rehearsal, but it would be out of your way to get there, on the opposite side of the arts block. But your books are heavy. Really heavy. Like shoulder-breaking, premature back pain-inducing heavy. You find that your feet have started to take you through the crowds to your locker before your mind decides on the plan itself.

In middle school, your and Beomgyu’s lockers were practically as far as they could be from one another. Yours by the gymnasium and near the arts building and the theater. With your mismatched class schedules, you only got to see each other at lunch and for theater. As your friendship grew, he would let you borrow locker space. It got to the point where you basically co-owned each other’s lockers; everything for classes on his side of the building was in his locker and everything for classes on your side was in yours.

By the time high school rolled around two grades later, the two of you were inseparable. As were your lockers. His at one end of the hall, yours at the other end on the opposite side. This only caused trouble junior year, when the two of you had such a bad falling out you could hardly bare to walk past one another’s locker let alone the other person. You would end up taking roundabout ways to your own locker, which worked until you ended up running into him one day without warning.

But you don’t have that problem now. As you walk past Beomgyu, who’s standing by his locker talking to another theater kid, you lightly slug his shoulder. You turn to walk backward and catch his reaction, and he’s staring back at you with fake confusion and his arms thrown up in the air. “You’ll pay for that!” he calls after you.

“Yeah, yeah, sure I will!”

You reach your locker, a happy smile on your face, glad your best friend is the kind of person you can beat up on. You spin the lock with precision, ready to open the door, slam your books inside on the shelf, and hurry to the theater for rehearsals. You can’t wait to see what strange exercises the director would have up his sleeve today; last time, he had everyone stand on the steps in the audience and each time they recited a line correctly, they got to move up two steps. First to the top wins; you and Beomgyu tied for first.

When you pull out the lock and swing the door open, what you see ruins your mood instantly. The crisp, white, inch-thick script stares back at you with quiet remorse. Remember me? it seems to say. Don’t forget about me. You’re almost afraid to touch it, knowing exactly what it holds in its pages even without having read a single line. If your fingers were to graze it, it’s as if an electric shock would shoot out and stop your heart from ever beating again. A tiny part of you wonders if, if your heart really did stop beating, would Beomgyu come to your side and rescue you?

Or would it be like the other night, with a sharp, bitter laugh and a mild happiness over a forgotten kiss.

You’re jostled out of your stupor by a neat punch to your arm, and you fall back into your locker with a metallic clang. When your vision focuses back on the real world, you see Beomgyu walking away from you towards the theater with a confident smirk on his face. He throws out his hands, his smile growing even wider. “I told you, you’d pay for that!”

You’re smiling too, now, and you hurry and grab the script and race after him.

It will all be okay. The two of you had already talked about it, how nothing could change between you two. Regardless of what the girls in the bathroom would dare to say in front of you. Regardless of what anyone else on campus or your major are thinking. Regardless of the script that burns slightly in your grasp, the crisp paper threatening to cut tiny slices into your delicate skin. You and Beomgyu—inseparable best friends for the rest of time.

It would always be that way. No play, no roles, no romantic leads, would get in the way of that. You’d promised each other you’d be each other’s best friend, always.

Freshman year.

Sunlight streaming through the loosely drawn curtains was what woke you, lit patterns playing across your face. Your back ached from sleeping on a couch at a crooked angle for who knows how long. You stretched and tried to pull at your sore joints, attempting to return them to pre-crooked status. The room was still dark; the lamps were all off and the only other source of light was the television, where Netflix was playing some random anime you don’t remember ever selecting or talking about. Vague memories float up to the surface slowly as you finished waking up: you and Beomgyu had turned in a big semester final project that neither of you had thought would be finished on time but somehow managed to pull off. Deciding to get take out and stay up as long as possible watching as many seasons of anime as you could fit in and—

“Boo!”

Your scream echoed through the small dorm and you pulled at the blanket on top of you, trying to hide behind the soft, comforting quilt. On the other side of the couch was Beomgyu, laughing so hard he nearly rolled off onto the shag carpet rug. You half thought about being kind, and warning him to be careful because if he fell he could hit his head on the coffee table, but the other half said he scared you and deserved whatever happened next.

“How could you be so mean!” you whined, reaching behind you to grab a pillow to throw at your best friend’s face. “How long had you been planning something like that?”

Beomgyu paused his laughter to think. “Probably since I woke up about ten minutes ago. It would have been more elaborate, but then you woke up and I ran out of time.”

“You’ll pay for that, you know,” you muttered, drawing the blankets closer against your chest, where inside your heart still beating faster than usual.

“Even after helping you with that project and pay for dinner? On a college budget?” He paused for another moment, resting his chin between his thumb and the rest of his fingers. “Wait, pay for dinner... seems like I’ve already paid for it, Y/N.”

“Beomgyu!” You lunged forward, diving towards his end of the couch. Instead of a successful attack, you landed squarely in his arms, where he proceeded to tug you tightly against his chest. Escape, you soon realized, was futile. You’d have to talk your way out of this one. “Beomgyu, let me go. Now!"

“You know, you sure are whiney when you wake up,” he commented, rustling the hair atop your head. Your heart was still beating quickly and you were convinced the flush of your cheeks was due to large bouts of boiling hot rage streaming through your veins. “And why should I?”

“I would be in a nicer mood if you hadn’t scared me!” You tried to wriggle your arms up and pry your way out, but his grip was solid still, strong and warm. Since when was he ever this strong? His cheeks, you noticed, were warm and rosy as well, but that was from laughing too hard, you were sure. Why else would they be flushed?

“You may have a point…”

“Of course, I have a point! Now let me go!”

Mischief swam around with the stars in your best friend’s eyes. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, planning something you could only hope wasn’t entirely embarrassing. One eyelid dropped shut, and the smirk on his lips was unmistakable. “I will, but only if you pay for breakfast. From somewhere nice,” he rushes to add. “Student union doesn’t count.”

You released a terse sigh, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Fine! Deal! Now, release me!”

His arms slid away and you rolled over onto the floor, gently landing between the couch and the coffee table. The carpet was rough against your bare arms, but you were glad to be freed from Beomgyu’s death grip.

He was situated on the edge of the couch, chin resting lazily on his forearm, his eyes filled with mild shock and awe. “Really?” he gasped, as if he couldn’t actually believe you’d agreed. “Even if it’s the overpriced brunch food from the boutique down the street?”

You sighed, staring back at him.  “Yes. Even the brunch food from the boutique down the street.”

A moment of stillness, then...

“I’m glad we’re best friends," he said plainly, no hesitation in his voice. His dark eyes had warmed to a welcoming honest color, the kind some people could describe as home. The air around the two of you was still, a precious silence that quietly begged to be broken softly. Outside, the morning birds began to sing their late winter tune, beckoning spring to arrive as soon as possible. The sun filtered through the tiny windows brightly now, filling the dorm with warm yellow like that made everything feel nostalgic. Like the perfect ’80s movie.

When you found your voice, your words were soft but not timid. They held the same amount of honesty and weight as his had. “Me, too. We’re best friends, always.”

A soft smile played at Beomgyu’s lips as he echoed your promise. “Always.”

The walk back to your apartment is chilly. Even though the sun shone brightly ahead, the first freeze of the season the night prior plunged your town from late autumn into early winter. What few leaves remain on the trees might as well be frozen on, and the rest of the dead ones scattered around on the pavement, crunchy husks of their former selves. It’s daylight, but you can easily imagine if darkness were shrouded around you, your breaths would be rising out in front of you in vague translucent puffs. Cold describes everything in sight.

Beomgyu is close by your side, nestled in that ridiculously oversized scarf of his. Christmas is a while away, but you’re already planning on getting him a nice, Beomgyu-sized scarf, probably a deep brown to match his eyes.

“What’cha thinking about?” His voice, clear as crystal, cuts through the air like a sharpened knife, but it doesn’t startle you. It’s warm and inviting against the bitter winter weather, a gentle fire among the cold.

“What I’m gonna get you for Christmas,” you reply, burying your hands into your coat pockets. The pavement scuffs beneath your boots, the walk back home growing boring. As you crossed the street where you two used to part ways freshman year, him to the left and you to the right, you remember when he said his parents told him they were moving during high school. How distraught the two of you became, only to find out he was moving in across the street from your house. Now, you split the rent for a two bedroom apartment. “How about you?”

“To be completely honest, I’m wishing I had remembered my gloves this morning, because right now, my hands are extremely cold.”

You laugh, a bright chuckle, and pull your own hands out of your pockets, staring down at the grey gloves cloaking your fingertips. You hold out your hand towards him. “Want to take one?”

Beomgyu scoffs. “And let you suffer from an equally terrible fate as myself? I think not. At least one of us needs to live.”

You laugh again, throwing your hands back into your pocket. “Fine, be that way.” You cut in front of him, dashing over to the short decorative stone wall running as a divider between the grassy park and the sidewalk. In a quick hop, you’re walking along the top as it gradually slopes higher to the point your feet are even with Beomgyu’s waist.

He stares up at you as you hold your arms at length on either side of you, a small frown playing on his lips. “Be careful,” he warns, the tone of his voice surprisingly stern, something he rarely treats you with. When you look down, you see his brows creased as he follows your pace.

“Yeah, okay, dad,” you laugh, finding the bitter look on Beomgyu’s face amusing. The stone wall beneath your feet is sturdy, and your balance is just as solid. Years of strange theater exercises had brought you that. You can even see your apartment down the street; you’d walk all the way atop this wall, taller now still, and show him.  You’ll get to the end and hop off dramatically and tease him for worrying. He keeps pace with you perfectly, still by your side even if there’s distance. The look in Beomgyu’s eyes tells you he wants to reprimand you, take you by the waist and set you safely on the sidewalk before scolding you on every reason why you shouldn’t have done that. But you don’t need him to. You’re perfectly safe with no reason to worry and—

You’ve misstepped.

Your foot is too far from the center, closer to the edge of the stonewall than you had anticipated. There’s not enough foot on the edge to save it. Your impressive balance is misplaced even further as your arms circle widely at your sides, trying in vain to regain some semblance of stability. You can feel yourself pitch sideways, your feet finally coming out from beneath you, and now you’re looking up at the crystal blue sky.

There’s not a cloud in sight, odd for this early winter day, and for the shortest of moments, it’s like you're falling through the atmosphere. The cold wind biting at your cheeks is caused by your descent. The screams you hear are just the air rushing past your ears, calling your name, not anyone else. The clunk of bodies hitting the pavement is just an illusion.

Your vision snapping to black is just a mistake, a cruel trick of fate, like the dark doubts that swarm around your head when you’re all alone. The blackness is almost welcoming, and you succumb quietly.

Twelfth Grade

Four weeks.  Just under a month. Your life had gone from bold with color and emotion to two steps from dead and lifeless. Subjects you’d once enjoyed, now dull and monotonous. Walks to school were boring. Lunch and free period were non-committal. You’d skipped theater more than your fingers could count; you’d gotten an email from the director asking if everything was okay.

But it wasn’t. Nothing was.

Because it had been four weeks, just under a month, since you’d talked to your best friend.

What you’d even been fighting over, you couldn’t remember. That entire night is a fogged mess in your memory banks, existing but inaccessible. You know it’s there, but your brain, or maybe your heart, refuses to replay the details for you. The only information it relays is that there was a fight, and somehow some kind of words were said that ended in hot tears and storming out of houses with no goodbyes, take cares, or any sign of always.

Life since then had been weird, like you had shifted from one plane of existence but the world didn’t shift with you. Like a blurry camera shot, where one part of the image is in focus with fuzzy edges but everything else is shaken and smeared like thick wet paint.

All the love and joy theater had brought you since seventh grade was gone, five years nearly shattered to pieces inside your nearly-broken heart. You had no idea when the light would return, or if you would ever act again. It was so closely entwined to him, it physically hurt to walk near the theater or even think of certain plays.

Just like it hurt in the classes you shared. Sitting across the room from each other as far as possible, as opposed to right next to each other and sharing looks and soft smiles. The other students and even the teachers were left in a mild tailspin of confusion. There was never a scene made, nor any words spoken. Glances weren’t exchanged anymore. You never looked in his direction; your heart would ache far too much to handle.

Different pathways were even chosen to get between classes. You didn’t want a chance encounter in the halls, you couldn’t handle it. You guessed he couldn’t either, because you never saw him. There were never any accidental meet ups by your lockers, either.

Your plan had been to skip theater again and take the bus home, riding it around until it dropped you off last. You wouldn’t have to see him, it wouldn’t have to hurt, for that day at least. But you were running late, another teacher asking if you were okay needing brushing off. You needed to hurry and stop by your locker to retrieve your books. The bus was leaving soon; if you wanted to leave, you’d need to rush.

The halls were empty, everyone either in their after school clubs or outside waiting for the buses. You hurried to your locker, fingers anxious to spin the code in, grab your books, and leave. You reached inside, ready to retrieve the books by their spine and disappear from this place for what would feel like a short eternity. The hall was too bright, too empty, too--

“Y/N?”

Your heart skipped a beat, head whipping to the side. Beomgyu stood mere feet from you, but he might as well have been a thousand miles away. There were no longer any stars in his eyes, no warmth or cheer. They were sad, dark pits of self-doubt. They were muted screams, begging for help but not being quite loud enough. The dark circles under his eyes pleaded as well, and the downturn of his lips was what sent your stoic, bored, “I can make this” facade spiraling downwards.

You reached forward instinctively, wanting to cup his cheek with your hand and gently rub away the dark circles with your thumb, but you froze midway. Your voice even hitched. “Beomgyu... you look…”

“Awful? Dreadful? Like hell?” he filled in for you, and you couldn’t help but nod. Your chest was tight, almost to the point you wanted to clutch and tear at your heart to find relief. And the way your best friend was standing, shoulders slumped and body looking one strong wind from caving in like a fragile house of cards, it seemed like his heart was aching, too.

“What happened to us?” you asked, voice quiet and quivering. The hot buildup of tears began behind your eyes, making the edges of your vision blur together in a mass of sad, muted tones. “Why did we—”

“I don’t know,” he answered quickly, anxiously, as if he doesn’t speak fast, he’ll lose you again. He took a tender step forward, leaving only a few feet between you, but it was still too much space. You missed being side by side, close enough to bump into each other’s shoulders or elbow each other’s sides. Beomgyu took another tiny step towards you when you didn't move back. “What were we even fighting about?”

“I don’t know.” You felt like one step away from crumbling inwards, clasping in on yourself and all the way to the cool hallway floor. Your hands were shaking now at your sides, and you gripped your hoodie hem to prevent the shivers from racing up your arms and shaking the rest of you until you shattered into tiny shards. The moment your fingers curled around the soft hem was when you realized: it was his. You’d thrown in on that morning without even thinking. Now, all you could notice was how strongly, how nicely it smelled like him. You took in a solid breath of air to prevent the tears from spilling over, but it was shaky and unconvincing. “Whatever we were fighting about, it’s not worth this. I miss you, Beomgyu.”

His eyes were still empty, no stars in sight, but now they were glossy with tears. His chin quivered, and his lips moved to say something but couldn’t. His fingers curled and uncurled around the leather strap of his messenger bag. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “I miss you. So much it hurts to breathe, so much I can’t stand to look at you in class or else I feel like crying. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please, please, forgive me and be my best friend again. I don’t think I can take life without you anymore.”

The both of you lunged forward at the same time, wrapping each other in a hug. Your arms clung to his neck while his encircled your waist, holding you close. Warm, salty tears finally spilled over, running down your cheek and onto the soft denim of his jacket. By his shaky breaths, you figured he was crying, too. “I don’t want you not in my life anymore either,” you managed, hoping somehow that you’d made sense.

Beomgyu laughed in your arms, drawing you even nearer. “Good, because I really didn’t want to have to explain to your father why I was standing under your window with my guitar instead of just letting myself in like usual.”

You laughed too, but the kind of broken laugh where you find pure happiness just after harsh sadness. Your heart swelled with joy, knowing that Beomgyu was still yours. The time you’d spent apart, not talking or goofing around or shoving each other playfully with stupid grins on both of your faces, had been life-draining. You’d never get it back, even if you spent forever together. You never wanted to go through anything like that ever again.

Beomgyu nestled into the crook of your neck, words whispered so quietly you knew instantly that they were just for you. “We’re each other’s best friends, always. Right?”

You wrap your arms around even tighter, a true smile on your face for the first time in weeks. “Right. Always, Beomgyu, always.”

The apartment is quiet. The shades are drawn open, allowing late afternoon sunlight to spill in and swim around on soft carpet floors, bathing them in warm yellow light. The television in the corner is on but mute, the news airing with no noise. The heater kicked on a minute or so ago, filling the house with nicely warm air. Outside, soft baby snowflakes begin to fall out of the sky, the first snowfall of the season. If the sound had been on, you would have known that the weatherman said the snow was no reason for concern—it wouldn’t accumulate to the point it was dangerous. Just a light dusting, something to make the outdoors look nice and wintry.

But you are unconcerned with whatever the weatherman’s words may be or the consequences of the snow. There are more pressing concerns.

Your voice warbles as you pull out the first aid kit from above the washer and walk back into the living room. “Beomgyu, I’m so so sorry, I—” You bite down on your lower lip to prevent yourself from crying; there wasn’t time for that now.  The white plastic lid snaps open, and you pull out the gauze, the alcohol wipes, and the bandages with shaky hands. He sits on the edge of the couch, one hand bracing himself on the cushion, the wounded one resting tenderly on his lap.

You lower to stand on your knees and reach out to take the hurt one in yours. You stare down at his split second knuckle, an ugly gash that would surely scar no matter how kindly or tenderly you treated it. Caused because of your stupidity, your recklessness. Caused because you tripped or slipped or something and fell off the wall. Caused because he risked his safety to catch you. You feel your heart break, knowing the scar would be your fault, forever, and you can’t ever fix it no matter how hard you try.

There’s no going back, or rewinding time to try again.

Beomgyu winces as you wipe at the cut with the alcohol wipes, and you mutter sorry after sorry. It’s beginning to not even feel like a real word. You can feel your chest heaving, one step away from a total breakdown as you swim through deep and measured breaths. Guilt pours over you like a thick syrup, sticking to every surface and threatening to drag you down and drown you whole. It fills into the cracks of your armor, bubbling up inside you like a witch’s brew. As you place the gaze and wrap the bandages around his hand, your breaths are coming shallower and shallower, your ability to keep it together fading. When you tie the bandages into place, you let go and drop to sit on your heels, all energy gone. Your head hangs in shame, and you wish you could crawl away and hide somewhere until further notice.

Which would be easier if you didn’t share a damn apartment.

However, your best friend won’t let you.

“Hey,” he calls, his voice soft and soothing. His healthy hand curls under your chin, gently begging you to look up, and you comply. His eyes are calm and filled with stars again,  and other emotions you can’t quite place. He smiles kindly, and you can feel your heart shatter at that instant. Right now, you don’t deserve that kindness. Your shoulders spike up and tears begin to spill over. Beomgyu’s face collapses into concern, and he slides off the couch to sit on the floor next to you, legs crossed.

When he places his hands on your shoulders, you try to shake them off. “Please, just...” Your voice falls away. How could you ever apologize for what happened? You knew you shouldn’t have, and yet you did. You knew he seriously disapproved, even if he didn’t voice it totally, and yet you continued. You knew, deep down, that you were getting cocky, and yet you didn’t stop. You had plans on teasing him, mocking him for his concern. The guilt presses down and down, crunching against your head, your shoulders, and your heart until you could scarcely breathe. Quiet sobs heave against your frame, from your torso down to your whole body. You could tell, soon, that you’d simply shake apart into fragments that could never be pieced together again.

You injured your best friend from your own stupidity.

“Hey,” Beomgyu says again, and this time, he reaches for you and pulls you into his lap, safely tucking you under his chin. You don’t resist, and even if you wanted to, you doubt you could have done it past all the crying. He gently rocks you back and forth, rubbing your back, soothing you as one would a small child. Once your sobs have subsided, and your breaths return to a semi-normal state, he speaks again. “I don’t hate you for what happened, if that’s what you think. I could never, I…”

You pull yourself slightly from his grasp, enough to stare at him at eye level, coming out from underneath the warm spot of his chin and neck and shoulder. The emotions swirling around amongst the stars in his eyes are new and unusual to yet, and some part of you feels at home with them. Your voice is quiet, almost hesitant, when you talk. “You... what?”

Beomgyu takes a breath, as if steeling himself. "I have something I need to tell you."

"Need?" you echo, head quirking to one side in confusion.

He nods, staring straight into your eyes. When he speaks, his tone is something you’ve rarely ever heard before. “Need. My chest might burst if I don’t get this off it, and that wouldn’t really help me graduate. Or tell you this. So... and seeming we might as well have almost died…” You roll your eyes at his dramatics, and Beomgyu seems hesitant, but only for a moment. Years of going up on stage have prepared him, but you can tell in this instance, he’s honest, 100% himself, and your best friend, not some actor playing a character for some play. 

He takes another breath before: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes grow wide, a small gasp escapes your lips, but he doesn’t stop.

“No, that’s not right. I know I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you for a long time but this... this is different. I want to keep you safe, to wipe away any of your tears. Seeing you sad just... tears at my heart. It hurts. Whenever you're sad or upset, I feel the same way, even if it’s just words over a text message. I really did feel like I was going to die when we had that fight. Living without you was unimaginable, but I had to go four weeks without you. Without your voice, your stupid jokes, your laugh. I guess I was in love with you then, too, I just didn’t know it.”

Words escape you, any witty comeback gone. You stare at him, the honesty in his eyes, thinking you’d see him differently after his confession. But you don’t. He’s still Beomgyu. He’s still your best friend. He’s still your Beomgyu.

One of your hands raises, and you tap yourself on your sternum. “Me?”

Beomgyu rolls his eyes now, as if he expected some kind of response like this. “Yes, you. I mean, who else would look up at the night sky, invent a star-monster, then worry about it taking me? I’ve wondered if I was really in love with you, like really actually in love with you. But when you fell and I caught you and you blacked out and I didn’t know why... Y/N, I was so worried. I could feel my heart breaking and I knew that if you never woke up, I wouldn’t ever be the same again.”

He’s mere inches from you, arms around you, body heat radiating off in such pleasant ways you feel okay with melting straight into the floor. His hands move from around your back to ghost around your face, like they want to caress you but are too afraid you might shatter like a fine porcelain under his touch. And his eyes—damn, his eyes. Every star, every galaxy, stirring together to create a beautiful milky way, a gaze so firm and caring you feel as if you’ll never look away. That if you somehow managed, too, you’d feel as if you were missing something dear and important.

Your heart flutters in your chest, its beat stuttery against your wrists. Oh, how on earth did you get here?

Maybe it was when one was so starstruck by the other they stopped watching where they were walking and dripped over someone’s strewn out, overstuffed backpack. When the other offered up a seat beside them during the audition to help settle nerves. Maybe it was when they woke up next to each other after having fallen asleep after binge watching an entire anime season or two, with Netflix on some other autoplay show, one was wondering how the other could look so soft and delicate just after they wake. When the other was happy that they were in each other’s lives. Maybe it was when they declared they’d always be friends, best friends, but now always seems to be more weighty and mean a little more than before.

Maybe, just maybe, this is when they slowly turn towards each other, catching the starry glint in the other’s eye. When they slowly lean forward, ever closer, to the point they can feel one another’s soft breath. When gazes go from eyes to lips and back. When heartbeats slowly start to be harder and louder. When you feel like you might be the one crying because oh heavens—this is it.

But there are things those plays never mention, things the audience can never detect.

They never mention how the palms of hands become sweaty, or how automatic it is to take a soft breath before another pair of lips meets yours, a touch so delicate you finally understand what all the hype is about.

How nice it feels to have two hands cupping your cheeks so gently, their little fear of shattering you gone, or how your own hand curls into the fabric of his shirt as if it’s second nature, the most right thing in the world.

How tantalizingly dizzy a first kiss is.

How soft lips are, how soothingly warm to the point you wouldn’t mind if they were all you felt. How tender goosebumps trail down your spine until something begins to pool in your stomach.

How, even though you’ve become utterly breathless, you can’t stop at just one, because now something that's been building and growing for years has unlocked.

Hands that trail from cheeks to ghost over the nape of the neck, sliding down arms softly to then find purchase at your waist. Kisses, more warm, tantalizing kisses that leave you craving for more. Kisses that roam from lips to chins, then trail down the jaw to tease and nip tender patches of skin on necks, only to return to corners of lips for more wholehearted, dizzying kisses.

You’re warm, almost hot, but it’s so pleasant. What exposed skin you have tingles with feeling, with a craving touch and affection, too. The two of you rest your forehead on one another’s, breath still shallow from all the kisses exchanged, hands softly interlocked with fingers entwined, or as much as one can with bandaged knuckles. He finds his voice first, though even it is soft and a little hoarse. “I should have done that a long time ago, huh?”

You giggle and snuggle closer, nestling into the crook of his neck. You place a kiss underneath his chin. Beomgyu rubs even patterns on your back with his healthy hand while you take the bandaged one in your own, cradling it gently. You pull it up to your own lips, kissing where each knuckle is softly. When you look up, you see the stars glowing in his eyes, brighter than anytime you’ve ever seen them. 

Beomgyu sighs, eyes softening at the corners. “I guess the kiss in the play won’t matter anymore, hm?”

You lightly slug in him the shoulder, a love-filled smile playing on your lips. He smiles back in a similar manner, his eyes lighting up with happiness. “Oh, and I guess this means you love me back, too.”

People fill and mingle around the diner, looking for an open seat among the crowds of customers. And older couple swoops in as soon as you vacate the booth, not even caring that your dirty dishes were still neatly stacked at the edge awaiting pick up. But you didn’t mind. You push through the doors to wait outside while Beomgyu paid. Even though there’s a small crowd at the counter, you knew exactly which one he was. Beomgyu wore his light blue jacket, the one that accentuated all his features nicely. You’d have to make sure that whatever Beomgyu-sized scarf you bought matched that jacket. He needed to wear it as often as possible.

The first official date was almost over, but you knew there would be many more to come. 

Once he’s finished paying, Beomgyu makes a beeline for the door, carefully navigating around all the people crowding the entryway. “Is it always this busy?” you ask when he rejoins you.

Beomgyu shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess so. But knowing you, the most gorgeous person ever alive, would be there waiting for me was very motivational.”

You do little to hid your smile.

He takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers as if it were second nature. Maybe, it was, and you two had just been trying to ignore it. This walk from the diner back to your apartment had been done countless times before, but this one is special. And now, you think, it really is your apartment. 

Beomgyu starts to casually rub gentle circles onto your skin with his thumb. “It’s the perfect kind of weather for me to take off my jacket and give it to you to keep you warm, you know.” He then takes a deep sigh and throws his head back. His next words come out playfully clipped. “But, someone had to be smart and wear their jacket.”

“Well, you’re not dating a fool,” you chuckle. When you notice Beomgyu pouting, eyes downcast away from you, you laugh again and poke him in the shoulder to get his attention. “Thank you anyway, Beomgyu, for always thinking of me.”

He turns back to you, all smiles. “Darling, I don’t think I could stop thinking of you even if I tried.”

“Ew, gross.” You laugh, white curls of breath forming in front of you. But, unlike last time, there is no cold or ice in sight. No dark thoughts and doubts plague you tonight. You’re delightfully warm and happy.

“Ew, gross yourself,” Beomgyu mimics, throwing his tone to match yours. “I’m cold too, by the way. So I guess thanks for thinking of me by thinking of yourself. God, you’re like the smartest person ever.”

As the walk home continues, so does the conversation. "Our parents seemed pretty happy when we told them, huh?" Beomgyu mentions, a smile playing at his lips.

“Maybe they planned it,” you muse. “Maybe the director was in on it. They wrote it all together because they decided it was now or never.”

Laughter fills the air, and even in the dark spots between the lampposts are filled with light.

You nudge your shoulder into Beomgyu’s, garnering his attention. “Can I ask you a question?” When he nods, eager to hear what you have to say, you continue. “Why did you throw your lunch on me that day in seventh grade?”

“That was an honest mistake!” he exclaims, eyes filled with desperate honesty. The blush along his cheeks as he looks away is readily apparent. When he looks up, his eyes are filled with sincerity. “But sitting next to you on audition day wasn’t.”

A soft smile plays at the corner of your lips. “I’m glad I got there late, then.”

“Me, too.” A moment of silence falls between you, but it’s comfortable, like an overtly fluffy blanket made just for two. Afterward, Beomgyu is the first to speak again. “Okay, I’ve confessed something from our past that’s mildly embarrassing yet still endearing. Now it’s your turn.” He turns to you with a mischievous grin on his lips.  "’Fess up, darling."

It takes a small instant, before: “Oh! You know that time we stayed up all night and watched anime after that big project? When we woke up the next morning, even though you scared the hell out of me, I thought you were pretty cute.”

Beomgyu’s eyebrows quirk up, his grin grows wider. “Cute? Me? You thought I was cute?”

Pink blush rushes to your cheeks before you smack him on the shoulder. You drop his hand and quicken your pace. “You were cute, you’re not anymore.”

Beomgyu races to catch up with you, takes your hand again, and bumps into your shoulder gently. “Of course I’m not cute anymore. I’m handsome.”

You make a fake gag. “Oh, please!” There’s no sense of lightness when you shove his shoulder.

“Hey, now,” he says, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand, another fake pout on his lips. “Be nice to your boyfriend.”

You scoff. “Is that what you are now?”

“What else would I be? More than friends but not a boyfriend…” Beomgyu’s eyes brighten as he lets go of your hand and snaps his fingers. “Aha! Your husband!”

You shove him with two hands this time. The idea of being with him like that is overwhelming to the max. “Fine, you’re my boyfriend, then.” The word feels foreign on your tongue, but you can easily imagine them growing comfortable. Your best friend. Your boyfriend. Your Beomgyu.

He slings his arm over your shoulder and pulls you close as your apartment slowly grows larger in the distance.  He leans his head over and rests it gently on yours. “I guess I lied,” he mutters, and you pull back confused even with his eyes on you, rich and loving. “I told you the play wouldn’t change things between us.”

A smile slowly spreads across your face. “But... we changed in a good way, right?”

Beomgyu answers you with a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, caressing your shoulders kindly and pulling you just a little closer. “Yeah, we changed in a good way.”

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ SUPEERR sorry for the late update! i went through a hellish week but I really wanted to go on with the story 😭 i wrote down the setting so the ending’s kinda set in stone, so buckle your seatbelts and prepare yourself for a ride.

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker [CAN THE OTHERS REDO THEIR NAMES I CANT FIND YALLS ACCOUNTS IM SCARED OF TAGGING THE WRONG PEOPLE IM SO SO SORRY IM NEW TO THIS]

⚠️ 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⚠️ PLOTTTTT. This chapter onward will mark the beginning of heavy themes. There will be mentions of death, manipulation, discussion of political issues, and profane language. Discretion is advised.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

And when the rain stopped, you two were back to the same scene, but with your hand on his sleeve.

You and Miles walked down the same Brooklyn road, your fingers pinching the corner of his jacket while he led your bike on with his free hand. Your shoes crunched against the autumn leaves, each step like a snapping twig, marking your each step.

Even at its darkest, Brooklyn never slept along with its sisters. The bright windows, the music playing from the underground bars, and the other couples maneuvering through the night like mice on the run. Still, everything seemed lazier and slower— and you didn’t know if it was just Miles or the atmosphere in general. Miles rambled on and on about his childhood show, going on about how his seven-year-old-self thought olives would be the greatest thing to snack on after seeing Jerry pine after it so much, and how after plopping it into his mouth changed the entire course of his life.

“Ever since then, I never ate another goddamn olive for the rest of my damn life.”

You laugh at his dramatics, at the way he shakes his head, but despite the dramatic way he moved, Miles never shook the arm your hand was clinging onto— you needed it more than his story-telling.

“I mean, olives do look like grapes, so I kinda understand the confusion.”

“That’s the biggest foul, really: that olives look like grapes.”

“It is kinda one hell of a foul. Mine’s the fact that raisins also look like grapes.”

And the image pops in his mind like a bubble. “… Jesus. Why the hell does everything look like grapes?”

“Ionno.” You shrug. “Same thing can be said about your head, though.”

He feigns offense, parting his mouth into an ‘o’ while leaning back. “Stop projecting your grapefruit-lookin’ ass.” Miles shoots back, earning a sharp swat from you. “Fucker, you’re the one built like a bamboo shoot.”

"You're the one talkin taller than your own height, you lil, dehydrated, un-sunned potted plant lookin' ass."

You gawk at the full-blown insult, earning nothing but a guffaw from Miles who shook his head.

"I'm just kidding, my girl, m'just kidding." He swiftly pulls you closer, pulling you in with his hand over your shoulders. "You know I'm just playin' with you, ma, you're the prettiest in my eyes." The way he sweetly coos tugs at your heartstrings, your tiny giggles muffled while he sways you around.

"Apology accepted," You snicker. "Riley Freeman.”

“… Future child bride.”

“Future enemy of the state.”

“Thas why you daddy don’t want’chu.”

“At least I got a daddy.”

And the squabble just went on and on.

Tiny jabs of flirting disguised as well-crafted insults, and subtle touches concealed as playful punches. The two of you were crazy in the sort of way that only the two of you can drive each other insane.

Ironically, you loved these sorts of moments with him— just two people simpering down the streets in good ol' New York. But in the back of your mind, there was still that lingering guilt that endlessly knocked against your psyche, begging you to tell the truth.

But the truth wasn’t the hotel, or the life you were living. The truth was a decaying matter locked in a finely decorated cage, where everyone could smell the stench, but they instead choose to ignore it all for the sake of preserving peace.

Miles would never do that. He wouldn’t turn around and shrug his shoulders just for the sake of preserving whatever peace or comfort New York had— he would absolutely fucking riot to disturb the comfortable.

But the thing was, all you had left was that peace, and the slightest piece of your dignity scrapped up like leftovers of a meal.

“Hey, ma.” Miles snaps you out of your thoughts, earning nothing but a small hum from you.

“… Do you know anythin ‘bout about parallel universes?”

You pause for a moment, processing that question like a printer— eyes slowly traveling to meet his as if to confirm if what you heard was correct. Miles shifts a bit, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“.. What?” You airily query, brows knitted together in confusion. He laughs at the way your mouth hung like a lost toddler. “Parallel universes? Ionno, I just heard ‘bout it from my dorm mate.” His fingers reach to scratch the nape of his neck. “Something ‘bout there being another version of us in another universe n shit like that— slight changes, maybe?”

“.. I’ve heard about it from my Physics professor, but I never really delved much into it.”

“Well, I’ve been thinkin a lot ‘bout it.”

Your nose scrunches. “But.. Why though?”

“Well,” The two of you start walking again, with the pace much slower. “It made me wonder if there’s another us in another universe.. Doin’ shit like this.” His hand gestured at the both of you, soon dropping by your side. “You n me, just walking and talking. I wonder if we also like each other in another universe.”

It sounded cheesy. Being lovers in more than one world.

But you liked the sound of it. Lovers.

“I probably hate you in every other universe.” You teasingly laughed while lightly pushing him away.

“Well, maybe there’s somethin’ special ‘bout me in this universe that made you fall for me.” He smoothly chimed, leaning a bit closer. You try to hold back a smile, but it still seeped in the corners of your lips.

“Ionno ‘bout that.”

His grin only widens. “You know you love me, ma.”

You stare a long stare.

I do.

“Shut up.” You mumble, pacing faster when Miles reaches out to hold your hand. “Maaaaaaaa.”

“What do you want, Miles?”

And he looks at you with those eyes of his. The kind that dragged you into this whole mess, the kind that made you crawling back in four days. Subtly, he leans down to your level, eyes in line with your own. Only then, so gently, he presses his lips against yours for a second.

"I wonder if that happens in every other universe too?"

You blink at the act, somewhat speechless.

“I’d be missin out on a lot if I don’t get to kiss you like this in every universe.”

You try to snap back at him, but you could no longer find anymore ammo to fire. Miles sets your brother’s bike aside, kicking the stand down just to take both of your hands— placing them over his shoulders.

"How about you? What do you think?" He suddenly asks. "Who would we be to each other in another world?"

There were a million thoughts blundering your mind, a sort of disarray you weren't used to— the thing was, you didn’t even know who the two of you were supposed to be to each other in this world. Everything seemed all blurry in the future, and you couldn’t even think of one for yourself.

But for once, you couldn’t help but think of what could be.

“Would you rather hear me romanticize, or would you rather hear me be realistic?” You asked of him.

Miles took a moment to think. “I think it’d be nice to hear what’chu think is romantic.”

You leaned in a bit towards his side. “You really think so? What if I end up soundin’ childish?”

Placing a gentle hand over your arm, he simply replied. “You’re young, ma. It’s okay to be a child.”

Turning more towards him, you begin to flit your fingers up toward his jaw. “Then…” Your eyes trailed away from his. “In another universe, we’re just us.” You mumble, your fingers tickling at the back of his neck.

“In another universe, I’ll be doing painting commissions at random shops to save up for Christmas. I’ll be working at that café we saw. You’ll be there, and we’ll meet up and I’ll be the one to ask for your number.” Your hand runs down his sleeve just to intertwine your fingers with his.

“What do you mean you? You can’t do nuthin, I’ll be the one asking for your number.”

Your gaze narrows. “It’s another world, Miles. We ain’t entirely sure if we’re going to be the same people.”

“You’ve got a point,” He piques. “But—“

“Let me finish.” You sigh, and immediately, he snaps his jaw shut. “… I don’t have to escape every night just to see you, nor do we have to meet exclusively every Friday and Saturday. We’ll see each other everyday, and you’ll go to my house— and my mom will make us food while going on and on about us dating, and my dad’s going to scold me to keep the door open just so he can keep an eye out on you.”

Suddenly, all the fantasies you’ve mentally illustrated for yourself every night to dwell upon came running out of your mouth.

“Maybe, I’ll have a few childhood scars, and I’ll paint my nails any color I like— I’ll get a new set monthly, and I’ll let you choose the color. We’ll walk to school together, and I’ll never miss any of your basketball games…. We’ll just be,”

Normal.

“Us.”

Realizing your rambling, you shift away a bit, somewhat embarrassed of all the stuff you’d blurted out. It’s like you could sense him trying to piece together what you’d just said. With a cautious hand, he wraps it around your waist before nuzzling his head into your hair.

"What's stopping us from being like that in this world too?"

You hold onto him a little tighter.

“… It’s getting colder these days, huh?”

Noticing your hesitance to break open, Miles decides to simply play along for now. “Yeah, it’s getting colder, ma, so you,” He softly pulls away, placing both of his hands over your cheeks. “You should start taking care of yourself or else you might start a whole new bubonic plague.”

“Why the fuck do you keep linking that to me?”

“Cause you’re a host of viral plague.”

“I’m not even sickly, damn it.” You say, while feeling an itch in your nose. “You’re just making shit up at thi— hACHOO!” You sneeze down to the ground, narrowly missing your sleeve. Miles takes a step back, shaking his head with a smile on his lips.

“… Maybe I should be a plague doctor for halloween, and you should be a medieval patient dying of the bubonic plague.”

He pictures you with comically large bags beneath your eyes, frail lips, and a white dress with its frock lost in the wind— and he’ll stand beside you, with the large black beak of the mask poking at your hair, with a large black cape flying behind his back.

“… Isn’t halloween this Saturday?” You think back with a frown. “I haven’t celebrated that in a long, long time.”

That was a lie. You’ve never celebrated halloween before.

“Huh?” He snaps in shock. “You don’t celebrate halloween?”

He watches you shrug. “It’s a kid’s thing.” Was what your Father always told you, in the same tone you were currently speaking.

“Awe man,” Miles mumbles. “… I thought you got the hint that we’re going trick or treating for our date.”

“Trick or treating?” That too, you also haven’t done. “I-Isn’t it dangerous? My mother said people would poison the candy and plant shit inside the chocolates.”

“What?” At that point, Miles was piecing together an image of your family with each passing story. “That almost never happens— who can afford poisoning children in this economy? Shit, might as well just use it on yourself with all the bills you have to pay.”

And there it goes again. The economy.

And it strikes you a bit. That guilt of being brought up pristinely uncomplicated. Privileged, as most would call it. Your problems were rather personal, never financial. Growing up, you’d been living lavishly in the comforts of your manor, never having to worry about tomorrow or next month or next year.

And, admittedly, it was unfair.

“… Miles, can I, um, discuss something with you?” You silently query, unconsciously matching your pace along with his. Miles only hums.

“Look. I don’t mean to get political, and I don’t want to sound privileged— but honestly speaking, I kinda am, and I can definitely recognize it.” You confess. “I wasn’t.. Raised in a home where we had to be conscious about money. My parents are well-off, in the way I’m sheltered as hell, but I’m not blind. I can see the city crumbling apart. My brother says that it’s all because people don’t wanna work anymore, and I never understood why.”

He raised his brows. “That’s… Well, I’m not gonna judge your brother from that alone,” Miles states, keeping in mind that he still wants to appeal to your family. “But honestly, that whole view is kinda whack. Listen, nena,” He takes a deep breath. “Imagine working your ass off nine to five— and you’re still getting paid the minimum wage. Rent is due, groceries are expensive, and you’re tired as hell, but it’s all not enough. You can’t even spend any of the money on yourself.”

“Well,” You pique. “… My father said that if the people would just stop buying irrelevant things and save up, they’d be able to live.”

Miles grimaces. “Do only the rich deserve happiness?”

Your head tilts. “Don’t they say that money can’t buy you happiness?”

He shook his head. “They say that because they’ve got the money.”

He spots the confused look on your face. Relatively, he takes your hand and further conveys. “Well, as you said, it’s a capitalist world. Only the wealthy say that because they don’t know what it’s like to be down here,” His hand points below. “In the slums, starving to damn death. Money can fix that shit. Money can fix all this, but they choose not to.”

Your mouth hung open.

“… I never thought of it that way.”

“Mhm.”

“My whole life, my parents have always chalked it up to hard work— but the city never sleeps, so it’s impossible that nobody here ain’t doing nothing.”

And it all processes through you. “Huh, it’s all.. New to me.” Naturally, your hand drags up to pluck the skin off your lips. “I never delved into that sort of issue before. My parents have always been kind of.. Sort of,”

“.. Elitist?”

“I was going to say stuck-up, but that makes so much more sense.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda seein’ it, not gonna lie.” His clicks his tongue. “Look, ion really talk ‘bout this sort of thing much, but I like discussing these sorts of things with you— ‘cuz it’s interesting seeing how open you are to these kinds of topics, even if you were raised like that.”

You turn your head to look at Miles, and your brow twitches ever so slightly at the pang of anxiety drumming at your chest.

“We’re… Really the opposites of each other, huh?”

He hums. “But in a way, we’re still kinda similar.”

“How so?” You ask, a bit dubious of the remark. You were all this, and he was all that. You doubted any sort of similarities you two had, but Miles holds your shaking hand.

“If you and I were solely made to be opposites, we’d be nemeses by now.”

And you ponder.

How long would it take before you start hating me?

How long would it take before I stop seeing that loving gaze of yours?

How long would it take before you discover the truth?

From afar, you could already spot the Gristedes building, as though it were the portal parting your world from his. You eventually take the bike back to yourself, dragging it by the handles. As the edge of the block materializes, you turn to look at the boy behind you.

“I’m gonna have to go ride back now.”

And when he draws closer, a flick of your mind takes the image of Miles’ exhausted face, assuming it’d be similar to what he’d look like once he recognizes the truth about you. You wonder if he feels it too— this strange air between the both of you, going past tension, and delving into something deeper and darker.

You’re so unsure. So afraid of how fragile this entire thing was.

“Ain’t I getting a kiss, nena?”

“You’re so needy.” You huff, opening your arms anyway. “If you get the bubonic plague, you’re gon’ be the one complaining all about it.”

“Yeah, yeah, nena, whatever you say— just gimme my kiss.”

And he penguin walks his way to you, leaning down like a kid in search of candy. Miles steps into your view, following wherever you turned— his hands making their own journey across your waistline. Your palms snake up his shoulders, heels faltering backward when he presses you up against a brick wall. Your hands fall down to grip his arms instead, head tilting ever so slightly before taking his lips.

He takes you like you were his favorite drink, digging his fingers into the side of your waist— his body melting like ice on a summer day. With his hand, he angles your chin much higher, while yours trail up his chest, parting your lips to gasp for air, only for Miles to steal it away from you.

And when you part, you’re left a heaving mess.

“Trick or treating on Saturday?” He asks again. “Please?”

“… I—“

“I’ll take a bite of every candy you’ll get just to make sure it ain’t poisoned.”

You laugh at his remark.

“Fine.”

It was strange, almost unfamiliar to you, to meet the gate of the manor at this time of night.

It had you questioning your choices, your rationality, and the soundness of your mind. Your mind wasn’t entirely sound to begin with, fortunately for you Miles liked that about you.

After bribing the security, tossing Antonne’s bike to the side, and creeping into the damn place, suddenly, you’re thrust back into the stillness of your family’s generational household.

The marble tiles, the limestone brick walls, and the grandeur steps that parted by the center were all normalcy to you— in spite of how you’d always deemed your family as ‘capable’ to Miles.

Instead of childhood photos and potted plants, you were greeted by the sight of marvelously carved statues and antique paintings. Rather than a home, it felt more like a museum to you— but in a way, it was also your fault for keeping everything too clean.

It’s unfair.

One day you’ll leave this very house and leave it under the care of Antonne who hardly bore any interest for managing things. Despite the way you’ve learned to force yourself to take interest in numerous fields of whatever-the-fuck, this manor was something you treasured along with the hotel. Your father was well aware of your passion, your skills in tidiness, and that was the reason why he appointed you as Antonne’s proxy initially, but you were greedy for more.

You were a little too greedy to want Miles and the life you’d desired for the longest time. You didn’t know what the future was like, and you’ve grown too sick of having everyone else decide your own future for you. This life of infinite spending and glamour was the only life you’d ever known, and you weren’t prepared to abandon it all. As your mother said, no one’s privileged enough to be born as wealthy as you, and you’d likely carry that sort of financial ignorant bliss to the grave.

But Miles didn’t have that.

His family didn’t have generational heirlooms worth thousands of dollars, nor did they have antique paintings bought from highly private auctions. His home only had two bedrooms, unlike your own which housed tens of them.

You and him were astronomically different in more ways than one.

One of these days, those differences might end up either empowering or deadly to one of you.

Step. Step. Step.

As you treaded up the staircase, your hand jolts away from the icy ivory-pillared railings, cussing a subtle “Fuck,” as you went on. In the dead of the night, the halls appeared eerier and darker— as though you could see your own ancestors walking past the red carpets with their frilly gowns and downcast looks of disappointment. Like you could see them shaking their heads just after seeing you there, wearing Miles’ hoodie.

A scandal capable of ruining the family name. As if Antonne wasn’t enough, you ended up falling for a boy you’d likely run away with had you ever gotten the chance.

Elopement. Dramatically cliché, and somehow it still exists in the twenty-first century— for the star-crossed lovers and the filthy rich. Or maybe you just have really bad taste in men… Or parents! Pick a struggle.

You carried your shoes along with your guilt while trudging down the corridor, knowing you’ll likely have to have someone secretive clean the mess up for you. Antonne’s room was in a separate hall, with Malachi’s closer to your own. Even then, like a mouse, you scurry in silence just so you wouldn’t get caught. When you finally reach your door, a thousand burdens escape from your shoulders, only to hear a faint click when you try to twist the handle.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“Why won’t it fucking open?” You whisper to yourself. A few more Click Click Click Click Click’s and you manage to finally recognize that you’ve been locked out of your own damn room. You search through your clothes to find the key, only to realize that it’d been in the pockets of the hoodie you’ve left at Miles’ place. In your anxiety, you pull on the edge of your hair, cursing a million words.

I can’t wake up Malachi.

You place your hand over your mouth.

Your breaths begin to stagger, your exhaustion taking hold of you. You tug at your hair a little harder, as though your current goal was to rip your scalp out— and it hurt, it hurt like absolute hell, but nothing was up to par with the pain brought to you by your own mean mind.

But you think, and you think.

Then you lean back, take a breath, and sigh.

And the next thing you know, you’re stabbing through the lock with a knife.

Well, it was less of a stab, more like a saw to jam the bolt. It took a few several tries, but it did manage to unlock after a snap. You heave a sigh of relief, heading right in before gently closing it shut. Immediately off to rest your head against the flat of your door as a sort of celebration for your success.

“… Where have you been?”

You celebrated a little too soon, unfortunately.

Antonne stared at you from the sill of one of your opened windows, the gleam of the new dawn gleaming in pink and blue behind him, casting a long shadow that trailed past your fluffy carpet and dawned over your darkened face. Ever so slowly, he plucks the dying cigarette from his teeth, the intoxicating scent tugging at your nostrils. For once, Antonne’s taken you aback after the longest while. He looks similarly exhausted, with his unbuttoned dress shirt and disheveled hair, while also reasonably confused by your current appearance.

“I was out.” You shallowly answer, as if it weren’t too obvious. Antonne furrows his brows, only heightening the permanent arch he already endowed. At the sound of your words, he clicks his tongue and flicks the cigarette out the window.

“Was it that boy again?” He speaks a baritone lower, like something being dragged through gravel. His shoulders heightened as he rested his palms above the sill. You sense a sort of imposing façade.

“… Miles Morales?”

Your eyes flit open, ventriloquist-esque. Like a dummy brought to life to perform for the circus. At that moment, the two of you siblings began to notice the semblances mirroring your parents’ ways; the younger sister who weaponizes her own ignorance like her father, and the older brother who, like a dog, barks endlessly like their mother. Your body leans against the handle, placing all your weight down a single foot while preparing yourself for whatever Antonne’s spared to speak.

“… Fifteen years old, lives with his single mother, Rio Morales, who’s a nurse at Langone. He’s close with his uncle, Aaron Davis, and he keeps steady high marks at Visions Academy... And yet,” His gaze narrows distastefully. “Despite going to such an elite school, he continues on to live a shady life, having at least once or twice participated in vandalism, destruction of private property, and simple assault.”

Antonne eyes your reaction, but you only shrug.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He clears his throat.

“His father, Jefferson Davis, momentarily worked for father and applied for security three years ago.“ Antonne takes a step forward, the shadow over his face growing darker. “And on the opening night of Aureum, he signed up to take a shift at the evening party.”

Antonne stood eerily, and so did you. The tension a blur, cuttable with a single slice from the knife hidden behind you.

“Did you know about that too?”

“... What are you insinuating?”

Antonne yells out your name in a bellow, but you don’t flinch. Like a deer, round and wide, your eyes were hauntingly frozen, scrutinizing the way he heaved. He struggled to search for the words to describe you— crass, cruel, wicked, bitch. And it only mulled him downer seeing you look guiltless. With his hand, he drags you by the collar.

“You’re wearing the hoodie of a boy whose father died in the tragedy you’re fucking covering up.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

+17479256640 sent a picture || Just now

Aaron peers at the message at his phone, swiping it upwards, thinking it must’ve been some sort of scam or bot. He chugs down the final sip of his coffee, settling by the couch with a disgruntled moan. He rests his head by the armrest, placing his mug down by the table before him. As he stretches the ache off his limbs, another chime goes off from his phone.

He lazily plucks it from his side, wincing as the bright screen flashed him.

+17479256640 || Just now

This is your nephew, right?

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“Shh." You pull a finger over your lips, hushing him as though he were a child. Your other hand drafts away from the lock, and you toss the knife to the side. The loud, clacking way it fell made Antonne jump. And he sees you, and the way your lips curled into this amused smile.

At that smile alone, he falters, remembering so suddenly every detail about the mother you two shared. Every strand of her beautiful hair which you endowed, the darkening of her gaze when she was having fun, and the deriding way she looked at the people she deemed inferior.

I don’t need a knife to kill you, Antonne.

That look you had, a smile which he now recognized as a sneer, was what true hatred was.

“Antonne, maybe you’re forgetting that I’m not covering up just any fuck up, I’m covering up your fuck up.”

And when you took a single step forward, all of what was left of Antonne’s confidence crumbled.

“The building collapsed because you forced the workers to rush the process of the construction— and when the media got a hold of what was happening, you ran to Switzerland with Richard just to avoid the consequences, and all of who dealt with everything was me.” You dug an accusing finger into his shoulder. “I took care of everything in your place, and I sacrificed so much for it. But when you realized how I might take over your spot in the hotel, you came back after three whole years— going through every detail of me that you could find as a weakness. Well, let me tell you one thing, my dearest brother,”

You whisper over to his ear. “You can’t beat me at a game you’ve never fucking played before.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“What the fuck?”

Aaron sits right back up, clutching his phone with strength he never thought he had. Swiftly, he presses the notification— greeted with a photo of Miles and some girl walking down the streets with their hands clasped together. When the text bubble reappears, another photo surfaces with the girl’s face being much clearer. A sense of familiarity strikes him, and he couldn’t quite place what it was.

He zooms into the picture, fingers grasping the bottom of his chin while scourging through his memories.

His eyes trace the details of your hair, every curve and curl— your eyes, downcast and very attentive of Miles’ presence. So aware of him, it’s as though he was all that was left in the world. And he looked at you the same way. For a moment, it was like witnessing Rio and Jeff once more, with those gazes smiles.

‘Pretty. The kind of pretty who knows what she wants, and she can use her own face to get it. When you say something stupid, she’ll let you know that what you said was stupid with just her eyes alone— and it’ll shut me up, and I love it.’

Those were Miles’ exact words. For the last two months, you were all he ever really talked about. Seeing you now, Aaron couldn’t help but raise his brows at the sight of your hand intertwined with his nephew’s. He ought to be lying if he ever said that Miles was exaggerating— you were definitely a looker. And that was what unsettled him the most. He had this gut feeling he couldn’t shake, a burden gnawing at his stomach.

He soon drags his thumbs across the keyboard, typing out immediately.

Aaron Davis || Just now

who’s this?

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“… What’s happened to you?”

It was genuine. And it wasn’t just curiosity, Antonne was seriously wondering with worry.

“What have you done to the sister I grew up with?”

The sister he grew up with?

Antonne could still remember, every aspect and smile you bore three years ago. And he remembered as though it’d all disappeared just yesterday. You were a smiley little girl— always a little too smart for her own good, and always a little too cheeky. But you were shy, and often kept to yourself. Even during those days, you often hid yourself in the shadows, crawling into the corner of every room you entered with a book in your hand.

He recognized you then. Now you were a complete stranger.

Your hand drops, and you shove your shoulder against Antonne’s. “Grew up with? You never grew up.” You trudge towards the window, closing it shut as soon as you got to the handle. “Meanwhile, I had to be an adult as soon as possible because if not me, then who? Mom’s not here, Dad’s a mess, Malachi’s ten years old, Montrell’s in London, and you ran away.” Your body sinks down to the floor. “When I’m with Miles, I feel… Sixteen, like how I should be.”

“… But if you’d just give me the job—“

“I’m not giving you shit.” You spat. “Not yet, at least, stop fucking rushing.”

Antonne stood, watching you sit by the sill, hand over your nightstand to reach out for your vape.

And the way it exits, so lividly and hatefully, like how mother would smoke after every silent dinner.

You were everything like her.

No matter how much you tried to erase yourself from your mother’s legacy, it didn’t help that you were the spitting image of her.

Even in the way you struggled, you were still your mother’s daughter.

“You.. Remind me of...” Mother. The comment slips after seeing her image overlap with your silhouette. You already knew the ending of the sentence as soon as it exited his lips. As the smoke trickles past your teeth, you look up.

“… You want me to do what she would’ve done?”

The way the moonlight pooled before you reminded him of how the glass shards glimmered around your mother after she’d wrecked her own room.

“You’re already doing what she did,” He murmurs. “Doing stupid shit for stupid ideals.”

You grab whatever you can off of the nightstand, throwing it right at Antonne who steps back from the impact of the book. As you heave, he stared hauntingly.

“You think you’re the only one trying so hard in life? I’m also doing my fucking best. You’re basing me off of a mistake I did when I was seventeen.” He took a step forward. “You weren’t the only one forced into adulthood. Instead of playing soccer and going out on first dates, dad made me run a hotel. Sure! I didn’t do half as great as you’re fucking doing, but once you fuck up, dad’s going to abandon you too.”

“I know that.” You shakily admit. “I know that no matter what I fucking do, the hotel’s going to end up in your hands, and all I’ve got is a shitty arranged marriage bound to go down the drain and a few many nights with too much wine and regrets ahead of me.” You rub your hands together for the sake of warmth, your voice growing shakier as it settles to break.

“But what I want, what I really want— I just want dad to look at me and think, ‘oh, maybe she can take hold at least a part of the conglomerate!’ instead of selling me off!”

It’s as though the Hotel was Antonne’s toy, and you’d been polishing it all these years with great care, knowing damn well he’d leave it off to rot.

But you never wanted that toy in the first place. You wanted your father to see you taking care of that toy, in hopes he’d gift you one that you could take care of for yourself.

“The reason why he’s not giving you any of it is b—“

“Because he doesn’t want the Fisks to use me after the marriage, I know.”

You run your fingers through your hair, tugging as though it were about to fall of your scalp.

“I’ve found… A way to escape it.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

+17479256640 || Just now

Do you recognize the girl beside him?

You replied || Just now

No.

His knee jumps along to the drumming of his chest. He thinks of Miles, wondering if he’d been kidnapped, coerced, or attacked. He knew the boy— he’s strong enough to fend for himself against many things. He’s well taught, he’s a genius and…

He’s a fucking fool for his lady. Just like his father.

God, who knew that the lone weakness of the Prowler was a sixteen-year-old with a pretty face?

Ding.

+17479256640 || Just now

Sent an attached file

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

You and Antonne’s heads swerve at the sound of your phone’s ringing. Begrudgingly, you pushed yourself off of the floor, scrambling to get your phone. With another hit off of the pen, you answer the call.

“What is it?”

And in the background, you hear yelling— commands being thrown in chaos and panic. You look at the ID, finding out that it’s one of your father’s aides. With a hushed whisper and a jagged breath, he reports.

“The Warehouse is being raided, miss–“ A gunshot soars through the air, chillingly searing through a momentary silence. The man whimpers, his voice muffled by his hand. “Raided?” You repeat, voice coming to a hush. “Raided by who?”

And with his jaded breath, he answers.

“.. The Prowler.”

[tatteredtoby]

so incredibly sleepy. But. Ftm reader (Highschool au) with unsupportive parents x Simon (theater/theatre au as well)

A Panic/Anxiety attack will be described, so will transphobia and very uncomfortable sensations. Self misgendering, as well. (This is targeted towards myself!) If that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to click the back button.

Angst that turns into fluff

Agluff!

You had bought a binder without your parent’s permission, and had been keeping it in the dressing room for the show. It was opening night, and you were playing a male character. Nothing could go wrong. You felt the adrenaline pumping, you were shaking out of excitement, then you remembered, your parents would be in the crowd that night.

Your chest starts heaving. Your vision blurs after it darts around. You land on the ground, backing into a set piece and hiding behind it. The happy shaking turns to terror induced shaking.

Your director yells out “5 minutes before show people!” Before noticing you. Oh Ms. Emily. She was so incredibly supportive. She gasps as she notices you, since you startled her with your heavy breathing.

She shuffles out onto stage, taking center and facing the audience.

“We have a small problem backstage. The show will be held back a few minutes, I am very sorry for this inconvenience.”

SMALL????

This was not small. Your world was closing in on you. It felt like Jell-O or Oobleck was being poured over you, or you were being cemented into a wall against your will. The binder only made it worse. It tightened around your armpits and sucked in your chest, which made the caving feeling worse. You fiddled with your costume before throwing off the excess pieces.

You barely notice the tall stature coming into view before you’re pulled out of deep water by two costumed hands.

“Hey, hey, im here, it’s me. It’s Simon. What’s wrong, can you say it or is it too much to talk about?” He gently utters, kneeling closer to you.

You barely babble out, “‘s too much..” Before your vision starts to go in and out. He notices. You’re swaying too much for it to be your normal rocking. He latches his hands onto you and pulls you into his chest, like a life raft after drowning at sea for centuries.

“I’m right here. It’s okay. Your parents won’t even notice. You can tell them that it was a casting issue, and you were just cast because of how they liked your auditions performance, alright?” He whispers, rubbing your back very gently.

“I gotcha. I gotcha.” He mutters, holding you closer to him. It feels like this hold is meant for a wounded dog, not a 17 year old gir-boy.

He cups your face like he would a wounded pigeon. He’s got eyeliner on. Specifically on his waterline. His cheeks are dusted with powdered blush. His arms are covered in black cloth, specifically for his role as a Crow. The entire show was written by you, only taken up by Ms. Emily and practically blocked by you in its entirety. You played Satans Cat. (Two little city animals who are a contrast difference to eachother go on a journey that changed them forever, or smth. Idk. Sleepy.) He wore big wings with straps on his thumbs to keep in place. You wore cat ears and a tail. You felt so good in your costume. You had many costume pieces to hide your chest, and you just looked so boyish all around.

“You alright now?” He asks, tone in his voice evident he’s trying to hide the fact he noticed you glancing for a prolonged period of time.

“Yea. I’ve got some time..I’ll go splash my face with water.”

“You’ll be alright, Felid.”

“That I will be, Corvus.”

————————————————————————————

very sleepy atm. I’m projecting as well. Felid comes ffrom the name for cat in fancy. Look up cat. And for “Corvus” look up Crow. I don’t got time to explain it.

Cramps kicking me in my stomach ballsack. This some bullshit.

[fatuismooches]

i have been silent but that does not mean i have stopped thinking about dottore

based off of some fanart i saw, im like. 99.9999% sure zandik rarely heard any nice stuff said to him n i dont know why but i just. imagine this in my head. its such a tender, vulnerable and soft moment where zandik, probably akademiya or early fatui days, fits himself between your legs as he wraps his arms around your waist. his head laying comfortably on your thighs as he sits on his knees. its a moment that shows his trust, you know? allowing himself to be small before you, a rare act of submission to your love as your fingers play with his curls, palms warm and soothing as you cup his cheek. n' u just tell him things that he struggles to believe, like how he's so beautiful, and that you care about him, how he deserves to be loved even though he's perceived as a monster. and i dont know, but i wanna gently raise his head by his chin, softly smile at him and say "zandik, you're a good boy." because i know no one has ever ever said that to him, not even his parents.

healing his parental issues frrrr 💪💪💪 IS. IS THIS WEIRD??? IDK IT KINDA SOUNDS WEIRD BUT I DONT KNOW, IN MY HEAD THIS IS JUST. EVERYTHIN FOR ME.

this is just how i imagine zandik, honestly I DONT KNOW WHY BUT THE FANART I SAW FUCKS ME UP AND I WANNA CARE FOR HIM AND PAMPER HIM AND MAKE HIM FEEL THINGS NO ONE CARES ENOUGH TO MAKE HIM FEEL.

i want that boy to be treated like a pretty girl by taking him out on romantic dates and writing him love letters he's 100000% gonna keep, laminate and immortalize. i want to treat that boy like the fragile thing he is, hold him in my arms and kiss him so so gently.

ITS DRIVING ME NUTS.

oh yeah. totally not projecting onto zandik. NOPE. nuh uh. totallllyyyy....

THAT MENTAL IMAGE YOU'VE GIVEN ME... oh my gosh. i am so soft right now. Sniff sob... Zandik being so open and vulnerable in front of you :( OH EDBEWDWE HIM IN THAT POSITION IS MAKING ME CRY HE'S SO CUTE... you have no clue how you managed to get him to be so submissive but you're not going to say anything nor are you going to squander this opportunity. You're not even sure if he's comfortable like that, sitting on his knees but... he seems unbothered and quite actually, content with nuzzling his face into your thighs, having your hands run through his fluffy blue hair soothingly. For once, he is almost eerily silent, instead of being all fight and rebuttal all the time, as he doesn't seem to have a smart answer for your gentle words this time. It's new to you, not him vehemently denying your statements, but you're going to take advantage of it, holding his cheeks and kissing him all over, whispering in his ear softly but firmly about how much you love him and everything you love about him, and that you always will.

CALLING HIM A GOOD BOY... i am on the floor in a puddle and sobbing. Kai your brain >>> peak. But it makes me so sad to know that Zandik's literally never received any kind of positive form of affection all his life 😭 Not even his parents... like fuck I'm in pain for him. It took reader SO long to even break his first wall down (he has like a dozen probably) because of how poorly he was treated by the people who were supposed to "love" him :( he just really needs some love :( i think after a really long time, Zandik would come to really crave your appreciation sometimes. Like, he doesn't make it obvious or anything, but he'll do something like perhaps deal with some fellow scholars without snapping at them, or anything he doesn't really do in general, and look at you expectantly if you haven't praised him yet. Because you're the only one who has ever praised his efforts.

HE DESERVES TO BE PAMPERED SO BAD 😭😭 ugh i know Sumeru is mostly hot and you two can't have any cold bundled up days over there but. i love the idea of you two snuggling and sleeping in one morning. Both of you know you're gonna be late for class, but you're like, fuck it we're skipping. And Zandik scolds you, but he's making no effort to leave either! So... you two just stay in bed cuddling as you pamper him (you definitely were the big spoon quite frequently back then here 😭) Slow and lazy morning as you wash his hair and body in the bathe 🥺 breakfast that you made as he looks over his notes 🥺

Bro i can't even imagine Zandik's reaction to you trying to treat him like a pretty princess 😭 Even when you two are dating he just doesn't understand :( why do you go so far for him? What he gives you in return is far less than what you provide for him... he just doesn't understand, but it seems like you're wholly content with everything the way it is so... he won't let you go.

[my-own-walker]

pre death fluffy kyle fic of him comforting reader after a bad day pls??? ✨

Stress Relief

note: i had a kinda bad day so im comforting myself by writing this

warnings: fluff, fluff, more fluff, oh and uh, fluff.

+++

It was just one thing after another. Getting a zero on a project that took a considerable amount of effort was one thing. Losing my laptop somewhere on campus was another. Plus, a parking ticket, and little to no sleep the night before made everything feel even worse.

I returned to my apartment with my proverbial tail between my legs. My shoulders held a tension I had never felt before. I just needed to lay down in my bed for roughly a thirty-year nap.

I was fumbling with my things while unlocking my door. I had my hands full, as always. Usually, I could manage, but of course, on this day, The Day Where Everything Went Wrong, I dropped my phone as I stuck my key in the lock. It clattered, face down, onto the pavement, and with one final sickening smack, the screen shattered.

There was no rational way to react in that situation, so I simply didn't. Everything had gone so wrong that it paled in comparison to every other issue. I numbly reached down to pick it up, threw it in my bag, and entered my apartment. I dropped everything at the door, kicked my shoes off, and slumped into my bedroom to sulk.

He was there, though. In my bed, as he always was. Napping, as he always was. My beautiful boyfriend Kyle Spencer, a permanent fixture in my bedroom. His frat house was always a bit of a madhouse. He preferred to essentially live in my small one-bedroom apartment on the other side of campus.

A sense of calm overcame me as I looked at his sleeping figure. Soft blonde curls covered his face. His shirtless body peeked up out of the blankets, showing off his toned arms. His perfectly pink lips hung open slightly. It was a feeling of calm I needed to get in on. Naturally, I joined him in bed.

The old mattress springs protested as I laid my weary body upon them. Kyle's eyes fluttered open, his sleep disturbed by the movement on my side of the bed. He smiled immediately and without a word, grabbed me by my waist and pulled me into him. I always loved the way he would cradle me. His embraces were all-encompassing. It was never just a hug with him. He would take me in his arms and hold me as if I would break.

'Hey babygirl,' he rasped, parts of his voice still lost to sleep. He tilted his chin down and placed a kiss on the top of my head, pausing for a moment to smell my hair.

'How was your day, Kyle?’ I asked, sitting up to take off my jewellery and place it on the nightstand.

‘It was okay. Same old same old,’ he replied. He stretched and scrunched his face up, releasing the slumber from his bones. ‘How was yours?’

The question hit me where it hurt. It was a horrible day. I didn’t even have the energy to respond, even if to say how bad it was. Instead a small cry escaped my lips.

‘Oh no, oh baby,’ Kyle soothed. I felt his arms snake around my shoulders and his lips make contact with my cheek. ‘What happened?’

‘I- my project- and my laptop, the library- and I almost got to my car in time, I did,’ the sentence came out in a string of sobbed fragments. Nothing truly that bad happened, but nonetheless I was inconsolable.

‘Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Breathe,’ he comforted, rubbing my shoulders gently. He pulled me into his chest, in between his legs, wrapping his arms around my chest. ‘Just breathe with me, it’s okay.’

That always worked with me. Just being close to him, feeding off of his easiness. Anxiety melted away as I matched my breaths to his. He was stolid. It was hard to phase him. His composure remained strong and steadfast even in the toughest of circumstances. Me? Oh, I would crumble. Kyle, on the other hand, was abundantly dependable.

‘You don’t have to tell me what happened, angel,’ Kyle said after some time, likely deciding I was finally calm enough. ‘Just know I love you and I will always help you. With anything.’ My eyes felt red and raw, but my heart felt lighter.

‘I think I needed a good cry,’ I replied, punctuating my sentence with a weak laugh. ‘It was just, a really…shit day.’ I turned my head and rested it back against his chest. He pressed another kiss to my forehead.

‘I’m proud of you for getting through it,’ Kyle whispered. ‘You’re here, right? And you’re okay. And that’s all that matters.’

I sighed, feeling true levity for the first time all day. ‘Thank you, Kyle. I’m really mostly worried about my laptop. I lost it somewhere.’

‘This laptop?’ he asked teaching over me to the nightstand to hold up the MacBook, demonstratively.

‘What the fuck? Did I not even bring it with me?’ I asked, bewildered.

‘I guess not,’ he shrugged.

‘Oh my god I’m so stupid,’ I laughed, smacking my palm to my forehead.

‘Look at it as a win, right?’ he grinned. His lovely smile.

I responded by attacking him with kisses.

+++

Kyle is the best boyfriend in my head. Like boyfriend goals. If only he were real….anyways thank you for the request! I’m slowly making my way through my inbox. Writers block hit me so hard for like no reason recently but I’m getting over it!!

[seongminiz]

R U Mine ? - park serim

minors dni ; soft dom!serim x sub fem!reader ; 2432 words

warnings : jealousy/possesiveness , reader is insecure , praise , pet names (princess , good girl , baby) , fingering , unprotected sex , breeding , marking , does serim having a driving license count as mischaracterization ? , he also has a massive cock amen . an attempt at proper grammar but only partially proof read so if u find typos or me being an idiot n writing small comments in between no u didnt

first long-ish work i post on here feeling kinda nervous . no fr this is nerve wrecking idk im not good at writing descriptive smut ffs :D but i loved writing it ngl also something kinda upsetting happened today so it ended up a little more angsty than i intended it to be bc what r my fics if not insane projecting lol. the title is an arctic monkeys song bc oomf (elif) helped me change it (it was a lovejoy song before .... :] )

you and serim have been in a relationship for a few months now, and while of course you have some small arguments here and there, there have never been any big issues between you two. you love him, he loves you, and neither of you would ever doubt that. that is, until you end up being serim's plus one at some kind of event: you've been following him around all evening bc u have almost no idea of whats going on.

now, you're not usually the jealous type, you're okay with serim speaking to women other than you ffs that's his job, but the way some of them at this event are clearly flirting with him sets your jealousy issues off bad. watching your insanely handsome boyfriend be - or at least act - completely clueless about how they're clearly putting the moves on him, especially with how good he looks dressed like that, white shirt underneath his suit jacket straining against his toned body, leaving little to the imagination.. it pisses you off, to be completely honest.

you can't stand it, you can't stand how so many women, most of them you find clearly prettier than you, are able to get his attention like that, completely ignoring you even if you're basically clinging to his arm.you feel inadequate, just a mere presence they barely acknowledge with a small smile before going back to talk to serim. your serim.

what you fail to notice, though, is that serim is well aware of the shift in your mood. he doesn't know exactly what it's about, but he was pretty quick to sense how upset you had become just in a few minutes, trying to talk to as many people and as quickly as possible so you two could get out of there and he could give you his undivided attention.

of course, you don't know, too focused on dwelling on the jealousy building up inside you. you barely notice when serim gently shakes you, trying to catch your attention 'are you okay princess?' you sigh 'yeah.' your short reply isn't of any reassurance to serim, his thumb lightly rubbing your hip 'wanna go home?' you shrug, trying to hide your (very obvious) upset expression 'if we can, yes. but if you still have to... do whatever you were doing, we don't have to-'

'okay, got it. i'll talk to this one last person, and then we can go home, alright?' you nod, his arm leaves its place around your waist and you once again grab onto it, following his steps. your heart drops when you realize that, unfortunately, said person he has to talk to is a woman. which wouldn't even be that bad on its own, you can stand it for a few minutes (you really can't, but maybe you can convince yourself..), but she also happens to be the most attractive, hottest woman you've seen through the entire evening. you tune out the entire conversation, trying not to stare at her because everytime you take in another detail you feel like crying.

when serim finally cuts the conversation off, you politely - albeit coldly - bid your goodbyes to the woman, walking with serim out of the room and towards the parking lot. when you get to the car, you don't even wait for serim to open the door for you - he's dead set on giving you the full princess treatment - climbing in the passenger seat and slamming the door shut.

that's when serim realizes, this isn't just you feeling a bit under the weather, you're genuinely upset - and you weren't at the start of the evening, so he knows something that happened between then and now is the cause of your behavior. the fact you're giving him the silent treatment does irk him a little, but he knows that's how you act when something really bad happens, and he could never get mad at you for it.

despite his concern, serim still calmly gets into the car, turns it on and starts driving out of the parking lot and into the bright, artificially lit streets. glancing at you from time to time, he finds you looking out the car window, arms crossed over your chest, deep in thought. when you reach a particularly empty and straight part of the road, serim takes the chance to place his hand on your thigh, something you're both used to during your late night drives. what he doesn't expect, though, is for you to move your leg, wiggling out of his grasp (not that hard, since he wasn't putting that much strength in it in the first place).

serim raises an eyebrow, eyes still fixed on the road as his hand helplessly goes back to the wheel. his concentration on driving is what makes him miss the way you look back at him, concerned on whether you've gone too far or not. stopping at a red light, serim's eyes immediately find yours, desperate to get to the bottom of this 'what's wrong princess?' you shake your head, absent-mindedly reaching for his hand in search of any possible physical comfort. 'nothing, you're going to think it's stupid anyways,' you mumble. serim frowns, reaching to move a strand of hair behind your ear 'i would never. whatever it is, it's upsetting you, and I don't like seeing my baby like this.' his voice comes off more stern than he intended to, but his soft touch is there to remind you that he's not actually upset at you. he's just your concerned boyfriend.

serim moves his hand from the side of your head to your chin, tilting it so you have no choice but look at him 'so? what is it?' you pout. 'i'm jealous.' the look that crosses serim's face is a puzzled one 'what?' you shrug, averting his eyes 'you spent the entire night talking to other women, all better looking than me. i'm jealous,' you admit. serim is about to answer you, when the light turns green, the cold hue illuminating both of you. serim sighs, speeding up. 'we'll talk about it when we get home, yeah?' you nod, scared that you might have upset him. even if his voice didn't let that out, you can't help but wonder if he's disappointed in you.

serim parks in front of your apartment complex, a few seconds of you two sitting in the car in silence pass, until serim sighs, taking the keys and stepping out of the vehicle, making his way around it to open the door on your side too. god forbid he let you do it on your own again. you walk out, grabbing the hand he extended to you. everything is so silent, you again question if he's genuinely mad at you for how you acted. you knew you were being immature, giving him the silent treatment and all, you're just getting a taste of your own medicine, but you couldn't help it.

you were so caught up in your thoughts you didn't even realize you got to the elevator until the faint 'ding!' of it startles you. you step inside, never letting serim's hand go. 'you know i would never cheat on you,' serim breaks the silence, and your eyes widen in shock to the realization 'that's not what I was implying! i know you wouldn't! i just... those women were all so much prettier than me, and more mature and sophisticated, and hotter and... i'm just me. I felt so out of place, like i wasn't at your level. and it's totally not your fault! but i couldn't help but feel jealous, like I wouldn't even blame you if one day you decided i wasn't enough for you and left me for one of them. and i know you wouldn't but... it still hurts to think about it.' you start rambling, missing how serim tries to stop you a few times by calling your name.

when you finally look up at him, he has the softest smile plastered on his face and, before you can say anything else, he plants a kiss on your lips, his hands immediately finding their way to your hips. 'i would never chose anyone other than you. you're as perfect as you could be, i swear,' you can feel his breath against your lips as he talks, your heart beating furiously against your chest 'i don't care about any of them. you're all i need and you're more than enough, you're too perfect for me' he continues, only stopping to kiss you again. the elevator comes to a halt, and thats your cue to separate, but you know this isn't the end of it. serim's hand finds yours, as he lowers himself to speak into your ear 'i'll show you just how perfect i think you are, yeah?' he whispers, a shiver running through your body at the implication 'will you let me?' you nod furiously, your reaction making serim chuckle 'good girl' he says, kissing right below your ear before guiding you out the elevator.

the short way to your apartment is agonizingly slow, constantly interrupted by stealing kisses from each other and, when you finally manage to step inside, serim has you immediately pinned against the door, locking it behind you as he roughly kisses you. his hands are everywhere on you, your waist, your thighs as your dress slowly rides up to leave you more and more exposed with each movement.

'you don't even know how insane you've been driving me with this dress,' he groans, lifting you up with no effort and, as you wrap your legs around him, you feel his bulge pressing against you, a small moan leaving your mouth. 'serim... need you,' you whimper against his lips, a thin string of drool dripping from your lips onto his. serim smiles, capturing them in yet another kiss as he starts to carry you towards your shared bedroom.

he places you on the bed, your dress lifted all the way to your hips revealing your completely drenched panties. serim can barely contain himself, seeing you all spread out like that, for his eyes only, but he wants to make this all about you and your pleasure.

he starts to slowly undress himself, unbuttoning his shirt before slipping your dress off. your hands brush against his sides, tracing his defined body and tentatively going lower to rid him to his pants - no matter how many times you've seen him like this, it always leaves u in awe how a man this perfect could ever exist, and be your man at that. serim gently takes your hands in his, pins them over your head and places a soft kiss on your lips 'let me do all the work for once,' he says, hooking his fingers in your panties and sliding them off your legs.

before you know it, serim is three fingers deep inside you, opening you up for him bc no matter how many times you've taken him, you'll never get used to just how big his cock is. you've been incessantly whining for god knows how long, about how much you need his cock, you need him, and every time without fail serim replies that 'you already have me, princess, more than anyone in the world, you have all of me.' and proves his point by leaving yet another mark on your skin.

your thighs, your neck, your chest, every unmarked portion of your skin is soon bruised to the point anyone would assume he was the jealous one in the relationship. and maybe he is, just a little bit, recalling how revealing your dress - now discarded somewhere on the floor - was on you, so perfect on his princess but a little too perfect for any other men to look your way.

when serim removes his fingers from you, you're a mess, hair sticking to your forehead, breath heavy, tears running down your cheeks and ruining the makeup you worked so hard on for the event. but that's how serim likes you the most, when you're fucked out before he even gets to be inside of you, his pretty little mess, just for him.

and he tells you exactly that, as his cock finally sinks into you, groaning and rambling about how much he loves this sight, how he's so lucky to have you and how you're his and his only. the sweet praises partially distract you from the stretch, until he bottoms out and you both sigh in unison.

it's not long before serim starts thrusting into you, his pace picking up immediately but never getting quite as fast or rough as it usually would be. he wants to take it slow, savor the moment, his hand holding your hip while the other cradles the side of your face so your eyes don't stray away from him. it's hard to do so, when each thrust hits the perfect spot in you, as you fight the urge to let your eyes close.

'mine,' you moan against his lips, feeling him twitch inside of you 'all yours, princess. and you're mine too, can't stand it when everyone's eyes are on you, you're too pretty for this world.' despite the downright nasty predicament you're in, you can't help the way your heart fills with love at serim's words. you pull him in another kiss, your legs wrapping behind his back to push him deeper inside of you.

'then make me yours in any way possible,' you whisper. serim chuckles, slowing down his thrusts. it's not the first time he cums inside you, but before it was just a result of having unprotected sex. now it's a deliberate choice, to make you his in the most intimate way possible. 'yeah, princess? should i fill you up, mark you from the inside so everyone knows you're mine? would you like that?' you nod, squeezing around him as a particularly hard thrust hits a specific spot inside of you that has you letting out an high pitched moan.

serim's hand leaves your face, his rough fingers rubbing your clit and, before he can even tell you to, you're cumming, shaking as serim helps you ride out your orgasm and reaches his own, spilling inside of you as incoherent praises leave his mouth, telling you how good you've been for him and how much he loves you.

once you've both calmed down, serim presses a kiss to your forehead, holding you tight in his arms so that you can know you're really, uniquely his, and he's not going anywhere.

[daemour]

Answer (1/2)

Pairing: ghost!Seonghwa x Reader ft. future San

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Ghost AU, Mystery, Supernatural elements, vaguely horror

Warnings: Religious content, toxic possessiveness, slight yandere, mentions of death, death

Word count (part specific): 1228

Summary: For as long as Seonghwa had been roaming the world as a ghost, he hadn’t remembered much of his life when he was... well... living. But one thing he does remember is you. His childhood friend whom he hadn’t seen since he moved in primary school. So naturally, he seeks you out.

To his surprise, you can see him. He immediately decides to hold onto you for as long as he can. After all, you’re the only tie he has to the living world. He doesn’t want anything to get in the way of what could be a normal life. 

Not even your potential partners.

im sorry this took so long T-T it's for @flurrys-creativity's 666 Milestone Collab but I totally lost all motivation and didn't even know how to finish this. The second part comes out next week (6/23)!

Part 1 - Part 2

-

“So….you’re like…dead?” You look so confused and Seonghwa honestly finds it adorable.

“(Y/N), dear, when you first saw me I was floating a foot in the air. I am currently transparent. What more could you ask?” You roll your eyes and attempt to smack Seonghwa, but again, he is a ghost and your hand just passes through him. “See, even more evidence!” He can’t help but tease you. The look on your face is worth it.

“You are so not funny, Seonghwa,” you hiss, frowning at him. “I haven’t seen you since we were in primary, and now you’re just dead?”

“Sorry, sorry,” there’s still a laugh in Seonghwa’s voice, but he stops teasing you. “I died, yes. I don’t really remember how, but all I knew were fragmented memories…and your face was in most of them. So I decided to find you, and lo and behold! You can see me.”

Your eyebrows furrow and for a moment Seonghwa worries that he might make you cry. “That’s so sad. I’m sorry,” you frown at Seonghwa and he waves his hand as if trying to brush away your pity.

“Don’t worry about it. I get to see you again anyways, so it’s not too bad,” he jokes to lighten the atmosphere. “How is it, being an adult? You’re getting so old.”

His attempt works for the most part, although you’ve still got sadness in your eyes. “Shut up, you’re only a couple years older than me.” You attempt to shove him again, and this time Seonghwa lets himself materialise just a bit more so that you can make contact, and he falls onto his side with a giggle.

“That wasn’t very nice, (Y/N)! I am just trying to inquire about your life.” Seonghwa pouts and you roll your eyes at the sight.

“Life is good, I guess. My parents don’t live here anymore, but they let me stay since they paid off the mortgage and it’s closer to my university. I just pay the utilities myself,” you hum. “What else, what else. I’m going to community college to get my gen-eds done…and I think that’s about all.”

“Oh, where are your parents now?” Seonghwa asks. “They were always so nice to me. At least no one will think you’re crazy for talking to ghost me.” He nudges you a little and you slap his elbow away.

“Oh, shut up, I probably am a little crazy if I can see you,” you say lightheartedly, and Seonghwa can’t lie—those words stung. “But they moved in with my maternal grand-aunt. She’s been having health issues. And my mom loves it there. She practically grew up there so it’s a second home to her.”

You trail off as your phone rings, and you smile at the sight of the caller id. “Oh, I have to take this call, sorry, Hwa. It’s my partner for this project I’m doing.”

And just like that, you were out of your room and down the hall. Seonghwa watches you leave with a soft smile on his face. He missed you. And now he gets to see you again and be with you forever.

-

“How was school today?” When you get home from college, Seonghwa is lying on your couch. Or rather, floating above your couch because maintaining a physical form for that long is tiring. He’s the epitome of relaxed, although a little bored since he can’t leave the house for too long without you since he’s tied his spirit down.

“It was good,” you reply, setting your bookbag on the coffee table to take off your shoes. “A little boring today since all I had were an English class and a long Chem lab. How was watching YouTube?”

“Exhilarating,” Seonghwa teases, finally straightening up to float towards you and greeting you with a hug. “Snuck a little bit of Netflix in there too.”

You hum, moving into the kitchen with Seonghwa following close behind. “Sounds like a fun day. Sorry that you have to be inside a lot though…I’d take you to class but I might get distracted and look like a fool talking to you.”

Seonghwa laughs shortly, hands moving to wrap around your stomach as he peeks over your shoulder at the bowl of cold pudding you’re eating. “Is that all you’re going to eat?” is all he says in response.

“Mmh, yeah. I just came back to grab a snack but then I’ll be going to the library and will grab lunch somewhere.” You pause, turning your head to take a glance at the ghost leaning on your shoulder. “You can come along this time if you’d like? I can get a study room at the library and so we can chat or you could read.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widen. He can feel his heart lurch like it's been stabbed—it’s only now he realises how different his routine has become now that he’s died. He stays at home 90 percent of the time so he always forgets how much you have to accommodate for him to accompany you.

“I’d like to,” he mumbles out, and as if you can tell how he’s feeling, you lean into his touch as a slight comfort.

“Yeah! You’ll have to tell me all about the YouTube and the Netflix,” you joke, a smile on your lips that Seonghwa can see out of the corner of his eye. God, he’s glad he finally found you.

-

“Where were you?” Seonghwa asks when you come back as the sun is setting, a far cry from when you usually arrive at two in the afternoon. “I got worried.”

"Oh no, I'm so sorry Hwa!" You exclaim after a quick glance at your watch. "I totally forgot that there's no way to contact you and lost track of time. I had gotten a partner project assigned to me so we went to the library to start to plan it out. I'm sorry."

Seonghwa purses his lips but relaxes. "That's okay. I just thought you got kidnapped or hurt or something. It seems like much longer when you're just here by yourself."

You hum in understanding, offering him a small smile. "Yeah, I get that. How about we order dinner since I worried you? It'll be a treat. And we gotta figure something out about the communication."

Seonghwa sighs affectionately. "That's more like a treat for you since I technically don't need to eat, but hey, I can still taste it so I'll take it."

You roll your eyes, poking him in the side. "Don't think I didn't notice you stealing all of my pudding, Seonghwa. Don't try to play cool with me."

Seonghwa laughs, batting your hand away. "Hey, you eat too many of those anyway. I'm actually doing you a favour by keeping you from getting sick.”

You scoff. "I take great offense to that—I haven't gotten sick yet."

"Just wait." Seonghwa rolls his eyes. "And I'll laugh when that happens."

Instead of being a mature adult who will accept when you're wrong, you just start ignoring him, looking through the menus you have pinned up on a billboard. "What do you want to eat?"

"Dude, nice way to dodge that. And I really could care less. Pizza?"

"Only if we can get stuffed crust," you offer and Seonghwa laughs.

"As if I would eat it any other way."

[yallemagne]

I feel the thing with Mrs Westenra is that she's that specific brand of entitled old lady that keeps harming those around her with her own beliefs while having her own fragility used as an excuse. Its like someone punching a friend "for their own good" and then going "pwease dwont hurt me im so delicate n frwagile :("

She works well as a character as in she's basically another way societal expectations and lack of communication are a cog in Dracula's machinations, but on my personal opinion she's really frustrating. (Hehe my rambling got a lil long sorry abt that)

Yes, what pains me so much this that Mrs. Westenra is such a real person. I have suffered such real people in my life, some I love dearly, some I love out of obligation, and it is painful to see what Lucy is going through, to see her be punished again and again by her mother's willful neglect, and she cannot even muster the will to be angry with her. Lucy has been stripped of any ability to speak out against her mother, even in her most private of musings, because her mother is so highly prioritized over herself. Lucy's suffering must always be kept out of view, and she never has the self-preservation to just snap and say "no, I am a human being".

Mrs. Westenra's a cog in the machine of the plot. She was written this way purposefully. No matter how much damage she causes, you're meant to feel bad for her, because if you don't, you might demand to know why Bram hasn't just killed her already. The reason is that he never even intended for his readers to feel this resentment. Her behaviour is not meant to be taken seriously because she's a poor old woman who just doesn't know any better. She's allowed and expected to be ignorant, and if not her, there would be some other person, a maid unknowingly throwing out the blooms.

But it hurts so much more for it to be your own mother who hurts you. Your feelings don't matter to her except as an extension of her own. She finds the flowers that you love, and ignoring the clear signs of your contentment with the flowers, she projects her negative feelings onto you and throws them out. Then, self-gratulatory as ever, she brags to your doctors that she knows better than them when she can't even recognize how close you are to death. She has willfully abandoned you because your sickness stresses her, and she would rather leave you without a goodbye than face you like an adult and admit she is dying. And worse than that, she doesn't pull away enough to make room for the people who are actively trying to save you, no, she still intercedes, making their jobs harder and your life worse, and no one dares to correct her in any meaningful way because if she knew she wasn't perfect, it would kill her.

I'm not so naïve as to say that because I have such deep-rooted trauma surrounding personalities like this that I am sooo smart and right to take such issue with this fictional character. It is a bit of an overreaction. But you could say my feelings towards this entire novel are an overreaction. I know other people have probably experienced this behaviour, and their reactions to it aren't mine. There are most definitely people who have suffered this kind of neglect but their impulse is instead to forgive and defend Mrs. Westenra, and I cannot deny someone that.

But I hurt so deeply for Lucy. I recognize Mrs. Westenra's hurting but I cannot place it above Lucy's. I value Lucy so much more, and I don't feel a lick of guilt about it.

[mr-bas00nist]

Bosses Orders

Rookie! Albert Wesker x Boss! Male Reader

(Not really dom or sub reader it could be seen as either tbh)

(After I finish this I have like 4 more smut fics coming but I’m probably gonna start writing more fluff and angst because my blogs like just all smut. Probably because im hypersexual ngl💀)

Cw- Blowjobs, Exibitionsim and facials (also workplace relations ig)

When Wesker first started working for umbrella you were assigned to take him under your wing. You were his boss and leader. You taught him everything he needed to know from combat, weapons and even charisma.

You trusted Wesker and he trusted you with all his being. Whatever you wanted he did. He was like an assistant in ways. He was always by your side and everyone knew you both were attached at the hip.

That’s why no one ever bothered you both. If someone bothered Wesker you would know and if someone bothered you, you’d just get them fired. (Maybe killed depending on how you felt)

Everyone knew that and had no issue with the terms so they just went with it.

*Knock, knock, knock.* you perk up as you look at your glass door. “Come in.” You say bored. You look up to see your main man, Albert Wesker. A smile is immediately on your face. “Yes rookie?” You set your pen down looking up at him. He always took his glasses off in your room after you said you his eyes were pretty.

“I finished the papers you gave me.” He sets the stack of paper onto your desk looking at you intently. “That’s good. Do you have anything else to do?” You ask interested. He thinks for a moment before shaking his head no. “Good, I’m gonna need you to come to a meeting with me.” You say smiling.

“Of course what’s it about?” He asks curiously. “The company and shit but, with you there It’ll be way better.” He nods with a smile. “It’s a bit later today, I have nothing else assigned for you so go work on whatever passion project you and Birkin got going on.” He gives a small grin before walking out of your office.

It was almost time for your meeting. You were prepared with everything you needed but still fucking panicking. Wesker looked at you concerned. You kept a straight face but he could tell that you were freaking out. He stands up walking towards you. “Sir. What seems to be the problem?” He asks concerned.

“nothing.” You say trying to fake a smile. He shoots you a glare watching as you sigh. “Nerves I guess.” He nods moving behind you. He puts his hand on your shoulder gently squeezing. “What can I do to help?” You sigh. “I don’t know Al..” you close your eyes thinking.

“Sir,” his hand slowly trails down your whole body. “Can I?” You look up at him before back down. “Continue.” He brings his hand to your fly pulling it down. He gets on his knees crawling under the desk. You look around the room seeing if anyone has come in yet.

He grabs your erection pulling it out. His mouth waters at the sight. He looks up at your nervous form. “Al we shouldn’t be doing th- fuck-“ you throw your head back as his mouth envelopes your dick.

You breath through your teeth. You watch as he takes all of it in his mouth. Your eyes almost roll back as he gags around it. He looks up at you through his sunglasses smiling, not that you can see. You grip his hair tightly in your hands trying not to pull him down any farther.

After a bit you begin to get close. You put your arm over your face throwing your head back. “C-close Fuck!” You moan out as he adds more vigor to his technique. “Cum for me sir.” He quickly fists your cock watching as your whole body tenses.

Hot spurts of cum shoot out onto his face making him smile and lick his lips. You look down at the man below you seeing your cum coat his face. “Nice job sir.” He rubs your thighs bringing you down from your high. You roll your eyes with a smile. “Alright get up before anyone sees you.” He nods standing up and sitting in his chair beside you.

“You’ve got this.” He smiles at you. You take a deep breath before giving him a smile.

[opinated-user]

Genuine question? Do you guys hate what lily writes because you think stuff like that shouldnt be written or because she has done it irl/thinks its not bad irl?

Idk im probably missing a lot of context, but when reading about what yall have to say about the stuff she writes it reads like you think thats stuff shouldnt exist in fiction and is a reflection of anyone who writes that kind of stuff.

Im still against LO because what shes done is completely fucked and i can tell from the evidence ive seen that she definitely projects onto her work, and tries to cover it up.

But i cant agree that people who write or enjoy that kind of content are automatically fucked up or cant see the difference between enjoying such topics in fiction and in reality. If that's what you're trying to say.

i said many times (but not lately so that's my fault there) that if all LO ever wrote was stockholm or any other fic i'd have never cared about her as much as to do a whole blog dedicated to her. i won't read that kind of content out of anything more than morbid curiosity, but i also don't care about existing by itself and as long people aren't trying to shove it to my face without warning, i don't care for the readers either. if i honestly thought that LO wrote all of that just to be an edgelord and there's nothing more to it, she doesn't actually believe any of it or isn't sincere about it, then you wouldn't even see me talking about it in the first place. the issue here is, as you pointed out, that LO clearly project herself a lot through her works, that even she admits are self indulgent and a power fantasy for her, that she said explicitely that she uses them to deal with her "issue with intimacy"... and those work also happened to be the ones where there is a very consistent abuse/pedophilia apology theme all through out. LO is the one who talks about how she sincere is on her works and how much they mean to her, so you can't make the argument "fiction vs reality" here because she's not treating it like that. she's treating her stories as thing she'd actually like to happen and when those things include raping children and women while they're unconscious, only to later be lauded as the good guy exactly because of that raping, i think that's very valid to call out.

LO does not want there to be a separation between herself and her art. so let's not make it. again, in case it wasn't clear, this is entirely a LO thing. not about bad things happening in fiction that i don't like.

[shalpilot]

I feel the pain of x readers everywhere and that is coming from someone who

A) frequently consumes (or tries to) x reader fics and

B) even occasionally writes them

Its one thing to admit that youre writing a character very ooc and another to be constantly projecting your shitty sexual fantasies onto a character and warping them in a poorly written manner.

I try to only post my fics on ao3 to isolate them and also want you to know that i know its bad writing and im sorry. I could go on some more about the oddness of the x reader/"selfship" community and their flooding of any tag ever but just wanted to let you know some of us are self aware

yeah I don’t have any problem with readers and genuinely for the most part I don’t have any issue with the writers. It’s literally just the inconsistent tagging that really gets me heated! I end up just being really liberal with the block button. I don’t wanna yuck anyone’s yums but when I’m trying to find fanart or discussion posts on a character and a massive chunk of the tag is just smut it gets sooooo tiring to scroll through. Literally no one could ever hope to get everyone to tag them with the same tag but *more* people tagging their posts with like. “Reader Insert” or “x reader” would definitely help. or maybe just not putting it in the main tags but I understand that there ARE people looking for them and that that tag is good for them as well as for organization on the OP’s blog. so tl;dr, I was being hyperbolic and I understand that it’s on me to curate my online experience but I wish it was easier!