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4vanaa · 2 months ago

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WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 06

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: mature language, slight angst | masterlist | 05 | 07 |

❀ ❀ ❀ - indication that the chapter takes place in the past!!

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rafecameron wouldn’t have taken these photos if ik you were gonna post them

rafecameron seen them, so you can delete now!!

rafecameron are u having trouble finding the delete button?

rafecameron ok jokes over delete it now

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rafecameron oh so your phone does work

The bonfire crackles under a star-scattered sky, casting a warm glow over the crowd. Laughter mingles with the sound of waves crashing against the shore. The Outer Banks feels alive tonight, a place where memories are made and shattered in equal measure. Your surrounded by familiar faces, friends who’ve known you forever, and for a few fleeting moments, everything feels right.

Rafe stands a few feet away, a beer clutched in his hand, watching you with hawk-like intensity. His jaw is tight, the vein in his temple pulsing. You laugh at something Pope says, and your smile radiates through the night. When Pope leans in and gives you a brief hug, Rafe’s grip on his bottle tightens until his knuckles go white.

You don’t notice at first, lost in conversation. But when you finally turn toward Rafe, his eyes are dark and stormy, barely restrained. He motions with a tilt of his head for you to come over. You hesitate, sensing the simmering rage behind his gaze.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” you say to your friends, forcing a smile.

You walk toward him slowly, your sandals kicking up sand. The bonfire feels too far away now, its warmth slipping away with each step. When you reach him, his jaw clenches, eyes flicking to the group behind you.

“What the fuck was that?” he growls, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

Your brow furrows. “What was what?”

He takes a step closer, his face just inches from yours. The heat rolling off him isn’t the kind that makes you melt; it’s the kind that makes your spine stiffen.

“That little hug,” he spits. “With Pope. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You scoff, incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes, I’m fucking serious!” His voice rises just enough to draw a few curious glances. He doesn’t care. His eyes are wild, a storm you’ve seen too many times before. “You let him put his hands all over you like that, and you think I’m just supposed to stand here and smile?”

Your hands clench into fists at your sides. “It was just a hug, Rafe. You’re blowing this out of proportion—”

“Blowing it out of proportion?” he interrupts, his voice dripping with bitterness. “You’re always so fucking friendly with everyone. Everyone gets a piece of you, and I get to just sit here and watch.”

You glare at him, your voice shaking with fury. “I’m not a piece of property, Rafe. I don’t owe you explanations for who I talk to.”

His eyes flare, his lip curling into a sneer. “Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t need everyone’s attention all the fucking time, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

Your mouth falls open, disbelief washing over you. The hurt seeps through your expression, and for a brief second, regret flickers in his eyes — but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. Your voice is tight, barely containing your anger. “You’re being a jealous asshole.”

He laughs darkly, running a hand through his hair, the strands falling messily over his forehead. “Maybe I wouldn’t be if you didn’t make me feel like I have to fight for you every damn second.”

“Fight for me?” you echo, eyes glistening. “Rafe, I’m here. I’ve always been here. You’re the one pushing me away with your insecurities and this—this fucking control you think you have over me.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, wanting to reach for you, to pull you close and fix it, but his pride holds him back. Instead, his voice comes out sharp and venomous. “You know what? Maybe I should just stop giving a shit.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The words are like a slap, stinging more than you care to admit.

“You know what?” you say, your voice trembling. “Maybe you should.”

Turning on your heel, you feel the weight of his gaze burning into your back. He doesn’t follow. The distance between the two of you grows with each step, the crackle of the bonfire swallowed by the roaring in your ears.

By the time you reach the light of the fire, your friends’ laughter feels like another world — one you’re no longer a part of.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket as you sit by the bonfire, the warmth of the flames doing little to quell the cold knot twisting in your stomach. You try to ignore it, but your thumb betrays you, pulling the phone out of your pocket. His name lights up the screen.

11:47 PM

Rafe: So this is how it is now?

You don't reply. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, heart pounding, before you shove the phone back in your pocket. You force yourself to focus on your friends, on their laughter, but it all feels distant. Another buzz.

11:50 PM

Rafe: You just gonna walk away like that? Cool. Real fucking mature.

Your jaw clenches, and the hurt in his words stings like a slap. You don’t even know what to say. You just keep your phone in your pocket, your hand tight around it like you’re holding onto the last bit of control you have.

12:02 AM

Rafe: Bet Pope’s loving this. Bet he’s been WAITING for you to be single.

Your fingers tighten around the phone, a sick twist in your stomach. This isn’t Pope’s fault. And it sure as hell isn’t yours. But still, the jealousy in his message burns. You don’t respond.

12:10 AM

Rafe: I know Pope likes Cleo. I know I’m being fucking ridiculous. But I can’t help it.

Your heart aches as you read his words. It’s not even about Pope, not really. It’s about you leaving, about the distance growing between you. You close your eyes and try to steady your breath, but it feels like it’s all unraveling. You don’t know how to fix this, or even if you should.

12:15 AM

Rafe: You always wanted to be everyone’s favorite. Well, congrats. You win.

His words hit harder than any of the others. You feel like you’ve been slapped, and the sting is so raw you can’t stop the tears that threaten to spill. You wipe them away quickly. Cleo looks at you, her concern palpable.

“You good, girl?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you lie, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

Your phone buzzes again. You know it’s him. You don’t want to look, but you do. You can’t help it.

12:32 AM

Rafe: Fuck. I didn’t mean it.

12:34 AM

Rafe: Why do I always fuck this up?`

You suck in a breath. His self-loathing is so intense, so painfully familiar. You wish you could hold him, reassure him, but it’s not that simple. He’s not the only one who’s hurt, and you’re tired of carrying it all by yourself.

12:45 AM

Rafe: Come back. Please.

Your stomach churns at the desperation in his words. Part of you wants to cave, wants to go back to him and forget about everything. But you know you can’t. Not like this. You can’t keep walking in circles around him, hoping that one day it’ll all make sense.

12:50 AM

Rafe: I need you.

Your throat tightens. You’re choking on the ache inside you, the words that you can’t take back and the love that you’re not sure how to handle anymore. He’s always needed you, but you need more than that. You need to be seen, to be loved in a way that doesn’t hurt.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands trembling. And just when you think it’s over, your phone buzzes again.

1:05 AM

Rafe: I know I’m not good enough for you. But I don’t know how to be without you.

a/n: the next few chapters will all be set in the past, and then no more past chapters!!

tags : @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell

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prongsiepotter · 10 months ago

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down bad | j. potter

summary: you're so in love with james potter but he's a little too good at giving you mixed signals that it might actually ruin you

pairing: james potter x reader

warnings: angst, a little fluff if u squint, and so much longing & yearning. omg so much of it

a/n: i am unfortunately completely obsessed with taylor swift's new album, so everything i'll write in the near future will be based on one of the ttpd songs (yey!) & this one's based on 'down bad.' feel free to send requests if u want pick the next song for me x

──────── 𑁍︎ ‧₊°

"So he just said no?" Mary all but hisses. Marlene shushes her, glancing around the classroom before leaning down from where she's sitting on your desk.

"Are you sure it didn't mean something else?" She rests her hand on yours. "Maybe it was just a misunderstanding. He wouldn't…he just wouldn't, right?" You smile weakly at her, then shake your head. She squeezes your hand.

"The note was pretty clear," you say with a soft sigh. The sentence rolls off your tongue with unhidden bitterness. "Sorry, can't. Need to catch up on some assignments."

You would show it to them, so they could see for themselves and maybe divert their sympathetic gazes from you. But you had set it on fire right after reading it, just like the other two notes friendly rejecting you. You still aren't sure why you did it. After all, you did just tell Mary and Marlene that you're fine. At least you will be. You should not be this devastated over some guy.

Even if that guy is James Potter.

James who is now strolling into the room with his mates, looking as invincible and full of life as he always has and always will.

Quickly, you force a smile at the girls and pull out the chair next to you. Marlene, bless her, gets the hint and lightly shoves Mary's shoulder to have her take the seat. You're going through your book bag, pulling out your inkwell when four bodies make their way past your desk.

"Ladies," comes Sirius cheerfully loud voice as he bows at the waist because, of course, he does. Peter and Remus aren't as dramatic with their greetings. The latter, however, does take the time to slow down in front of you until you look up and return his kind smile. Belatedly, you realise perhaps you shouldn't have done that. You lock eyes with James, who's right behind him.

He sends you an easy smile and a wink. Like he's letting you in on another one of his rare secrets. You're not sure if you're smiling back, but it's almost a given that you are.

He takes his seat behind you, laughing blithely at a joke Pete just told, and it's all so painfully charming that you want to die. You fear he will always make you feel like this. Like you're somehow the chosen one. It's such a sickening feeling, you can't help but whip around and look at Mary, pleadingly. Though, you're not sure what you're pleading for anymore.

She shoots you another unbearably sympathetic smile, looking like she's close to cooing at you. You sigh, hiding your face in the crook of your arms.

You can't help but think how easy it would be to just cry right here. It's embarrassing to admit, but you've done it plenty of times over the weekend after you had seen James out at Hogsmeade with the others. Miserably, you had realised that he was, in fact, not too busy working on his assignments. He just didn't want to spend time with you.

You almost let out a sob.

A hand rubs your back and you know it can only be Mary, but you let yourself believe that it's the universe consoling you, as if to say there, there because there's nothing fair about this and she knows it, but there's nothing she can do it about now, can she?

History of Magic passes in a blur. Before you know it, you're in the library, pouring all of yourself into an essay that you normally couldn't have cared less for. But you're willing to do whatever it takes to keep yourself busy. You know your thoughts will stray the moment you're lying quietly in bed anyway, awaiting another sleepless night.

You finish the sentence and look up, satisfied with your work. Apparently it's been a while since you've torn your gaze away from the parchment before you, seeing how stiff your neck is. You knead at the uncomfortable knot in your shoulder while looking around the library. It's relatively full today with every other seat being taken.

Which makes it all the more irritating when your gaze snatches on a figure sat at the other table right across from you. He's not even looking up, head bent over a book, but you would recognise that mop of unruly dark curls anywhere. James must've seen you when he came in, but that might have just been your hopeful self speaking.

Begrudgingly, you resume your writing and it takes everything in you not to look up every few minutes. To glimpse the slight furrow in his brows and the small pout of his lips as he's carefully reading every paragraph. You know he's likely looking for something to prepare for a prank. Normally, you would simply go over and ask him what he's up to. You know he'd happily tell you. But you're glad to have at least a little bit of pride and dignity left that keeps you rooted in your spot.

Seemingly not enough though since all you can think about is that there's no way he doesn't know that you're right there. It really does make you want to bang your head against the table. Maybe that would finally catch James' attention.

Pathetically, you glance at him only to notice that he's packing his things to leave. The tip of your feather goes back to the parchment so fast, it almost pierces it. You haven't got a clue what you're writing, too busy tracking James' movements from the corner of your eyes.

You watch him stand up, walking down the length of his table towards the door down the hall on his right. Then he stops. You hold your breath. James seemingly hesitates before fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He turns left and walks towards you. You're staring at your hand as it writes illegible words, completely out of your control, when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey," James whispers when you look up, giving you a familiar grin and small wave. It's an innocent gesture, sweet, but there's almost something hostile about this encounter. Like you have no choice but to let him occupy every single one of your senses. You stare up at him, a matching smile sweeping over your lips before you can think better of it.

That's when you notice the scarf he's wearing and its frizzled ends. It's yours. You know it is.

Did he not give it back to you after one of your nights out together on the stands? After you had flown on your brooms, so close to the sea of stars that you could've dipped your fingertips in them? You could almost hear the echoes of your windblown laughters as the memory pushes itself into the foreground of your mind.

James is sitting still, rosy-cheeked, watching you with curious eyes while you babble on about the Leo constellation. He had just told you that you could do whatever you want to him—another quite maddening thing to casually say to someone—and now he's apparently keen on staying true to his word by letting you wrap your scarf around his neck.

It took some convincing before he'd finally accepted it from you. You promised that you wouldn't be cold with your high collared sweater, but James only gave in when you had accepted his wool hat in exchange.

He had carefully put it on you, smoothing down your hair and pulling out some loose strands to frame your face, mumbling something about how much lovelier his hat looked on you than on him. You told yourself that he surely must've known what it did to you when his knuckles brushed your cheeks. Right? Surely.

James pokes your side, chuckling, as if he sensed that your mind was drifting elsewhere. He cracks another joke, saying that if you were the one to teach him Astronomy, he might actually pay attention in class. He says it like it's a deal and you feel inclined to do whatever it takes to hold up your side of the bargain.

You laugh helplessly, feeling drunk on a little bit of everything; the stars above, James' gentle laughter, the familiar smell of broom wax and crisp winter air. This must be cosmic love, you think to yourself. Your breath clouds in front of you, becoming one with his. All the while, you're too aware of James' shoulder bumping into you, his leg pressed against yours. There's no one out here but you two.

You have all the room in the world, but James chose to sit this close to you. Probably close enough for him to hear your heart pounding. Did he do it for a reason? You'd love to know.

"You don't need me to pay attention in Astronomy," you find yourself saying in response, something daring laced in the drawl of your voice. His eyes flash, bright and a bit wild. It's the same look he gets after you challenge him to a race on your brooms. His grin grows wide, carefree, and oh so lovely.

"Please." His face comes impossibly closer and you lean in without another thought, eager to take whatever it is James will give you. You feel his breath on your lips.

"I will always need you, Y/N."

Somehow he makes it sound genuine.

Then he winks and leaves you a horrid, forsaken mess. Somehow he makes that feel like a nice gesture too.

Incredulously, you stare at him as he leans back, elbows resting on the seats behind him. James Potter, you think weakly, what are you doing to me? Not for the first time you ponder what you would do if you can't have him. You almost double over from the striking pain in your chest.

Then he points out another constellation and you nearly forget all about yourself. He's good at that. Never ceasing to show you that the world is bigger than the two of you. Making you forget and remember that you might be in love. Because what if you were in love?

James cups the back of his neck, then points towards the door of the library, almost shyly letting you know that he's leaving. You nod slowly, still dazed. A small smile crosses his lips before you watch him round the corner, his back disappearing from your sight.

You blink, letting out a ragged breath. You feel like you got the wind knocked out of you. Like you just lost your twin. Someone who knows you like no one else ever will. Someone who might just be your better half. Someone who sometimes makes you feel like they want nothing to do with you.

It's ridiculous, you think bleakly to yourself, you're so down bad.

And James Potter makes it feel like a curse and a blessing.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #marauders fanfiction #marauders #taylor swift #ttpd #the tortured poets department

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withleeknow · 6 months ago

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wishful thinking. (7.5)

chapter 7.5: limbo

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

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; minho's pov; non-explicit smut, kissing, grinding, implied unprotected sex; alcohol consumption, non-linear storytelling (jumps around a few random scenes before we get back to the present that picks up from the end of chapter 7), cursing, the final line :-?; not that unedited i am so so sorry lol word count: 5.6k

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

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Wishing fountains, we pray for change in the dark Moving mountains, we end up right where we start The world’s not falling apart But you and I, baby we are

Wishing Fountains - Bad Suns

“What does it say?” Minho asks.

You sigh, your eyes trailing the words on the small piece of paper in your hands before you shove one half of the fortune cookie in your mouth. It seems dry; you look like you can barely swallow it.

“Bullshit,” you say simply, a little bitter before you hide behind a mask of indifference, turning to him as you ask, “Yours?”

He breaks his own fortune cookie in half, pulling out a similar piece of paper that reads, “‘Jeg elsker deg’ means ‘I love you’ in Norwegian.”

You're both lying on a fluffy rug on the floor of your bedroom, with an empty bottle of rosé sitting somewhere near your head. “That’s... random,” you say, casting your eyes to the ceiling. “But I mean, at least it’s kind of educational. Now you know a phrase in Norwegian.”

“Sure,” Minho laughs, testing out the syllables in his mouth and butchering them in the process. “Who would I even say it to?”

“Impress your future girlfriend with your worldly knowledge. Or say it to Hyunjin, I’m sure he’ll swoon and blush like a schoolgirl.”

“That’s the last thing I want. He’s already clingy enough as it is.”

“Alright. Well, your loss then.”

He only hums in response. “You’re really not gonna tell me what yours is?”

“I told you. It’s bullshit.”

“Wanna tell me why the fortune cookie is evil at least? I’ll fight it for you.”

You roll your eyes, shoving at his shoulder with a playful scoff. “It just got me thinking, that’s all.”

“About what?”

It takes a minute for you to gather your thoughts into one semi-cohesive pile.

“Just… reminds me how I don’t really fit into anyone’s life,” you start, your voice coming out a little small and timid before you seem to let the alcohol give you enough confidence to say what you want. “I don’t feel like I’m worth anyone’s time. Everyone’s going to outgrow me eventually, if they haven’t already. Their lives will only get bigger and bigger, and they’ll have to leave me behind at some point. All that space but none for me.

“I think I’ll be stuck like this forever, in this fucking… limbo. And I know it’s dramatic because we’re still young and we’ve got our whole lives in front of us and whatever else that people say. But it feels like wherever I go and whatever I do, my life will always be this small while you all move on. Chan and Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, Felix, even Hyunjin and Jisung when they’re not too busy being idiots. Everyone’s got everything all planned out, and they have other things to fall back on if those plans don’t work out. If I fall, I think I’ll just keep falling until I hit rock bottom.

“And you… you’re gonna do great things too. You’re gonna live your life and it’s going to be a good one, and you’ll forget about me too. A few years from now, when everyone’s already moved on, I’ll just be a girl that you used to know. I’m just a stop along the way.”

Then you pause, and the laugh you let out afterward is choked up and not at all sincere. You rub your hands down your face, groaning a little when you say, “Ugh, that was depressing. Sorry, it’s the wine. Forget I said anything.”

You have beautiful eyes, that’s what Minho has always thought, the kind that holds all the universe’s sparkles and all its sadness too, a bittersweet balance. The kind that makes one want to stop and admire for a while. He loves when they light up before the joy gradually spreads across your face, like watching the sun peak over the horizon before it colors the sky with ethereal pinks and purples and blues. You’re a wonderful sunrise, his favorite part of every day.

He even loves your faraway gaze when you’re here but you’re elsewhere simultaneously, hiding in your eyes musings that are privy to nobody else. You’d stare into the distance and he’d watch you the whole time, wondering if any of the thoughts that occupy your mind are about him.

Minho has an urge to take you into his arms and hold you tight and tell you that everything’s going to be okay. That no one’s going to forget about you because you’re not someone who can be forgotten so easily, let alone be forgotten by him. That he isn’t going anywhere if it’s not by your side, that he wants to be in your life until you decide you’re sick of him, not the other way around.

He wants to tell you he loves you because that’s the truth. He was gone the minute he saw you at that stupid party years ago when you had walked in shyly with Chan and Jess. You had tried to make yourself smaller in a roomful of strangers, but you’ve always been the only one Minho could find in a crowd.

Years and years from now, when he thinks back to his youth, the highlight reel that will pop up in his mind will be of his idiot friends and the good memories they’ve shared with one another. How they laughed and cried, how they fell and got back up together time and time again.

And at the center of it all will be you. Green grass, blue skies, his golden days and you, the focal point of his youth.

He loves you. Would it help, or would it scare you?

He doesn’t let himself debate that question for long. Regardless of what the answer is, now isn’t the right time. So instead, he says, “For what it’s worth, everyone’s just taking it one day at a time, even if they seem like they have it all planned out. You’re not falling behind. You’re going at your own pace, who cares about other people?”

You turn your head to stare at him, your cheeks flushed with a rosy tint from the wine you had shared and a pensive look on your face. He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but he holds your gaze anyway.

“And I can’t speak for anyone else, but you’ll always have me. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

A quiet moment passes. If Minho focuses hard enough, he thinks he might be able to hear the faint beats of your heart.

His gaze flickers to your lips for barely a second before it returns to your eyes, quick enough for it to escape your notice.

Then, you’re holding yourself up on one elbow and shuffling into his orbit until you’re right by his side. He doesn’t move a single inch; he only watches as you get closer, and closer, and closer until there’s no more space between the two of you. He blinks, and in that split second he misses the way you let your eyes shut as you lean down to press your lips to his.

He’s surprised, but pleasantly so.

You taste like rosé, like something he’s always known that he wants to chase.

It stuns him enough that he forgets to respond, his mind focused solely on the feeling of your soft lips on him, the scent of your jasmine perfume and how you’re so warm pressed against him like this.

Maybe it’s the stillness of his body that shocks you out of it, because you pull away after a few seconds with an instant look of mortification in your eyes, trying to scramble back to your original spot on the rug like you’ve just committed an unspeakable sin. Running away, he thinks, is your first instinct.

But Minho is just a tad quicker than you are. He doesn’t let you stray very far when he props himself up to cup your face with one hand and bring you back to him.

He’s kissing you again and for a brief moment, he feels like he could die.

You don’t break from him this time. Instead, you’re kissing him back just as deeply. You let him lower you back to the floor as he holds himself up above you, his tongue slipping past the seal of your lips while his thumb strokes your cheek softly, keeping you there in his loose hold so you could still run if that’s what you want to do.

But you stay with him, your hands trailing up the expanse of his chest to find purchase on his shoulders, your legs parting so he could perfectly slot himself into the space that you’ve allowed him.

When he rocks his hips into you experimentally, you bite on his bottom lip, a whining sound from your throat comes out muffled against his mouth.

He strays just long enough and far enough so he could look into your eyes, with your pupils blown much darker than they had been at the start of the evening.

He says your name, the gentlest sound in the world, then a question. “What do you want?”

Minho half expects you to overthink your answer and come back to your senses, to choose flight because it would be the easier option.

But you don’t. There’s a dazed look in your eyes as you lock onto him, and there’s something underneath the pool of lust in your gaze that leaves him breathless and wondering.

“You,” you say quietly, “I want you.”

And it’s with this simple answer that you pull him back to you again, not the other way around. You kiss him more fervently than before if that’s even possible. When he slides his arm around your waist, you let him pick you up to cross the few steps it takes to get to your bed, his lips never leaving you even after he has laid you onto the mattress. They follow the path where your jawline leads down to your neck, then where your neck meets your collarbone, and he savors every little whimper that you make for him even though he’s barely touched you yet. There’s hardly any patch of skin that he leaves unkissed, and when he reaches where your shirt begins to hide the rest of you from him, he only looks up at you, quietly asking for more permission.

You don’t give him a verbal answer. You take matters into your own hands, lifting your top over your head and flinging it somewhere on the floor.

Then your bra follows to join your shirt, wherever it may be. Minho assumes they’ve landed on the bottle of rosé, only guessing by the sound of the glass being knocked over and rolling around. He’s not sure but he doesn’t care about it enough to look, not when he’s got you right here under him, so beautiful and so willing that it makes his head spin.

He’s imagined this before, just a few times whenever he's drunk enough to let his mind wander without the guilt that comes with it when he’s sober. He has wondered before what it would feel like to kiss you breathless and have you kiss him back, to touch you in ways that no one else ever has, to taste how sweet you are and feel your warmth. None of it is appropriate, not at all platonic. He’s well aware of it.

It's been years, ever since Minho met you at that party when he was 19 and you had been too awkward to start a conversation. Years of walking with you in the rain after class, sharing umbrellas that are too small to shield the both of you but it’s okay, because he doesn’t mind leaving half of his body exposed to the harsh weather as long as the rain doesn’t get on you. Years of making sure you get home safely after nights out with your friends, years of insisting that he sees you walk inside your building and up to your floor whether it's 11PM or 4:30AM. Years of lingering glances, of pretending he isn’t bothered whenever Felix offers to introduce you to someone, of smiles sent your way that are far too endeared to mean nothing at all.

Years of loving you in silence because he’s your friend first and foremost, and his friendship with you means more to him than the feelings he has for you.

And yet...

He’s here in your bed, watching you with mesmerized eyes as you take off the rest of your clothes before helping him discard his, as you kiss him just as deeply as he’s wanted to kiss you for the longest time, as you keep pulling him into you even when he’s already as close to you as humanly possible. His lips on yours, his heart pressed against the other side of yours. His fingers intertwined with yours when he slips inside of you, and how your hands stay interlocked the entire time you’re wrapped together. You cling to him so tightly, as though it would hurt you if he were to ever let go.

It’s the way you look at him, like he’s the only person that exists in your universe. It’s the broken moans that you give him, the nonsense babbles that make his chest swell with pride at the knowledge that he’s making you feel so good that the only thing you know how to say coherently is his name. It’s the heaven between your thighs, absolutely divine and infinitely better than any fantasy that he could ever let himself indulge in.

Just for tonight, Minho can pretend that you're his, even though he knows that he’s already been yours since the first time you met. He’s been yours for as long as he can remember, even if you don’t know it yet.

Later on, when he’s collapsed next to you on the bed, there’s a safe distance between your tired bodies and a certain tension in the air that’s heavy with the consequences of your actions. When he takes your hand, the one that’s shaking as you grip the sheets between your fingers, it alleviates some of that anxiety.

“The fortune cookie, what did it say?” he asks, like you’re simply continuing the conversation from before.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Seriously?”

He gives you a lopsided smile, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Seriously.”

You purse your lips as you look at him for another second before you cast your eyes to the ceiling again, like you’d done just an hour ago. “It said ‘You’ll be loved.’”

You are, he thinks to himself. You’re loved.

“Open wide.”

You give him a look, to which he only responds with a shrug and a sly grin.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you say, but you take the spoonful of chicken soup that he offers you anyway. You can’t focus on the taste but it’s warm and the relief you feel is instant when it soothes your throat.

You’ve practically been on bedrest for the past three days, slowly rotting away in your apartment with a bad strain of the seasonal flu until Minho came over and unleashed his inner mama bear on you. Now here you are, wrapped up like a burrito on the couch (Minho insisted; he wouldn’t have it any other way) while he spoon feeds you homemade chicken soup.

You were stubborn about it at first, as one could probably imagine. When you told the group chat that you wouldn’t make it to movie night at Chan’s place last weekend, you were adamant that you would be able to sleep it off and bounce back in no time, despite Minho offering to make you some food and bring over some meds and cough drops.

The symptoms worsened overnight though, and you developed a fever along with a cough that’s worse than any you’ve ever experienced. When Minho called you to make sure you were still alive, you could barely even speak.

He hates your cavalier attitude when it comes to taking care of yourself. He hates himself even more for believing in your nonchalance and not bulldozing his way over sooner.

“I’m enjoying this because I was right,” he says, feeding you more of the soup. “I told you instant ramyeon wouldn’t cure you.”

He lets his I told you so triumph go easily, even though he suspects that you have much more to bite back at him if you could get through half a sentence without wanting to hack your lungs out. You make a noise, and he isn’t really sure if it’s one of agreement or protest but it’s most likely the latter. He thinks it’s cute that you close your eyes after every spoonful, lazily eating like one of his cats back home whenever they’ve run out of energy. You’re probably tired and can’t wait to get into bed.

When the soup is finished, Minho fetches you your meds and a glass of warm water. He doesn’t know if the scrunched up face you make after every pill is because you hate the bitter taste or if the tablets keep dragging against your already sensitive throat on their way down, but he strokes your hair all the while you wash it down with water, a gentle hand on your head as if to say You’re doing well.

He tucks you in bed not long after, despite your weak protests as he carries you to your bedroom.

“Oh my god,” you had managed to croak out. “I’m not that helpless.”

“I know,” came his response and a teasing smile. “Just let me take care of you for once.”

You’re pliant once you’re laid gently on the mattress though, idly watching Minho as he wraps the duvet around your shoulders and fluffs your pillows just the way you like. This is awfully domestic, he notes, and he can’t help but lean down and press a kiss to your forehead, not when he’s absolutely endeared by the way your tired eyes try to keep themselves open just so you could look at him.

When his lips leave your warm skin, he thinks he might’ve imagined the blush that colors your cheeks.

But he blinks, and you’re still flushed, your lips slightly parted as you stare at him, mild surprise evident in your drowsy gaze.

Something passes over the two of you, a kind of silence that he isn’t accustomed to when he’s with you. It isn’t bad, it’s just… strange.

One beat, then another. “Want me to stay with you?” he asks.

He knows you’d say no, and yet he can’t help the disappointment when you tell him, “You don’t have to. Go home, Min. Thanks for taking care of me today.”

“You sure? I can take the couch. It’s fine.”

“I’m sure. Chan and Jess said they’re coming to check on me in the morning.”

Minho lets out a hum, and purses his lips.

“What?” you ask.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you look like you want to.”

“Just… y’know,” he starts, gauging your reaction all the while, for any signs of physical discomfort or otherwise, “I like you like this. You’re not hiding when you’re like this.”

“You like me frail and on the verge of death?”

He rolls his eyes, pretends to flick at your forehead. “You know what I mean.”

When you giggle, it’s immediately followed by a wince, like the movement is hurting your sensitive throat. “Do I hide when I’m with you?”

“Sometimes.” He moves his hand to caress your face, gentle fingertips tracing the apple of your cheek. Surprisingly, you let him, if only for a little while. “It feels like you’re always ready to leave.”

“Are you worried I’m gonna run away?” you ask, covering your hand over his to move it away, but you still let his touch linger when you only lower his hand to your neck, where he starts twiddling your hair between his fingers. It feels like you want him close, close enough that it matters, close in a way that still lets you have control over how it matters. “I physically can’t. I’m sick.”

“Does that mean you’ll run away when you get better?”

You seem to ponder the question for a moment. You’re holding onto his wrist and Minho is almost certain that you can feel his pulse. He would do so many things for you if only you’d let him.

When you answer him, you keep things light but your tone is soft, gentle in a way that tells him your sentiment means more than the words you cherry pick on the surface.

“No, I have finals in two weeks.”

The first time that Minho gets to wake up next to you, nothing feels real. Not the pleasant scent of your shampoo greeting him the minute he opens his eyes, not your soft breath fanning his bare collarbone where you lay with your head tucked into the crook of his neck, not even the feeling of you in his arms, safe and warm, as though this is where you’re meant to be. None of it seems like anything other than a dream.

When memories of the previous night come rushing to the surface, it also brings back the annoyance he felt watching Yeonjun openly flirt with you at the party, and the bitter feeling that accompanied the reminder that Minho couldn’t even really do anything about it but stand idly by.

But you stir in his arms, and all of the annoyance and bitterness goes away. Because you’re here with him and not anybody else. There’s a certain ego boost knowing that he’s the one you kiss, the only one you allow in your most personal space. To know you is a privilege, and it’s one that you grant no one else but him.

Last night, something happened. Something changed, he felt it when you were the one who asked him to stay. You let him put his shirt on you, let him hold you as you slept, even welcomed his embrace and snuggled further into his body in a way that you’ve never done before.

How you kissed him just hours prior, how you looked at him… God, he thinks he could just spill all of his secrets if you did it again.

But when you open your eyes, Minho is already pretending to be asleep again. How would you react? He’s curious to know. Would you scramble away the second the realization kicks in that you let him break your rule? Would you leave his side and act all nonchalant about it when you inevitably have to face each other later? He’s willing to bet that you would.

But you surprise him again. He feels you watching him for a moment, then your touch ghosts upon his features. It almost makes him falter in his act, your gentle fingers tracing his temple, his cheekbones, the slope of his nose down to his lips. There’s a sigh that you exhale, and he misses your touch the very second it leaves his skin. He itches to bring you closer to him again.

So that’s what he does. Minho keeps the facade going, pretending like he’s now just waking up with his limbs stretching out. You stiffen when he hugs you tighter, but you soon relax after he starts stroking your hair.

Nothing has changed for him, but can you say the same?

“Dude!”

Minho flinches into action when a voice calls his name right by the car window, loud enough to startle him even through the thick layer of glass. When he turns his head, he finds Changbin’s face all pressed up against the window, struggling to hold three bags full of supplies that are threatening to spill out. “Help me with these!” his friend says.

It’s the week of Jisung, Felix and Seungmin’s birthdays; you lot tends to go all out for the quadruple birthday bash every year (Chan’s birthday is only 11 days later after all). Seungmin’s family has a lakeside cabin a couple hours from the city, that’s where everyone goes to unwind for a long weekend with plenty of food and even more drinks. This year, it’s no different.

Minho and Changbin are on drinks duty, tasked with picking up all of the alcohol and refreshments for the weekend ahead. He doesn’t really know what the rest are doing, just that you and Jeongin are babysitting Hyunjin to make sure the latter doesn’t deviate from the proposed budget and go way overboard when getting snacks and decorations. You sent Minho a text a while ago, a video of you facepalming and rolling your eyes before you flip the camera over to show Hyunjin and Jeongin bickering like children over a mega pack of chips.

Once everything is in the car – cases of beer safely loaded into the trunk, bottles of water and soft drinks set in their designated plastic bags in the backseat, Changbin comments from the driver’s seat, “You looked weird. You were smiling.”

Minho only stares at him for a moment, a neutral expression on his face as he blinks those typical Minho blinks, before he turns his head to the other side to lean against the window.

He was thinking about the first time your tradition started, the first year Jess had to drag you on the trip. She used to do it often; you were shy in the beginning.

He’s got a favorite memory of you, and it wasn’t you and him sitting together on the bank of the river during the sunset, while the others were in the water, splashing around and having the time of your lives (you two were the only ones who couldn’t swim, but it was okay, you didn’t feel like you missed out on anything because at least you had each other).

His favorite memory of you wasn’t running into you in the middle of the night when he went into the kitchen for some water and you were out by yourself on the adjacent balcony, sitting with your chin resting on your folded knees and the crescent moon for company. He stayed there for a moment, dazed, wondering if he was still dreaming or if it was just you. When Minho finally made his presence known, you told him you couldn’t sleep and he suggested that you break into Hyunjin’s secret ramyeon stash, because going to bed with a full stomach always made him feel better whenever he was restless. 1:58AM, you ended up almost burning your hand on the stove, too busy trying to keep your giggles down when he made a stupid joke.

Minho’s favorite memory wasn’t of you falling asleep on his shoulder on the drive back either, with you squished in the backseat between him and Felix, and your light snores reminded him of Soonie whenever the cat would doze off on his chest. It wasn’t any of these moments, even though he thinks he might’ve loved you in every instance.

His favorite memory of you was the evening before that trip had to come to an end, the last night you all spent together before you had to leave your safe little bubble. It was after dinner and some drinks, everyone was buzzed and the air was crisp, chilly every now and then. When you were gathered on the dock overlooking the lake, each holding a sparkler that Jisung had prepared, you were laughing. Everyone else was laughing too, but yours was the only sound Minho could focus on.

“Be quiet. I’m gonna take a nap,” he tells Changbin, ignoring the comment entirely as he closes his eyes. “Wake me when we get to Chan’s.”

The lights, and your friends, and the moon hanging high up in the sky like a guardian angel back then.

You were watching how it all reflected so beautifully in the rippling waters below. He was watching you.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

His question hangs in the awful silence as you stare at him. Minho can see your nails digging into your palms where your fists are clenched, your glassy eyes and the frown between your brows, like you’re trying your hardest to hold back tears. Why else would you be so upset?

He’s known about it for a while, or at the very least, he’s had an inkling of how you feel about him. He knows he isn’t in over his head when he says there’s a certain glow that radiates from within you when you’re together, a side of you that’s tender and at peace, one that he’s never seen you show anyone else. The way you look at him, it’s the same way that he looks at you even if you don’t realize it yet, or maybe you just don’t want to admit it out loud.

It hasn’t been one sided for at least some time now, he knows it.

But it’s frustrating to watch you try so hard to fight it. He’s the only one holding on, and you’ve been willing to let go at every turn.

“See what?” you challenge.

This isn’t how he planned to ever say these words, but the moment is here whether he likes it or not. It’s staring at you both in the face even if you are doing your best to hide from it.

Minho holds your gaze for a few seconds before he steps toward you again. This time, you stand your ground.

“You asked me if things changed for me and I said no. That was the truth, I never lied to you. We’re friends but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen you as something more from the beginning.”

He pauses there, watches your eyes and how you take it in. They soften a little, filling up some more as you process his words. There’s surprise in the look that you wear, sure. A little confusion, yes. But most of all, you just look sad. When you call out his name, he can tell by your tone that it’s a warning, that you’re about to run away for real this time if he presses on, and yet he can’t stop until he says his piece.

“If you want me to spell it out for you, I’ve had feelings for you since we first met. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t remember what it feels like not to love you, and it drives me crazy that you don’t see any of it. The thing that makes me even crazier, do you know what it is? I think you feel something for me too, but you won’t admit it to yourself and you always resort to shutting down instead of facing your feelings. How much longer are you going to run away from me?”

When the first tear unintentionally spills over from the corner of your eye, Minho knows he’s struck a nerve. He wants to reach out and wipe away the tiny stream that rolls down your face but you beat him to it, wiping at your cheek in angry motions.

“You’re wrong.” Your voice is tight when you tell him, “I don’t have feelings for you.” It’s the only thing that you address.

Sometimes, he searches for your answer at the bottom of a glass, or on the other end of looks that seem to linger just a beat too long. But as he’s standing here, right now, he finds it in your hesitation to speak, in the lie you give him when you finally do.

It’s the answer he’s always wanted and yet, the knowledge brings him no satisfaction at all. It only lodges a lump in his throat, an overwhelming sense of dejection when he sees how hard you’re trying to fight this.

“I know you,” he sighs after a moment, a little defeated. “I know when you’re lying.”

“Maybe you don’t know me that well after all.”

You’re stubborn. You’ve always been stubborn.

Minho takes another step forward. It feels like it’s a step closer to the end as you both know it, because how else is your relationship going to come back from this? He sees the slight shake in your shoulders that you try to suppress, but he’ll always be the one to notice.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he says quietly, his final resort. A challenge but it sounds an awful lot like a plea. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that things can take a turn for the worse in just two weeks’ time. The last time you both were here, you’d kissed his endeared smile and held him so impossibly close to you. Now, everything is falling apart, the seams coming undone one by one. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Minho meant what he said, about how loving you drives him crazy sometimes. Even when you’re breaking his heart, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. A noticeable sting settles in between the cracks of his ribcage at the sight of your quivering bottom lip, your balled up fists and his own reflection in your glassy eyes.

“Do you want me to say it so badly?” you ask, and he can only stare at you when your voice comes out harsher than it was before, though it cracks toward the end as you try to keep up with the facade. “Fine, I’ll say it.”

It’s not what he asked, but it’s confirmation nonetheless. It’s acceptance but not how he wants it to be. Acceptance that you do love him, and yet, you say it in a way that he’s never expected to hear from you.

“I don’t want to love you.”

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goresuki · 1 year ago

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my thoughts on Charlastor and Alastor calling Charlie "the daughter he never had"

this will be a very long rant/vent/whatever. also, a kind of... agressive one. if u wanna read, read it, if u don't, don't, idc and idm. I don't know if some antis take things for convenience (that way) or if they really are naive, because the fact that a manipulative guy like Alastor, whose intentions are unknown, tells Charlie that he sees her as "the daughter he never had" DOES NOT SOUND as CUTE to me as many DO seem to think it does.

I don't know if they don't realize the relationship Charlie has with her parents and how Alastor seems to take advantage of her.

From the pilot we realize that Charlie has no contact with her mother. In the series it is established that they have not seen each other for 7 years.

The first episode JUST talks about Charlie having so called "daddy issues" as her father, Lucifer, is an absentee father.

Charlie appears to NOT have had a close relationship with ANY of the two for some time (or quite some time).

The only person Charlie has is Vaggie, to protect and care for her (here's why Vaggie is so "boring", as some people call her, as she is acting as a guide/parental figure for Charlie, even though their relationship is romantic).

Where am I going with these points? That I think it's complete nonsense for people to take super-literally what Alastor has said: "you're like the daughter I always wanted to have".

Isn't it convenient for the most feared overlord (not the strongest) to approach Charlie and find that she's not as vulnerable as he thought (because Vaggie is there)? Isn't it convenient for Alastor to make a very absolute polarity between Vaggie and him in the pilot, where Vaggie comes off as the "bitter one" and he as the "fun guy"? Isn't it convenient for Alastor to PROVE to Charlie over and over again that HE knows what SHE NEEDS by pulling his tricks? And, oh, surprise… Isn't it even more convenient that when Lucifer arrives, who has a lousy relationship with his daughter, Charlie, Alastor rubs it in his face that he is doing everything that he (Lucifer) is responsible for, and furthermore, hits him right where it hurts, manipulating Charlie so that she seriously BELIEVES that Alastor REALLY sees her that way, and thus making her STILL not have a GUIDE other than HIMSELF?

I'll make it simple for you. You know how narcissists work? They will make you believe that YOU are special, and at the same time, they will ALIENATE you from your loved ones to keep gaining whatever they need from you. Charlie is, literally, his supply.

Alastor is a psychopath and narcissist. Do you really think that someone who can't genuinely empathize and love is literally going to feel affection for a grown woman who is very naive and doesn't even have power over her kingdom because she is so immature? Don't you think it is VERY OBVIOUS that he has literally said to her face: "I'm going to manipulate you in my favor because thanks to me you have all these upgrades in your stupid hotel"?

Alastor hasn't as such made a deal with Charlie, but he's winning her over in HIS way.

And I don't know who's crazier: charlastor shippers like me, who don't give a damn about canon and want to enjoy shipping WITHOUT bothering ANYONE (and don't come out with the stupidity that it's a "proship". Proshipper doesn't even mean "problematic ship", it means that you are FOR shipping whatever you want, living and letting live, without HARASSING others. Let's remember that Hazbin Hotel characters DON'T. FUCKING. EXIST. Alastor is not going to come out of the screen to say: "omg, user, thanks for defending me from those evil shippers uwu", or Charlie to say: "thanks for defending me, you're so good, user…. You're such a good person". Pro: "in favor of", shipper: "shipper, ship", however you want to call it. Don't modify terms to suit yourselves because you can tell that many don't even know how suffixes and prefixes work in words. Neither Charlie nor Alastor are going to die because someone shipped them. They are FICTITIOUS characters. The FANON is not going to change the CANON. Learn to sepparate stuff, ffs. Go out and touch grass once in a while) or antis who put on a pedestal what Alastor said, believing it as a justification to ATTACK people in the fandom who shipped something different, according to them, "problematic".

There they do forget that Alastor is a manipulator, that he is a person with a LOT of arsenal to get his way. There they forget that he IS a guy Charlie should NOT trust. There it DOES count because IT CONVENIENTS THEM. That's when the canon MATTERS to them. There it COUNTS. It doesn't matter if Charlie gets hurt because of trusting Alastor, they only see what they want to see. If you guys are going to humanize this fucking characters, at least be a little bit logical. Got me? Remember what Viv said?: "ship whatever you want, JUST DON'T HARASS ANYONE". These people say: "fuck what Viv says", but on this occasion, since she DID say something convenient for them, it DOES matter what Viv says now, doesn't it? Hypocrites.

Charlie has no one beyond Alastor, and I don't remember where I read that theory, whether it was here or elsewhere, where they talked about Alastor looking for a way to alienate the hotel itself in one way or another. That's why he doesn't use very flashy technology (Vox can travel through the latest electronics, and the hotel has an old box TV), nor does he go out of his way to provide anything of good quality (like the video camera). The hotel has its own power supply (we see this when the blackout occurs during the song between Alastor and Vox).

Alastor DOES NOT WANT Charlie as his daughter, he's just taking advantage of her to get whatever he needs to get out of her.

Charlie doesn't even seem to know exactly how her powers work, and the only person who can teach her is Lucifer, her father. And if Lucifer is out of the equation, Alastor can do whatever he wants.

He's hit Lucifer right in the jugular, and Lucifer knows that all the power in the world can't make up for the wrong he did to Charlie.

Anyway, if a real anti thinks Charlastor is problematic because "AlASTor AlreADy SaiD hE sEES hEr As a DauGhtER," I remind them that they are not dealing with a character who cares about others beyond maintaining his own status, and ffs... they're not even real. KEEP SHIPPING. KEEP DRAWING. KEEP MAKING FANFICS. FUCK THESE PEOPLE THAT TRY TO HARASS YOU, FUCK THESE PEOPLE THAT TRY TO MAKE EVERYTHING "PURE" ON A SHOW ABOUT DEMONS AND HELL. FUCK THESE PEOPLE TRYING TO MAKE A FANDOM THEIR OWN FUCKING WAY BECAUSE THEY CAN'T HANDLE THERE'S A LOT OF DIFFERENT VIEWS. FUCK THEIR SAVIOR COMPLEX, JUST COMING AROUND WHEN IT'S ALL ABOUT CHARACTERS THAT DON'T EXIST, FEEL, OR THINK FOR THEMSELVES, BUT DISAPPEARS ANYTIME SOMEONE REAL COMES, HARASSING AND SENDING DEATH THREATS TO THEM. FUCK THESE PEOPLE, GIVING PSYCHOLOGICAL DIAGNOSES OVER A FUCKING TIKTOK VIDEO OTHER ANTI MADE JUST BASING THEIR THEORIES ON THEIR FIST RESULT ON GOOGLE. FUCK YALL, CAUSE YOU'RE THE REASON YOU WHINE ABOUT THIS FANDOM. JUST AS WE SAY IN SPANISH: O LA BEBES, O LA DERRAMAS.

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spiderfunkz · 7 days ago

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RED MEANS I LOVE YOU

pairings. cho hyun-ju x gn!reader

cw. canon violence, blood, hurt to comfort.

author's note: the hyun-ju hype can't die down guys!! please send some requests but i'm begging atp for u guys to read this beforehand.

if you could describe what you were seeing for the past few days, it would be that your vision was tainted in red. no matter how much you itch, scratch, wipe, or scrub off— you're bloodied in loss.

it didn't look pretty either. the person you were before is just a mere reflection in the mirror, you wanted to get off whatever island you were on. it's torture, that's for sure, you couldn't even imagine how stupid you were for accepting the concept in the first place. it was too good to be true and you knew it— maybe you did, you're not sure anymore.

although, amongst all the wreck and violence, you were able to find one highlight of the entire experience. no, it wasn't the relief after surviving a round, and it wasn't lunch breaks either.

it was cho hyun-ju.

the tall woman who almost peered over you by a bit. she found you after the break of the first game, she seemed tense— almost afraid, at first, you wondered why she was. it doesn't matter though, she embraced you with open arms and soon a bond began to blossom.

lights out would be spent with whispers about your past and laughs about jokes that lingered far behind your mind. hyun-ju shared stories and tales about her life, your heart beats with empathy and also admiration. she was so brave, kind, intelligent, strong, and trust-worthy. you hope to get through this game with the chances of you two meeting each other again.

"where are you from, hyun-ju?" her own name sent shivers down her skin, you said it with such sincerity. "i'm from gwangmyeong, i've since moved out." her face has a slight smile to it, it seems a bit bitter, "hey, i'm near gwangmyeong! we were long, longggg neighbors!" everything you said seems to lighten her mood even more.

you brought a sense of comfort to hyun-ju, especially in a place like this. you don't know how much she really needed it. she didn't feel the usual gut-wrenching, almost stomach inducing pain she usually does when she's with someone.

though, right now, you could barely think about any of those without panicking or losing your sanity. the games took a twist, another one, if you will. player 456's or gi-hun's plan was clear enough for you to understand, it played off well at first, but now, you were scared out of your head for hyun-ju.

it was impressive to see her lead and teach the others, her combat knowledge seemed incredible, must've been the army. you watched her explain in the comfort of your bed, she didn't take any other answer when she insisted that you stay in the safety of the games dormitories. you couldn't argue with her, it was the last thing you wanted.

you didn't doubt her abilities. she is well-skilled, yet there was an aching knaw that something is wrong. you didn't want to lose her.

but when hyun-ju and the others left the room, you just sat and begged that she would come back un-injured and alive. the group of people near you were supportive, including some other allies you managed to make during the six-legged pentathlon and mingle. without them, you wouldn't be able to be where you are now.

though a small portion of you wished you were somewhere else, you know, preferably your home, but this time; there were no more unexpected knocks, no more piles of letters reminding you of your nail-biting ending (a.k.a getting evicted), and no more stress about the things you could've gotten done earlier in your life— if only you had your path straight then.

your thoughts were snapped when a fellow player went into the room in a state you knew too well. he looked afraid, he was repeating a sentence you couldn't seem to make out, however, soon it became clear what it was. people tried to approach him but you knew better, he needed to calm down and do his part, and their scolding will not help.

your heart wanted to ease down but couldn't when you saw hyun-ju ran in. she wasn't supposed to come back so quickly, it made you sigh— maybe from relief, maybe from dread.

but oh, did the amount of blood on her make you want to puke.

it's sickening, to be surrounded by it too. there are stains of people's death all around the place, you can't even sleep. you haven't been sleeping. not even hyun-ju's touch could bring you back to the slumber you've grown to miss so much.

you stood up from the bed, she was facing player 388, or dae-ho. he was the one who went in, the one who looked absolutely terrified. he was trembling.

she hugged the magazines he collected earlier and she was about to run off again. but her eyes met your glossy and almost tear-filled ones.

"don't go, hyun-ju."

"i have to."

"you're gonna get hurt. you have so much blood on your face, oh gosh," your hand held up near her cheek, it's a hesitant move, but she leans into the touch. you wipe as much as you could off, "don't go, hyun."

she looks back and took a moment to think before looking at you again, she takes a deep breath. "okay, okay. don't get teary-eyed," she smiles, "i'm here, i'll keep you safe."

"okay, then." you were inhaling and exhaling as steady as you could. it still came out shaky, you were almost hyperventilating. "let me, just wipe this off." your hands gently trace the marks on her face, wiping away all the impurities and worries off of her.

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yanmuffins · 13 days ago

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I really love the fact that vamp!reader put always a facade till jason is even afraid of that. Is he the only one to see she's repressing her feeling since they were closer than others? And how much is she repressed ? Is this Bree van the Kamp level? Also is she endossing the parental role with the rest of the batfam?

Ps:sorry if it's not understandable ,english is not my native language.

context &. context.

your english is fine!! thank u for the ask (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

jason, besides alfred, is definetly the one seeing that reader is repressing. she's insanely good at it, to the point even jason finds it scary — no, scary isn't quite the right word. jason finds it disturbing. it's something so completely opposite from himself, too, so... doll-like. artificial. fake.

vampire! reader does try to pull that shit with jason but he can see right through her — and yes, it’s because they were very close as children —, which means he's the only one she can have genuine interactions with (again, besides alfred), which means he's the only one who can actually rile her up, which means they've definetly had a complicated relationship since he's been ressurected, with some conflicts that the rest of the batfam has no idea about.

(i do have an idea for a scene where jason and vampire! reader are arguing quite loudly in the kitchen, before she's turned. then damian walks in on them, vampire! reader notices him before jason does, and immediately switches up and pretends everything's fine and starts cooing at damian. jason is flabbergasted. damian has... questions, after than incident.)

she's definetly holding a lot of her true feelings in to some bree van de kamp level. to the point she'll begin to formulate a thought that perhaps she's being treated unfairly by her family or by her father and instantly rebuke it. there's always an excuse, a reason, despite the bitterness and sometimes (gasp!) anger than is simmering beneath, unbeknownst even to her. it's internalized it's covered up. definetly about maintaining perfect image and keeping up appearances, so she's always fine when someone asks. nothing is ever wrong.

(jason thinks she's a ticking time-bomb that's going to explode eventually. he's... not wrong.)

and i'd say she has a mother hen (parentification) thing going on, but the batfam won't really let her in enough for her to actually mother hen them. in the fic she's making an effort to become more independent and break away from that, but old habits die hard. not even jason is an exception to that.

and that is kind of bruce's fault. not kind of, actually, it is bruce's fault. she absolutely has unresolved trauma from when jason died and suddenly she was put into this role of feeling obligated to care for her grief-stricken, emotionally unavailable father, so bruce is the one who vampire! reader fusses over the most to this day, even after he gets better and brings all of the other batkids and parents them. and even as she takes over his meals so he doesn't have to risk setting the kitchen on fire or tending to his wounds when alfred's not around, he doesn't even know that's the dynamic they have going on.

#damian when he catches reader and jason arguing: 🤨?#bruce and vampire! reader's relationship is weird and interesting. can't wait to expand on it!#cass would notice it too! either after much scrutiny or during a situating where vampire! reader just falters and cass catches it #make your guesses on who's going yandere first :)#asks.#vampire! batsis.#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #neglected reader

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oneslimybastard · 6 months ago

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Another underutilized aspect of N, Natural Harmonia Gropius himself, is that he's conceptualized as not just a Math Guy, but a Math Genius if we go by some interview trivia notated on Bulbapedia.

It clearly shows in the way he speaks since his (translated) dialogue (idk about the original japanese one) is full of hamfisted references to formulas and frustration expressed when the chaos of the world does not align with them — which to me is like, the core of his character, something that makes him both An Asshole to deal with but also a very intellectually curios and creative individual. It's just a brand of creativity not a lot of people can keep up with nor understand.

N likes math because a lot of math is about clearly defined variables and their relationship to one another. If you come across an inconsistency that doesn't fit any prior definitions, you iron out a new definition and suddenly the field has expanded upon itself tenfold. It aligns with how his Very Autistic Brain functions, x + y = z, if I do x to y then z will happen. If z doesn't happen, then that just means I have to identify the hidden variables within the exchange and rewrite the formula to be more accurate.

Black and White's quality of writing is. Like pokémon often is. Questionable at best. The foundations are there but the execution is dumbed down and corny because it's still aimed at kids, BW in specific really cutting the theme of pokémon trainer ethics short in favor of just "dang u beat me in the pogiebattle guess ur right!". How-ev-er. In my head, and the reason why I still find the plot of those games compelling (aside for my unhinged thirst for goth man-milf Ghetsis) is that to me they're about local cult-raised autist Normal Henry Gropus bashing his head against the world over and over to desperately try and make the formulas make sense, to distill it into variables he can understand and predict on a consistent basis, and failing miserably at it. Because even if the world is Technically made up of a bunch of chemistry that you could, in theory, predict, there's just a lot of random noise in there from microscopic complexities that fuck everything up.

Pokémon are simpler creatures (discounting the eerily intelligent ones) who will be nice enough to behave like math problems most of the time. Humans rarely extend that grace, the more N studies them like a science project the more contradictory variables pop up. They have a million thoughts in their head he doesn't have access to, that brew into feelings he doesn't understand, which leads to actions he can't do a proper traceback through. Which is frustrating, devastatingly frustrating. At least at first.

Due to how BW2 pans out and my own yearning for thematic mirroring, whereas Ghetsis gives in to the Autistic Bitterness over all these NTs he doesn't fuckign understand, I like to think N develops a sort of joy in studying people like the impossibly complex math problems we are. Because he likes math, he likes figuring shit out, he likes buying a nightmare rubik's cube and charting the squares out on a nightmare variable graph (listen i am not a math guy. i respect the hustle but my skill level is too low to accurately attempt to simulate the process in writing. im sorry math guys) so he has a home-made flexible cheat code on how to solve any possible mix-up of it. It's fun for him, it stimulates his brain and he is so stupid good at it that he can only share that joy with like a stray alakazam or metagross because he's a bit of a tarzan just hanging out in the wilderness, he doesn't know any high end mathematicians he can casually geek out about combinatorial game theory with, and the normies just do not get it .

I think this math enjoying is kind of a big part of his ~Innocence~ as well, since there's a lot of childlike glee to being a Math Guy. It's the love of problem solving as a process rather than a means to an end, it's playful, but severely misunderstood to the point where people kinda might assume things about you if you are a math guy.

N's love of math helps him love the world but it also isolates him. He's a genius, but since he can't communicate it in a palatable way it'll get overlooked in favor of him just being a loomy weirdo on the street chatting up the local patrats.

If introduced to DnD though he'd spend so much time on forging ridiculously optimized multiclass builds, then migrate to digging through old obscure sci-fi ttrpgs from the 80s with hellishly complex systems just for the funsies of learning how the presented variables behave within a variety of frameworks, but then if you actually invited him to play with your group he'd look at you like you'd just called his mom a llama.

He's a neat guy to me, STEM guy who's also one of those animal rights activists who's a little too PETA-coded, I like him :)

#this is mostly just headcanons and shit I've made up but we can pretend its meta *wink*#natural harmonia gropius #n harmonia #n pokémon #long post #pokemon bw #pokemon black and white

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icyolive · 2 years ago

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Fairy tale-ish AU where the Cloud Recesses arc still happens, but LWJ is widely known to be suffering some kind of stone heart curse that prevents him from Feelings. The Lan have tried everything, but their precious second jade cannot be thawed. They can't even identify the curse. It's tragic. And very Lan. He's probably acquired some ridiculous honorific about it because *slaps LWJ* you can fit so many titles in this bad boy.

Then WWX shows up, runs into LWJ, and like... this guy... is hilarious?

Like, WWX is immediately Fascinated by this guy that everyone keeps saying is a tragically frigid perfect upright Lan. Because the guy is clearly full of quiet simmering rage (okay mostly just annoyance) and deeply, deeply bitchy. He's fun to provoke. He gets all of WWX's literary puns. He's got this hilarious deadpan humor that... like... how is no one else seeing this?

Novel WWX was hooked pretty early, but with the mystery of this curse that no one can explain, WWX fixates hard and picks up on a lot of what he otherwise would've missed.

He tries a million different curse breaking techniques. Works on it in class and has less time to bother LQR with shenanigans. Drags LWJ to the library to research, instead of being dragged there to copy lines.

He talks to LWJ instead of provoking him (he still provokes him). Notices LWJ is sad. awkward. speaks like his friends are all books. Gives him the benefit of the doubt, at first, because the poor guy's cursed.

WWX asks what kind of curse it is: no one knows. They can't even find a curse mark. No purification ritual has ever worked.

What do they think it is? For a long while, it was thought to be a curse from his mother, and that she hadn't wanted to deal with such a fussy child. When did they tell him that? Around the time when he was taken from her, just after uncle told him that his crying was unacceptably disruptive. Being disruptive meant he would miss his monthly visit. (LWJ has no idea why this is all spilling out of him. He says it all with what he thinks is a blank face, so it's not like he's making a scene. WWX hears the bitter humor in his phrasing, the sadness in his thousands-yard stare. He shares what he can remember about his own parents.)

The current theory is a love curse; they've been introducing him to eligible young women for the last few years, to see if they could break it. (Because he's Paying Attention and LWJ's face does a Thing, WWX adds super gay to his mental list of LWJ's attributes.)

"Lan Zhan... u know ur not cursed right."

Turns out, and no one's surprised here (somehow everyone but WWX is surprised here) this so-called curse is just the cumulative effect of the Lan repeatedly traumatizing and isolating this kid in various ways more or less since birth.

Maybe it's a complete surprise. Maybe LWJ had some inkling. Maybe he knew, but couldn't find the words to explain to anyone. Maybe he's like "yeah no shit but it made them leave me alone."

So yeah I've been having a lot of Feelings about how WWX is just utterly delighted by LWJ. Not despite his personality, not trying to fix him--he's just a dork who's head over heels for his gorgeous bitchy husband who talks like a book.

#mdzs #the untamed #mdzs fanfiction

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starstruckodysseys · 9 days ago

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may i request fabian and fig and ‘were designed to be disposable’ >:)) /nf

- @transgenderfabianseacaster

ignore if this is out of character i don’t write fh as often as i should… i love these two so much though actually so thank u for this

“I really don’t think it’s that deep,” Fig tries, not for the first time, and there’s a laugh buried somewhere in there but Fabian’s been pacing the hospital hallway for too long for it to really be a joke, by now.

“You don’t understand, Fig,” he says, throwing his hands in the air. He hasn’t looked at her for the past fifteen minutes. “We’re designed to be disposable. This is the end.”

It hits her like a punch to the gut, harsher than any of the spell hits she’s taken. Which is— it’s ridiculous, right? She knows it is, knows it’s just Fabian being dramatic, but there’s that nagging feeling in her chest, the one that’s been there since and even before the Nightmare Forest, telling her everyone’s going to leave and it’s going to be her fault because she isn’t good enough.

And she knows, alright? She knows it’s stupid, that her friends love her and Ayda would find her in any lifetime and she’s working on her relationships with her parents. Unfortunately, knowing is not the same as processing, and facts don’t make the fear suddenly disappear.

And it sucks! It sucks so much, because she tries to grin and keep her head up and ignore the thoughts, but sometimes… sometimes it’s really hard.

Something in her face must fall, because Fabian finally looks at her, eye going wide when he takes in her expression. “I mean— you know, it’s—”

“It’s fine, Fabes,” she says with a grin and a wave of her hand. She means it, to an extent. It’s just her own brain that’s the issue.

He stops, finally, leans against the wall with something that might be a sigh. “I’m not worried,” he says, in a tone that does not do him any favors, “I just don’t think they’re… ready. I mean, Gilear? Really?”

Fig laughs. “C’mon, don’t be so hard on him,” she says, even as she swallows down the bitter thought that he wasn’t a great dad when she was his daughter.

Fabian makes a face but doesn’t say anything. She reaches out to bump his shin with the toe of her boot, grins again when he looks back down at her.

“You’re still my favorite sibling,” she teases, and he rolls his eye. “No, come on, you gotta say it back!”

“I don’t have to do anything!” he protests.

“You do, because you love me!”

“I said nothing of the sort.”

They descend into petty squabbling, lighthearted bickering, and Fig grins — for real, this time. Maybe everything isn’t perfect. Maybe the two of them are kind of dancing around the subject because neither of them are willing to acknowledge the elephant in the sterile walls of the hospital hall.

For now, it doesn’t matter. For now, she attempts to goad Fabian into calling her his favorite sister, which isn’t even a contest, Fabes, you already declared the unborn child your nemesis, where are you going—

send me a prompt!

#idk how long we define a short fic but if i fleshed this out any more it would become a whole thing and i don’t have That much energy #so i hope this suffices <3 #thanks for the ask !!#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fig faeth #fabian seacaster #reese’s fics #listened to tell me you know on loop during this one btw. if that helps anyone at all lmao

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lvrstrsh · 1 month ago

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the way this song is so fitting for the three arcane ships (caitvi, jayvik, timebomb) omg?? maybe not so much caitvi but during their breakup era yes a little bit.

"you're the best thing to ever happen to me but also the worst thing to ever happen to me. on that day when i met you, maybe i would rather that it never happened to me" is SOOOOOO JAYVIK CODED I'M ACTUALLY GONNA JUMP OUT A FUCKING WINDOW JAHHSWQO. viktor saved jayce from killing himself, helped him achieve his life's goal to channel magic. alternatively, jayce helped viktor to be more than just an assistant, gave him purpose and did with hextech what viktor always wanted to do: help people. HOWEVER, them meeting ultimately led to their deaths (actually erm i refuse to believe they're dead and prefer to believe they're in some higher form of existence giving each other cosmic backshots 💜). them meeting helped bring hextech to the world which, as it happens, was the beginning of the end. the formation of the hexcore, viktor turning into robotic jesus, starting the cult, the formation of the anomaly that sent jayce to the ruined dimension (poor guy also lost his mind) so although jayce was able to fulfill his life's dream, it also was the thing that ruined him. if they never met, this all could've been avoided, which is easily seen in the dimension ekko & heimerdinger were sent to. they were best friends, equals in the sense of intellect and generally just two halves of one whole (saw someone on insta relate them to the sin²x + cos ²x = 1 formula and gen crashed the fuck out) hence, the best and worst thing to ever happen to each other.

"why does hearing your name hurt me when it hides right there in the vicinity? what kind of emotion, is it hatred or pure sweetness when i hear your name?" we all know ekko and powder were childhood friends. due to a series of unfortunate events, powder was taken under silco's care — the same person who was the cause of vander's and benzo's death (who were like father figures to ekko). powder became jinx and was working for silco, who was using shimmer to exploit his own people. as ekko grew up, all he did was work to defeat the purpose jinx was working for. imagine how much it must hurt for him to know someone who meant sm to him is doing all this to his people. her name brings bitterness, but also the sweet press of memories of simpler times. then, obviously, ekko was sent to the other dimension. saw that other dimension have everything he ever wanted (except vi ☹️). powder was still HIS powder. his life was playing out just the way he wanted. however it wasn't REAL. he got a glimpse of what could've been. in that dimension ekko and powder grew up to fall in love. imagine coming from your reality where you're enemies, and the being sent to this one where you're lovers. but you can't stay, no matter how happy it makes you. he got a taste of the sweetness that could've been. then he had to go BACK to his reality, where he saw the same girl he could've fallen in love with try to kill herself. and, afterwards, when you've basically saved the world, you're left all alone and are led to believe she's dead (uhm which she's not trust 🙏)

i don't think i have to explain the 'worst of all blessings, the best of all curses' verse in relation to both the ships because AHHHHHWJWJWJWIWIWIWJSIQIQJWIIWIWSIJQIDBCIAOJW

alright guys anyways thank u for coming to my ted talk 😁

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robbyykeene · 3 months ago

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so now that it’s done and it went a bit differently than you predicted - how do u feel ab the Miguel Robby arc ?

Good question! I have mixed feelings about it. I really liked that they explored Miguel's feelings of entitlement and jealousy towards Robby. I liked that they had Miguel take accountability for being an asshole, apologize, and then do better. I liked that they gave Miguel an actual arc, and I liked that they brought back his disillusionment with Johnny from season 4, and resolved it--in a way that somewhat did address that it's Miguel's insecurity in his relationship with Johnny that is ultimately the root of his and Robby's problems. I like that Miguel and Robby actually communicated, and I like that in the scene where Miguel was berating Robby, Robby actually stood up for himself and was framed as being right, at least in that moment. I like that they managed to explore all of this without vilifying either kid, and making space for the validity of both of their feelings--even if Miguel didn't always express it right.

What I didn't like had more to do with the Johnny of it all than anything. I didn't like that Johnny was kind of absolved from actively encouraging the rivalry between them and from spurring on those feelings of entitlement, but then again I never expected that to be addressed. I didn't like that we had to hear Johnny apologize to Miguel for "not being there" because he was "too busy supporting Robby" when he actively was more supportive of Miguel than Robby, and when Robby still hasn't gotten a real apology for all the shit Johnny has put him through. I liked that Johnny defended Robby to Miguel, but when it was in the midst of a conversation where we as the audience were once again being gaslit about his involvement in Robby's life, it felt cheapened.

I also wouldn't necessarily say I didn't like it, but it was very hard to watch Robby be isolated and ostracized from his team. There was also an innate power imbalance in this situation between Miguel and Robby, which made Miguel's jealousy and bitterness harder to swallow. None of those kids were really Robby's friends, and none of them believed in him. Hawk and Demetri explicitly stated this, and it never was resolved or acknowledged. So a lot of it felt like bullying more than it may have otherwise. Miguel may have been frustrated and upset, but he had a support system. Robby did not, and with the way the rest of his arc (separate from Miguel) played out, it just emphasized how truly alone Robby as a character is, and it's sad. He has Tory and Miguel and that's really it, so without both of them it was just incredibly depressing. And it's telling that all it took were some words of encouragement from Miguel to get his focus back. It made it seem like Robby truly does have zero self-worth, which has been a consistent aspect of his character but it would be nice to see him actually heal and be happy for once.

I'd say overall I liked it way more than I expected to, but it's also hard for me to be objective about it given what happened to Robby this season. Everything just feels tainted.

#thank you for asking!! overall i'm happy they gave miguel more of a story #he's felt stagnant and frankly boring for a few seasons now so it was really great to see him be a Real Character again #i love when they let Miguel be flawed. I love when they let him be a whole person with complicated feelings and they finally gave us that #so I'm thrilled in that regard #ck spoilers #cobra kai spoilers #asks

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paw-padss · 1 year ago

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I LOVE YOU SO MUCH！

ft. diluc, childe, al-haitham, baizhu

summary: nothing quite says I love you than baking a cake with your lover that says that exact thing in frosting, right? (bake a cake with them, afterwards telling them that the cake is for them!)

A/N: thought i would up the production quality a bit! i literally spun a wheel to decide if they would be good at baking or not so if u think it's ooc don't blame me blame the wheel (100% blame me /hj)（´-`）HAPPY VALENTINES DAYYY :333

notes: hidden relationship in diluc's, all established relationships, no dialogue, gn reader, alhaitham is bad at feelings

DILUC wasn't the kind of guy people approached often; his large frame and serious face made him seem frightening and intimidating. So when you, the new intern, confronted him at his desk with the idea of baking your baking partner for the valentines office party, your coworkers were surprised at your bravery, even a little scared. Of course, they would never come to the conclusion that you and Diluc had a more intimate relationship than what is revealed at work. Diluc had been approached by many people in hopes of being his partner, but to no avail. So they were even more surprised when their seemingly distant boss said yes. Guess it turns out Diluc was actually much more cordial than he ever lets on.

DILUC was the last guy you expected to be bad at baking, but after watching him in the kitchen, with ingredients scattered around the counters and a mysterious concoction in the mixing bowl, you couldn’t help but be very worried. The aroma, or rather, stench, that filled the kitchen was very strange. Like burnt vanilla with bitter frosting. The fire alarm had gone off at least twice, and by the end of it, both you and Diluc looked like you were the mixing bowls. Flour, water, and pink frosting decorated both you two and the marble counters. All that stood was a burnt heart cake with the words 'I love you' in what was supposed to be pink icing. Naturally, when you tell him the cake is his gift from you, an anxious expression appears on his face, and rightfully so, is that cake even edible? Well, it's the thought that counts, right?

AL-HAITHAM was generally known for being critical, observant, and very skilled. One thing he was not known for, was his social skills. So when his fellow researchers heard that he had an arrangement for the afternoon, they were surprised to say the least. You had asked Al-haitham to bake a cake together, and he had no real reason to decline. After all, he had nothing better to do than help his lover with something they’re passionate about. That’s how you show affection! (or so he’s been told.)

you stood in awe. Al-HAITHAM was diligent and committed to his task, you shouldn’t have expected any less. Of course everything had to be in order, the ingredients were neatly placed on the counter in order of usage next to the mixing bowl, and he had decided that you two would alternate between task. By the end of the whole ordeal, the kitchen was left better than how it was and what was left was a cute vanilla cake with the words ‘I love you’ written neatly in frosting. I guess you two really do make a great team. When you tell him that the cake is for him, of course he’s very appreciative, even a bit taken aback, he wasn’t completely used to the feeling of receiving romantic affection, but he just looked at you blankly, before saying thank you very curtly. Of course his mates will try to tell him off later for being ‘too serious’, but who is Al-haitham if not serious?

CHILDE was known by many for his alleged proficiency in many skills. So naturally it makes sense that you would ask him for his help to bake a cake, and how could he say no? It's just baking a cake, how hard could it be? not to mention he would baking with one of his favorite people in the world!

Turns out, hard. You and CHILDE had made a mess of the kitchen and had no desire to clean it up. Flour, sugar, extract, sprinkles (where did he find sprinkles?), and other mysterious liquids littered the counter along with your aprons. At least the cake looked almost edible. The whole thing was basically raw dough shaped into a heart with a sad attempt at pink decoration scribbled on the top, a meek 'I love you'. When you told Childe that the cake was for him, his awkward cough was enough of a reaction before he doubled over in laughter. At least your love held together better than the cake.

BAIZHU was known for his great medical skills and attention to health. But that doesn' t mean he doesn' t mind enjoying a treat from time to time, so when you asked him if he wanted to bake a cake together, he happily accepted. Nothing makes his day better than being time with you, the more time he gets to spend with you, the better.

Doctors are clean and organized, which would explain the nature of the kitchen that you two stood in as you watched as BAIZHU guided his hands, careful and full of technique, around the counter top. Turns out he didn’t even need the recipe book, and he bakes for qiqi on many occasions. The cake looked like something out of a pinterest board, perfectly cut edges gracefully decorated with pink icing, and a graceful ‘I love you’ scripted in the same color. When you tell him that the cake is for him, he smiles and suggests that you share it, together. it’s to be expected that Baizhu would want to do something romantic like that (if that’s the case, then why does your face feel so hot???).

A/N: i've been told my haitham is lacking a soft side, but YOUR a soft side!! hope i didn't disappoint (╥_╥). kindaaa struggled on baizhu ending sorry i hit a brick wall （ーー；）

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