#please let people know what this is when they see it

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ⭑.ᐟ THE FIRST FALL OF SNOW

Pro Hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight in the public’s eye, is finally on his way home. The moment he clocked out, he was Bakugou Katsuki.

The apartment door swung open, and Bakugou trudged inside, every step weighed down by the exhaustion of the day. His back ached from the relentless action-packed hours at work (somehow, during the holidays, villains were at their peak action), and the chill of winter clung to his skin, even through the layers of his winter gear earlier. He’d been looking forward to collapsing onto the bed and shutting the world out for the rest of the night.

He let out a grunt of frustration, yanking his scarf off as he called out, “I’m home.”

Bakugou was greeted by your voice. Too chipper, as if you had something planned.

“Perfect timing! Go change into something warm; we’re going out!” you said, a spark of excitement lighting up your tired features. You had on your favorite scarf and coat, your cheeks flushed from the cold air that must’ve blown in while you’d been waiting for him.

Katsuki frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re kidding, right? It’s freezing, and I just got home.”

“I’m not kidding.” Your smile widened, undeterred by your husband’s gruffness. “You need to relax, and I need to check out the sale on the market. We’re going downtown, just for a little bit. Please?”

“No,” he scoffs.

“Come on, Katsuki,” you pleaded. “You’re always working, and I’ve been stuck inside all day. Just a quick trip downtown to relax. Please?” You pouted slightly as you repeated the request, though your tone remained playful, knowing it would chip away at his defenses.

“Can’t we relax here? You know, like normal people?”

“Normal is boring. We can relax after we go out and see the town. Please? I’ll make dinner when we get back!”

Dammit, you knew how to pull at his strings.

Katsuki groaned, tugging at the tight fabric of his jacket. He hated the cold, hated the thought of walking around aimlessly in weather that bit at his skin. But as he looked at you—your hopeful expression, the way your eyes sparkled with the promise of something simple yet special—he sighed, already knowing he couldn’t refuse.

Knowing he’d already lost, he crossed his arms. He’d always had a soft spot for you (you must’ve put a curse on him once he gave you his valid “I do” at the altar, he thinks), and no amount of exhaustion could override the tug in his chest when you looked at him like that.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But you’re carrying the hot chocolate if we get any.”

Your grin was instant, and you tugged at his arm. “Deal. Now hurry up and get dressed into something warmer before I change my mind.”

---

The streets of Musutafu were already in the holiday spirit, and it was only the first of December. The glow of streetlights reflected off frosted windows, and the faint scent of roasted chestnuts wafted through the air—it was a scent to appreciate. Katsuki’s hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, his scarf pulled high over his face, as he grumbled every so often about the cold or his aching shoulders.

“This better be worth it,” he grumbled, kicking a stray piece of ice off the sidewalk.

“It is worth it,” you countered, practically skipping beside him. “You’ve been so stressed lately, and this is exactly what you need—some fresh air and a change of scenery.”

“I’d rather have fresh air from our bedroom.”

You shot him a playful glare. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, and you’re a pain,” he shot back, though his lips twitched upward just slightly.

It’s also a good thing that not many were wanting his autograph or a picture because Bakugou was not in the mood to entertain anyone aside from you.

You led him to a small square near the center of town, where festive decorations were strung across trees and lampposts. Children bundled up in cute, thick winter clothes ran around as their fits of giggles filled the air, and vendors sold warm snacks and drinks from cozy stalls. You tugged him toward one of the benches, your excitement bubbling over.

“Look at this place! Isn’t it beautiful?”

Bakugou looked around, taking in the bustling scene. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that it wasn’t half bad—but he’d never say it out loud. Instead, he just shrugged. “It’s alright.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible to impress.”

“Not true,” he said, smirking slightly. “You impressed me.”

“Ok, sap,” you snorted, though you were quick to hide how it made you feel all giddy. “And did you know that—”

And Bakugou could only listen to you with his brows slightly knitted to an unamused expression, though he didn’t want to burst your bubble even if he was exhausted.

Without even noticing at first, the first snowflake fell, soft and delicate, landing on your scarf. You stopped mid-sentence, glancing up as more began to drift down, tiny, icy kisses from the sky. Bakugou paused too, his eyes narrowing as a flake landed on his nose.

“It’s snowing,” you murmured, a note of wonder in your voice.

Katsuki squinted up at the sky, unimpressed. “Great. Now it’s even colder.”

You ignored him, stepping slightly into the open square, your head tilted back as you let the snowflakes land on your hair and cheeks. Your face lit up with childlike wonder, and for a moment, Bakugou was suddenly reminded how lucky he was to be married to you.

Bakugou watched you silently, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. You looked radiant, the soft glow of the snow reflecting off your skin, your cheeks flushed from the cold. Your lips parted slightly as you caught a snowflake on your tongue, and you laughed softly at the sensation.

His chest tightened, his earlier complaints fading into nothing. The aches, the cold, his uncomfortable winter clothes—none of it mattered. All he saw was you.

You turned back to him, your smile warm and teasing. “You’re just going to stand there and sulk, or are you going to enjoy this with me?”

He huffed, walking toward you. “I’m not sulking,” he muttered.

“Sure, sure.” You reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “Come on, Katsuki. Isn’t this beautiful?”

He looked at you, at the way your eyes shimmered with glee, the way you smiled despite the cold nipping at their noses. “Yeah,” he said softly, surprising even himself. He’s most likely referring to you rather than the scene before him, more likely. “It is.”

“Wait, are you actually admitting you like something?”

“So? I like you, and we’re married. It’s not that shameful to admit the obvious, dummy.” He grumbled, though his hand tightened around yours.

“Not that! I meant it’s snowing; isn’t it beautiful?”

“Could care less about shaved ice falling from the sky.”

“Boo, you’re no fun,” you stuck your tongue out at him, and Bakugou did the same, which made you laugh.

You two stood there for a while, watching the snow fall around you, the rest of the world fading into the background. For once, Bakugou wasn’t thinking about work, stress, or anything else. All he could focus on was the woman beside him and how, for the first time in a long time, everything felt just right.

And even though Bakugou still hated the cold, he found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, winter wasn’t so bad after all—because it meant moments like this. Moments with you.

It must’ve been Christmas magic to see you during the first fall of snow, taking his breath away with how you looked, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything this damned world had to offer.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

2025 book bingo time 📚

want a completely arbitrary set of reading goals for 2025? want to try something new in your literary diet but don't know where to start? just like a challenge for the sake of a challenge? just love a good game of bingo?

boy do I have something for you!

for anyone planning to participate, please know that I LOVE attention and talking about books, so I would be STOKED to be tagged on any and all updates about what you're reading or planning to read. I'm so, so excited to see all the different ways these prompts get filled, especially if and when they bring people away from the kinds of things they normally read. not to mention snag some new reading recs myself, hopefully!

and of course, I want to know whenever somebody gets a bingo - and ESPECIALLY if somebody fills the whole board! I don't have any prizes for you, but I can offer a sense of accomplishment :)

note that this is designed to be played as 1 book = 1 space, so even if you read, say, a fantasy graphic novel published in 1923 from an indie publisher that has a bat on the cover, you'd only cross off one space. I'm not a cop and I'm not in charge of what you read, so if it sparks more joy to check off multiple spaces per book then go nuts, but I am throwing that disclaimer out there.

wondering what some of these spaces mean? seeking a couple recommendations to get you started? no idea what a zine even is, let alone how to make one? worry not! I have a guide to all 25 prompts, including recommendations + an example of what I'll be reading throughout the year to fulfill each space. read on beneath the cut!

Literary Fiction: I find that a lot of people are reluctant to check out literary fiction, as it’s often written off as not being about anything but adultery and divorce. If this is you, I implore you to take a chance, acknowledge that adultery and divorce are compelling sometimes, and also remember that lit fic has a lot more to offer than that. At Writer’s Digest, Michael Woodson describes literary fiction as “less of a genre than a category,” which “focuses on style, character, and theme over plot.” My recommendations include Raven Leilani’s Luster, Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, and Melissa Broder’s Milk Fed. 

I’ll be reading: Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar

2. Short Story Collection: You know, a bunch of short stories together in one book? It doesn’t get much more self-explanatory than that. Could be a collection of stories by a single author or an anthology—it’s up to you! I recommend checking out Mariana Enríquez’s The Dangers of Smoking in Bed (translated by Megan McDowell), Nalo Hopkinson’s Falling in Love With Hominids, and Kim Fu’s Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century. 

I’ll be reading: Your Utopia by Bora Chung and translated by Anton Hur 

3. A Sequel: It could be one that you’ve been meaning to get around to, one that’s not releasing in 2025, or the sequel to something you read to cross off another space on this very bingo sheet!

I’ll be reading: Heavenly Tyrant by Xiran Jay Zhao, sequel to 2021’s Iron Widow 

4. Childhood Favorite: Go back and read a book you loved as a child, tween, or teen! There’s no wrong answer here; anything from a YA novel to a picture book would be just lovely, and I can’t wait to see what people pick for this option! I’m not sure which of my old favorites I’ll be revisiting yet—should I go for the warm and fuzzy Casson Family series, or straight towards the mindfucky sci-fi of Interstellar Piggy? Or maybe I’ll go see how Artemis Fowl holds up...

5. 20th Century Speculative Fiction: For those not familiar with the term, speculative fiction can encapsulate science fiction, fantasy, and anything else that falls into the unreal. You’re spoiled for iconic choices here: the 20th century gave us Le Guin’s Left Hand of Darkness, Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale, Butler’s Parable of the Sower and Kindred, L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time, the beginning of Pratchett’s Discworld series, Diana Wynne Jones’ Howls’ Moving Castle, and countless others.

I’ll be reading: Dawn by Octavia E. Butler, love of my literary life 💜

6. Fantasy: Fantasy comes in a thousand different shades, from contemporary urban wizards with day jobs at the office to high fantasy spellslingers chasing dragons away from castles. Some examples I’ve adored are N.K. Jemisin’s The Killing Moon, C.L. Polk’s Witchmark, Fonda Lee’s Jade City, and Nghi Vo’s Empress of Salt and Fortune.

I’ll be reading: The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty  

7. Published Before 1950: This one could not be more straightforward if I tried. You have all of human history (or at least, all the parts that have surviving literature), just not the last 75 years. Dig deep! 

I’ll be reading: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, published in 1938 

8. Independent Publisher: Did you guys know that just five publishing companies (Penguin Random House, HarperCollins Publishers, Macmillan Publishers, Simon & Schuster, and Hachette Book Group) are responsible for 80% of books published in the US each year, and 25% of books globally? Break away from the big five and see what some small presses are putting out! If you need some ideas about where to start, check out this list of nearly 300 independent publishers with notes on what kind of books they put out!

I’ll be reading: Taiwan Travelogue by Yáng Shuāng-zǐ and translated by Lin King, from Graywolf Press

9. Graphic Novel/Comic Book/Manga: Despite my personal obsession with Batman, the world of comic books is sooo much wider than Gotham City—or anything else that DC and Marvel have to offer. If superheroes aren’t your speed, check out the Southern gothic of Carmen Maria Machado and Dani Strips’ comic The Low, Low Woods, splash around in Kat Leyh’s graphic novel Thirsty Mermaids, or stop waiting for a new season of Dungeon Meshi and go read Ryoko Kui’s manga, translated to English by Taylor Engel. 

I’ll be reading: The Fade, by Aabria Iyengar and Mari Costa

10. Animal on the Cover: Yes, yes, don’t judge a book by its cover—but do go find one with a critter on the cover and give it a read! Absolutely no other requirements here, get silly with it.

I’ll be reading: Shark Heart by Emily Habeck

11. Set in a Country You Have Never Visited: Fiction or nonfiction, doesn’t matter so long as it gives you a little glimpse of a country you’ve never visited in real life. If you’ve somehow visited every country currently recognized in the world, then I guess you get to go read something set in space.

I’ll be reading: A Magical Girl Retires by Park Seolyeon and Kim Sanho, translated by Anton Hur 

12. Science Fiction: A genre just as diverse as fantasy, with a little something for everybody! I recommend Becky Chambers’ Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet for those who want to kiss an alien in the stars and Jessamine Chan’s The School for Good Mothers for those who want a surveillance state dystopia that hits much closer to home.  

I’ll be reading: Womb City by Tlotlo Tsamaase

13. 2025 Debut Author: Read a book by someone who’s releasing their first book in 2025. Fic or nonfic, any genre, no further requirements. Not quite a free space, but pretty close!

I’ll be reading: Liquid: A Love Story by Mariam Rahmani, coming out March 11

14. Memoir: Per Wikipedia, a memoir is “any nonfiction narrative writing based on the author’s personal memories.” Some are funny, some are heartbreaking, some are both! I recommend Carman Maria Machado’s In the Dream House and Roxane Gay’s Hunger, because I tend to lean heartbreaking! 

I’ll be reading: Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner. Again, I like heartbreaking!

15. Read a Zine, Make a Zine: Not familiar with zines? No problem! Check out some of these digital archives for inspiration, and then craft your own zine with this simple guide (or do it your own way, I’m not in charge of you). 

Internet Archives: https://archive.org/details/zines

Gay Zine Archive Project: https://gittings.qzap.org/ 

POC Zine Project: https://poczineproject.tumblr.com/ 

Library of Congress: https://www.loc.gov/collections/zine-web-archive/ 

16. Essay Collection: Like a short story collection, but it’s nonfiction now. Some of my favorites include Samantha Irby’s We Are Never Meeting in Real Life, Elaine Castillo’s How to Read Now, Aimee Nezhukhumatathil’s World of Wonders, and Cathy Park Hong’s Minor Feelings.

I’ll be reading: A Little Devil in America: In Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib 

17. 2024 Award Winner: What award? Any award you like! And boy, there are tons to pick from. Any book that won any award in the year 2024 is free game. If you need some places to start looking, check out some of these:

Lambda Literary Awards, for excellence in LGBT literature: https://lambdaliterary.org/awards__trashed/2024-winners/ 

The Alex Awards, for adult books with crossover appeal for teen readers: https://www.ala.org/yalsa/alex-awards 

Ignyte Awards, celebrating diversity in speculative fiction: https://ignyteawards.fiyahlitmag.com/2024-results/  

Women's Prize for Fiction (self explanatory) https://womensprize.com/prizes/womens-prize-for-fiction/

Others: https://www.bookbrowse.com/awards/ 

I’ll be reading: Biography of X by Catherine Lacey, winner of the 2024 Lambda Literary Award for Lesbian Fiction

18. Nonfiction: Learn Something New: I know very little about archaeology, anthropology, or any other fields that involve studying ancient cities, but Annalee Newitz’s Four Lost Cities: A Secret History of the Urban Age was some of the most fun I had with nonfiction in 2024, because every page brought a brand new discovery. For 2025, find a nonfiction book about a topic you don’t know ANYTHING about, and learn something new!

I’ll be reading: Cooling the Tropics: Ice, Indigeneity, and Hawaiian Refreshment by Hi’ilei Julia Kawehipuaakahaopulani Hobart

19. Social Justice & Activism: Read a book about a social issue, the history of an activist movement, or brush up on a guiding philosophy or ideology. Arm yourself with knowledge, besties, because I have a feeling we’re going to need it! if you need a good place to start, why not try Angela Davis' Race, Women & Class, Mariame Kaba's We Do This 'Til We Free Us, or Molly Smith and Juno Mac's Revolting Prostitutes?

I’ll be reading: White Feminism: From Suffragettes to Influencers and Who They Leave Behind by Koa Beck

20. Romance Novel: Listen to me. Fucking listen to me. I mean a ROMANCE. NOVEL. Not a novel that incidentally has a romance in it. Romance novel, motherfucker. Go check out the romance section and have some whimsy as two people fall in love through the most contrived series of events ever conceived. If you really need a romance that makes you feel smart (that’s still sexy and messy as hell), try Akwaeke Emezi’s You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty.

I’ll be reading: Go Luck Yourself by Sara Raasche  

21. Read and Make a Recipe: Could be a cookbook, could be a recipe you yoinked from the New York Times, could be something your grandparents lovingly wrote down by hand. Could be as complex or as simple as you like, just make something tasty! Some cookbooks I’ve enjoyed are Sohla El-Waylly’s Start Here, Dan Pashman’s Mission Impastable, and John Wang and Storm Garner’s The World Eats Here.

22. Horror: Slashers, zombies, haunted houses, creeping paranoia, you name it! It’s time to get spooky and scary with all kinds of things going bump in the night. Maybe this is the year to finally keep up with Dracula Daily? Not for me, I'm not doing that, but you could!

I’ll be reading: I Was A Teenage Slasher by Stephen Graham Jones

23. Published in the Aughts: A throwback, but not too far back. Read something published between 2000 and 2009. Maybe it’s time to finally get into Twilight? (For legal reasons, that’s a joke.)

I’ll be reading: The Sluts by Dennis Cooper, published in 2004

24. Historical Fiction: You know, fiction that takes place in a bygone era! Please remember, this isn’t just about reading a book that’s old; we have a separate prompt for that! This is about reading something that takes place in the past relative to the time it was written. Pride and Prejudice is historical to us, but was contemporary when Austen wrote it. Think of Brit Bennett's The Vanishing Half, Markus Zusak's The Book Thief, or history + a bit of fantasy in book's like R.F. Kuang's Babel.

I’ll be reading: The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon

Bookseller or Librarian Recommendation: This one is fun, and something I always like to do when I’m travelling and visiting a new bookstore. Ask a bookseller or librarian to recommend something they’ve liked, and check it out! If going in person isn’t feasible, many bookstores and libraries have staff picks on their websites, and the Indie Next List is a monthly list of independent booksellers’ favorite new releases. 

I’ll be reading: The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse by Louise Erdrich, which I bought at Erdrich’s bookstore, Birchbark Books, this summer :)

lastly: tagging people who asked to be tagged to make sure they didn't miss this! @thebisexualwreckoning @perfunctoryperfusions @reallyinkyhands come get your bingo sheet!

[miniimaelstrom]

To able-bodied people, also: in those instances where you are careful (you are never as careful as you think you're being, btw; you cannot judge a disabled body off of your own experiences) that doesn't remove the social factors either.

I am a disabled woman who uses canes, and (pulling from a collection of similar memories for this post) it is horrifically embarrassing to be bodily picked up in the middle of Walmart just because you, a stranger, can't A) wait the 10 seconds it would take for me to get off the floor after an unexpected slip, and/or B) don't have the common sense to hand me my canes when they fall too far away from me to easily retrieve.

You have just embarrassed me public by treating me like a toddler, and made this impossible to escape from because you picked me up, instead of the canes 2 feet away that would've helped me stand in the first place. Your actions made me dependent on you, a stranger, and made us both dependent on some other stranger to pass me my mobility aids. You turned a 10-second tumble into an ordeal lasting 30/45 seconds, as everyone around us scrambles to do what they can (except me, suspended in your grip, helpless). You caused me embarrassment and infantalized me.

And any able-bodied person would protest that kind of thing, besides. They would reject the suddenness of a taller, stronger stranger pressed up against them from behind, unfamiliar arms around their waist to deliberately hold them close. It would be a production; you would be seen as a thief or pervert, grabbing and holding someone you don't know; meanwhile, your target would step away and rant and snarl to keep you at arms length, at best. I deserve the right to be just as furious. Moreso, even, because you've taken away my ability choose to walk away from you (because, and this is the frustrating part, 9/10 times in these situations, you don't let go even when I get enough breath back to say, "Please put me down," because you see the canes being carried back by then, and assume it's just easier to keep me "on my feet" for 5 more seconds instead of putting me back on the floor like I'm asking you to do). You have caused me rage and made my choices mean less than yours.

(Instead, you walk away a minute later, feeling proud of yourself for helping someone "in need". And I stumble off, still contending with the experience of another stranger who won't let me go.)

((PSA: It would have been five times better, even if every other part of this was the same, if you just asked me first. At least then, it would have been my choice to participate in your comedy of errors... even if I am more likely, every time, to say, "No thank you."))

Able-bodied people: Please listen. I hate the above scenario... but it keeps happening anyway. Don't be the stranger who doesn't listen. If you witness it, as OP says: call it out. The people prone to this don't listen to us about our disabled bodies, but they might listen to you if you back us and our justified anger up.)

For Able-Bodied People

Repeat after me:

“If I touch a disabled person without consent, they are entitled to their anger.

If I grab a disabled person’s mobility aid without consent, they are entitled to their anger.

If I refuse to consult with a disabled person about their body, they are entitled to their anger.

If I do any of these things, regardless of if I’m trying to do the right thing, I am an asshole.”

I’m sick and bloody tired of people grabbing me, and then people glaring at me like I’m the asshole in the situation; when your spine and your mobility is at stake, we’ll fucking talk.

Able-bodied people, you should be reblogging this.

You should be calling it out when it happens.

[420technoblazeit]

i've seen some people say that jayce's speech to viktor at the end of act 3 rang hollow to them because viktor's illness and disability still caused him a lot of pain and suffering and it felt like jayce was invalidating that but that's not how i interpreted that scene at all. one of the first things viktor ever tells jayce is that he knows that people look down on him because of his disability. piltover is the city of progress. it's stunning and golden and perfect and so viktor's disability only highlights how out of place he is. we know that his appearance, especially when it's changed by the hexcore, bothers him because he hid those changes from jayce and looked visibly upset about it when he emerged from his coma. not to point to the line again but 'i'd rather you not be here for what could be my final form' and 'please don't let them see' says a lot about what viktor thinks of his body. when he becomes the machine herald part of that decision is that he'd rather reinvent himself completely than remain an imperfect version of his old self

and jayce understands how other people's perception of him affects his self image. he's aware of viktor's disability and his illness and he's constantly accommodating for that, whether it's helping him with hexcore experimentation or giving him his seat at the council table. he isn't blind to how that affects viktor's life. but what he's saying doesn't come across to me as 'you're perfect just the way you are' but 'i want you to know that i never thought less of you because of your body. you're not broken to me and i love those parts of you even if you don't' like it's a very central part of jayce's season 2 arc that he also becomes disabled when he travels to that other universe. he's now speaking from experience with a new understanding of how disability changes your perception of yourself and impacts your confidence. the reason why that speech worked is because it was exactly what viktor needed to hear. that an imperfect body is just as worthy of love

[joaniscruzing]

echoes in the elixirs

WOOHOOOO yay this fic is finally done! i had so much fun writing this! thank you to everyone who supported the last fic i did, i was so happy to see so much interest! special shoutout to @joj0-thesimp for requesting and proofreading beforehand! per usual, requests are ALWAYS welcome! I write for jinx, vi and caitlyn, and do take smut requests.

also, i did my research on the herbs. a good amount of people predict that Jinx struggles with schizophrenia, which its symptoms can be alleviated with ginkgo. please let me know if my research is wrong, that way i can fix this :)

summary: jinx, looking rather off, enters your apothecary, to which you take care of her for the night.

warnings: mention of jinx's mental health issues, mention of seizures, lots of fluff, herbs are basically meds for jinx, jinx needs a hug, one-bed trope, cuddling

“Have a great day!” you called as you gave your product to your client. In the Undercity, every day in the apothecary was quite a busy one. Hundreds of people would file in every day, as they would trade in for your elixirs and remedies that would cure their pain and suffering, even if it was just for a while. The atmosphere was always loud and bustling, making you struggle to keep up.

However, when Jinx would arrive in your shop, things would usually calm down for the amount of time she was there. Business would slow down, and it was usually just you and her alone in the store. Or maybe it wasn’t, and you were just so enamored by Jinx to even notice. Either way, Jinx was your one time to stop and take a breather during the day, which was ironic, considering her electrifying, energetic presence. 

“So, do you have my order, sugar?” Jinx would ask when she would enter.

“Sure do! Right here,” you’d always answer. However, today, there was something different. Jinx seemed like there was some sort of hole inside her. She hadn’t shown up for a while, since Silco had died, Piltover had been attacked, and she had had to hide to stay alive.

Today, however, she entered the store, a hood over her head, and her head low. Not to your surprise, instead of greeting you with those words, she browsed the store first, looking around, and generally not communicating with anyone. Understandable. However, you saw she was shaking as if winter’s frost had bitten her, and she had been without a coat. Trying not to overthink it too much, you went on with your business, packing up and giving your orders and occasionally convincing customers to buy more. When your final order was given, you left your table to check up on Jinx.

“Hey Jinx, are you okay?”

She seemed startled by your words, as if she didn’t expect you to come up to her and ask her that. She immediately tried to leave the store, ultimately avoiding your question.

“Jinx!” you called after her, grabbing her arm. “Do you need anything?”

“Yeah,” Jinx admitted, choked up in tone, “I need a shit ton of ginkgo biloba. More than you usually give.” Your stomach drops. Fortunately, now you know exactly what’s going on, and what you can do to help her.

“Is it getting worse?” you ask, turning Jinx around, and holding her shoulder. Her face was all you needed as an answer. Tear streaks lined her face, black and mixed up with her makeup. Her fingernails were unpainted and outlined with her blood from picking at the skin around it so much. The only distinct features that stayed were her two long braids, still hanging off her head and cascading past her waist to her ankles.

“With Silco dead, I just… don’t feel important anymore. They’re getting louder. I can’t sleep, or work, or do anything, I-” Jinx divulges, her head in her hands. You remove her hands from her face and replace them with your own.

“Jinx, do you need to stay here tonight? I can make you some food, and make you a nice tea with the ginkgo, as well as some lavender to calm you down. Whatever you need.”

“How much ginkgo?”

“The usual dosage I give you. Any more could make things a lot worse. Plus, the lavender will calm you down, help you sleep.”

“How much worse? Like what, I pass out for a week or something?”

“Jinx, have you ever heard of a seizure?”

“Oh. I guess I could stay the night. It’s not like I have anything better to do at home or anything.” With that, you closed up your shop, locking the doors, and covering the windows, that way no one knew you were secretly housing Piltover’s most wanted criminal.

You took the time to make Jinx a nice meal, as you knew she already didn’t eat enough, let alone whatever her eating habits were during this tough time of hers. As the meal cooked, you also ground up some lavender and ginkgo, which you then put into a bag in order to prepare her tea. After that, you left the kitchen in the back of your shop real quick to check on Jinx.

“Shut up! She wants to help me, I know it!” you heard her shouting, pacing around the room. Before you knew what you were doing, you ran up to her and hugged her as tightly as you could, making sure she knew that you did care. You heard her breathing slow down, and her body unwind as her tense state left her.

“You good, Jinx?” you asked. She pulled away to look at you, surprised.

“Why do you even care this much?”

“Look, you’ve told me a few things about yourself here and there. And it sucks. Other than the herbs I know you need to calm down, I know you need to be taken care of right now. You need someone to be there for you. And I want to be there for you right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re nice to be around.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re funny, and caring, and innovative, and your presence always brightens my day.” With this, Jinx’s round, purple eyes widen.

“I brighten your day?”

“Yes, Jinx. You brighten my day. I look forward to seeing you on the days you’re to come pick up your herbs just so I can see you, even if it’s for a few minutes. Jinx, everyone here is so down to business, and you’re the one who always lingers. Well, sometimes. Other times you were afraid of getting caught for sneaking out, so you were in and out.”

Jinx hugs you this time, burying her face in your chest.

“You’re a good person, don’t ever forget that,” Jinx discloses, tightening her grip.

“Okay, hate to let you go, but I do need to check in on the food and tea.” Jinx holds on as you struggle your way to the kitchen, making sure the food didn’t burn during the moment between the two of you. Luckily, everything was ready, and in about five minutes, dinner had been served for you both. Jinx’s tea helped her greatly, calming her down. The sense of calmness in her eyes brought relief to yours, as you were glad to know that Jinx’s head would slow down for a bit. She was also happy to eat the meal you cooked, which, per your prediction, was the first proper meal she had had in a very long time. After your scrumptious meal, you both prepared for bed. However, there was one small kink in the works of your plan to take care of Jinx; there was only one bed.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” you assured, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Are you sure? I can sleep there too,” Jinx replied. You put your foot down though, insisting that she needed a proper sleep. It truly didn’t worry you at all. You began to lay down on the ground, preparing for your sleep. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you heard Jinx’s voice from the corner.

“Could you maybe sleep in the bed with me?”

“Yeah, is everything okay?”

“I just, haven’t slept in a new place that wasn’t where I was holed up in for a long time. Plus, you’re comforting to be around.” You get up, pillows and blankets in your arms, and settle into the bed with Jinx. She clutches onto your waist, her legs wrapping around yours. It takes every fiber in you to not turn around and spoon Jinx right there and then. However, your bountiful dinner, Jinx’s tea, and the calming atmosphere put both of you right to sleep.

so. i originally was going to make this some sort of a love story, but i felt like i couldn't considering jinx's mental state in this fic. shall i draft a part 2/ time jump where they get together?

taglist: @ananas26t @stupendousbananasharkcop @sarcasm-is-my-form-of-attack @t-wylia @emiliaisdead @ihatethis222 @west-c0ast-00 @shootingc @iliterallyhavenoideawhattosay @sweetstarfalls @klerns-birdie

(btw, this is the largest taglist i've had per explicit requests. thank yall so much for supporting <3)

[ultraericthered]

#i got to screen Wish before it released during a school trip and let me tell you something #even though we noticed the glaring problems with that movie immediately #i also noticed something i dont think many others did at that time #there was so much talent and potential being held back. if you read closely you can pick up on a cry for help from the creatives behind it #i want to elaborate but i think if you know. you know #and if you don't.. this post does a good job of shining a light on a small part of that cry for you #despite its many issues i think i still liked Wish. Not because i think it was a good movie but bc i think it could have been a great one had circumstances been different. #my heart goes out to those who put their souls and everything they had into that movie and others in similar situations #some of the creators had given a small talk before the screening and to me they seemed very emotional about it #i think what many people forget is that nobody can see a project's flaws better than the people who worked on it #but what they also see and you can't is everything more it was meant to be #please remember that the core of many issues in any project is that the people with the talent often do not have power to call the shots

Yes, all of that. And I find it ironic that the gifed scene is the one that got people saying "Hey, King Magnifico's not really much of a villain, he's got a good point! He's just upholding his part of a social contract with his citizenry and doing what he, as king, needs to do to protect their wishes but also protect Rosas by ruling out granting any wishes that might backfire and have dangerous repercussions for the kingdom and the lives of the people! Asha's just an ignorant spoiled brat for demanding anything more of him! Magnifico Did Nothing Wrong!" So when you take that position on what you're being shown by the story and not scratching the surface to look at what Magnifico is doing in-universe by not giving back the wishes he knows he will not grant and knows the people who gave them to him cannot remember and what the out-of-universe subtext of this is, you're siding with the Disney Corporate Executive Overlords. You're siding with Bob Iger's "they're not being realistic with their expectations" argument. You're siding with Chapek and Iger's practices done under excuses like "It doesn't fit the Disney brand", "mass appeal stories over personal ones", "people don't want to go and pay to see movies with girly princess titles", etc. You're siding with their practices of dumping content straight to streaming (or onto Disney+ not too long after they've hit theaters or TV) even when that actually limits profits that the actual creative teams can make from their own work, of tampering with the artists visions and how the finished product turns out and then punishing those artists if it doesn't turn out well, and of ignoring ideas for original creations in favor of contiunally milking their popular (and profitable) existing IPs. You're siding with people who make up an entire entity that say loudly to the faces of all those who put in the work, the skills, the talent, the passion and dedication to create art and content they feel people deserve to enjoy, in the forms they deserve to enjoy them "I decide what everyone deserves!"

Capitalism errodes into a force for human evil when the people at the top prove susceptible to three things in excess beyond mere greed and self-interest: unchecked power, irresponsibility, and indecency. King Magnifico is allegorical for that evil, with a bit of a communist dictator angle to him too since that's the end point of those exact same excesses and extremes for socialism. He's a major problematic fave for all kinds of reasons, but anyone who wants to tell me he's a good guy can kindly GTFO.

Wish (2023) dir. Fawn Veerasunthorn, Chris Buck

hey do you think the overworked creatives about to go on strike are trying to tell us something

article sources under the cut

Mattson, Kelcie. "How Disney Almost Killed 'Nimona.'" Collider, January 2 2024.

Earl, William. "Shelving Batgirl Was the Right Decision, Says New DC Studios Head Peter Safran: 'It Would Have Hurt DC.'" Variety, January 31 2023

Couch, Aaron. "Warner Bros. Reverses Course on 'Coyote vs. Acme' After Filmmakers Rebel." The Hollywood Reporter, November 13 2023.

Ridgely, Charlie. "Scoob! Sequel Director Revealed Film Was 'Very Close' to Completion Before HBO Max Cancellation." comicbook.com, August 2 2022.

Clark, Travis. "Staffers at the animation studio Blue Sky say it's 'heartbreaking' that Disney canceled its final movie, 'Nimona.'" Business Insider, February 18, 2021.

Harrison, Mark. "Why was the Batgirl movie cancelled?" Yahoo! Entertainment, January 31 2024.

Amidi, Amid. "Warner Bros. Shelves Fully-Completed 'Coyote Vs. Acme' For Tax Write-Off." Cartoon Brew, November 9 2023.

Lee, Alex. "Why Netflix keeps cancelling your favourite shows after two seasons." Wired UK, September 28 2020.

Tyrrell, Gary. "We All Knew It Was Coming." fleen.com, February 10 2021.

"Warner Bros. Reverses Course on ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ After Filmmakers Rebel." see: 3.

Bergeson, Samantha. "Warner Bros. Will Let 'Coyote Vs. Acme' Filmmakers Shop Movie to Other Distributors." IndieWire, November 13 2023.

Strapagiel, Lauren. "Disney's First Feature Animated Movie With Queer Leads May Never Be Released." BuzzfeedNews, February 24 2021.

"We All Knew It Was Coming." see: 9

@/scottderrickson. "I think it’s absolute bullshit that a studio can and does shelve the creative work of hundreds of people for a fucking tax break." Twitter, 10 Nov. 2023, 4:52 p.m..

[gadriezmannsgirl]

Pepi's birthday fic!🪄🎩🍌 Pookie's 22 now🥹 still such a baby💛

Also, I inspired in my fic about Gavi loving neck kisses, I keep seeing how Pedri gives forehead kisses to his teammates, I can imagine him doing that to his gf😭 so here it is!

One more thing, referring to the picture below what is it need to do for Pedri to look at me like that? 😭😭😭

Forehead Kisses -PG8

Summary: He loves forehead kisses and so do you.

Since the very beggining of your relationship with Pedri, you quickly learned all his habits, manias, facts, likes, dislikes; for example when he scrunches his face in concentration and pulls out the tip of his tongue, when he's nervous he taps his fingers against his thigh, he secretly loves rom-com movies, he's reserved with his things, his people, including you and his life. You knew how to read every single bit of him.

In your relationship, he's the most perfect partner, barely forgets dates, always texts or calls you, he is interested in your things, he cares for you and for your family, he gets along with your friends, he loves communicating with you. He's just him.

When it's only the two of you or with his/your family around, nothing can stop him from being all over you, they know how he is and they know how in love with you he is. On the other hand, he's very reserved while being in public, going as far as a hand hold, a hand on the back of your seat, a hand on your thigh or a small kiss on your forehead. That could never be missed.

You've never told Pedri before but you knew he loved giving forehead kisses, not just to you but also to his teammates, his friends and family.

And you loved them as well, that much you sometimes started looking for them, pushing your forehead into him so he could lean down and press his lips in your temple. It never failed to make you feel loved and protected by him.

So one morning, you were chopping the vegetables as Rosy was doing the eggs when you hear a small "Buenos días" (Good morning) and soon Pedri came into the kitchen with his face a bit swollen and a sleepy face.

"Buenos días" He got his reply from you all as he went one by one hugging his brother, Fer first; then his dad, then his mom and then he walked over to you.

"Buenos días, amor" (Good morning, love) You say briefly looking up at him before grabbing an onion and start cutting it.

"Buen día, preciosa" (Morning, gorgeous) He mumbles, one of his arms wrapped around you as he hugs your side with his lips against your temple and staying there.

"Still feeling sleepy?" He nods humming and inhaling your shampoo scent "Why don't you go upstairs then, vida? I can go to you once breakfast it's ready" He shook his head

"You know I can't sleep without you in my arms" You smile softly before lifting your head, making him open his eyes and look down at you

"It'll be only for a few minutes" You whisper so it's just the two of you when he shakes his head -no- leaning once again to give your forehead a kiss and then he went a bit further down to your lips and kissed you softly. "Amor, go"

"You can go with him, Y/N/N" Fer says coming up to you "I can handle this"

"No, don't worry. I'm almost done"

"Go, hija" Rosy spoke up "You must be tired as well, you just came from a flight a few hours ago"

"I'm good, I promise. Let me just finish this"

"Hijo" (Son) Fernando said looking at Pedri, who just chuckled and grabbed you by the back of your thighs

You dropped the knife and the onion in the counter, letting a small yell out "¡Ahh Pedri! Fernando, Rosy; I want to help!"

"You already helped us, bonita" (Pretty) Fernando said

"But I love doing that type of salad, please!"

"I'll do it" Fer smiled

"Make sure to add mustard and a bit of sugar, please!" You raise your voice as Pedri pulled the two of you out of the kitchen "You're mean"

"I just want my girlfriend, too much to ask?"

"No" You kissed his cheek "You were going to have me after helping your parents, now they'll think bad of me"

"Preciosa, we've been together for almost three years now, they absolutely love you, they could never think bad of you" Pedri opened the door to his room, letting you in and closing the door on him "You're their daughter, now" He said now on the bed, covering the both of you with the blankets.

"Is my food that bad?" You ask

"Nena" (Baby) "Stop that. They absolutely love and adore you and your skills" He said dropping a kiss to your temple.

You smiled "Wanna know something?" You whisper

"What's up?"

"I really love you giving me forehead Kisses. They're my favorite" You say feeling your cheeks grow red

"Are they?" You nod embarrassed hiding your face into his neck. You feel and hear Pedri's giggle "Don't be embarrassed"

"Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not! I just think you're way too cute" He kissed your temple one more time

"Pedriiii" You whine

"Wanna know something too?" He pulls his face away, so you're looking straight into his big brown eyes

"What?"

"I love giving you forehead kisses" He smiles "They're my favorite type of kiss too" You smile at him, both of you lean in and soon your lips meet in a slow, loving kiss. "I love you"

"I love you too, Pepi"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviymarcsbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld @http-isabela (if you'd like to be tagged, let me know!) also @luvgavii 🫶🏻✨ a small birthday gift, hope you like it!

[glamourscat]

Could you please write Bruce and batboys getting jealous when they meet their crush's ex boyfriend? Her ex is as rich as Bruce, handsome and a total green flag. But they broke up in a friendly term. Upon meeting him they got jealous seeing reader and her ex are still super close. Thank you ❤️

Batboys + Bruce and their jealousy while meeting your ex

Author's Note: I decided to do a mix of a headcanon and a drabble for this one, I think it fits the vibes of the request. i hope you like it :) This is also so damn long but i am a yapper at heart

DICK GRAYSON

I see Dick as a very confident individual. I mean, he is self aware, he is beautiful, rich and overall a good guy. A catch right? (let's ignore the cheating for a moment...)

Though, Dick grew up in a rather unstable situation, to say the least. I see him as a person who craves his s/o attention on him, not necessarely 24/7, but enough to remind him "hey, I am here and I love you"

Still, when he does get jealous ━━ for example in this scenario where you're his crush and he is meeting your ex, who's as equally as handsome as him, not that he would admit to it. Rich as Bruce and a green flag on top of that?━━ damn, he is cooked lol.

His jealousy will probably stem from insecurity. Because, if this guy is rich, beautiful and a green flag too, what does Dick have to offer now? If they are on the same level, or worse, your ex is slightly higher than him ━━ truly, what cards are left for him to play?

And so, I think he would feel insecure for a moment and thats where being overly into PDA comes into place. MORE UNDER THE CUT

"You’re awfully close today. I mean, it’s not like I’m complaining, but… are you sure you're alright, Dick?" you say with a small, soft chuckle as you look at the black-haired guy who just linked his arm with yours.

"Yeah… yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I be?" he says, offering a smile that’s a bit too tight, a bit too forced for your liking. It’s not like you're a fool; you know exactly what the problem is. You saw the way he reacted when, walking casually through Gotham, you two happened to run into your ex by pure coincidence.

His eye twitched slightly, and his gaze was darting back and forth between you and your ex. You noticed the way his arm tightened around your waist, as if to say, Back off. If you had any doubts about whether he liked you before, now you have your answer.

JASON TODD

When I think of Jay, I imagine a healed version of him. I know people like to imagine him as this broken soul, and I’m not saying he isn’t; he has his fair share of trauma. But I like to think that from coming back as Red Hood to now, the present Jason Todd, he is a changed man.

He’s no longer the insecure, abrasive teen who swore nothing but vengeance and payback for what happened to him. He has accepted what happened; that doesn’t mean he forgot, nor does this mean he forgives Bruce. It just means he has the emotional capacity to be more confident in his own being.

So, how would he react upon meeting his crush’s ex? Well, chances are, if you’re Jason’s crush, you two are friends. He’s good at many things, but flirting, romance, and putting himself out there are not some of those. By being close friends, he is probably already aware of some aspects of your past, including your ex.

Thus, when he meets your ex, he is probably as nonchalant as ever. Does he feel a bit jealous? Maybe. Will those insecurities that have haunted and stained his past try to resurface, making him second-guess himself? Also yes. But he has grown enough to know he’s better than that.

"Jay?" Your voice is soft as feathers as you look at him. His green-blue eyes are focused on browsing the books on the shelves in front of you two, as silence fills the air in the small bookshop where you two had, by chance, met your ex just moments prior.

"Hm?" he hums, not taking his eyes off the books, but keeping an eye on you with his peripheral vision.

"Are you okay? You're awfully quiet. Did I say something wrong, or…?" You trail off, but he cuts you off.

"Nope, nothing's wrong. I'm just looking for a book," he says, moving to the romance section. "You like this?" His voice is quiet, yet it holds a softness to it as he shows you a book he damn well knows is your favorite.

"I mean, yeah. It’s my favorite. Why?" Your tone is slightly confused, just as quiet as his.

He shrugs as he places the book in the small hand basket he’s holding. "Nothing. Just thought I’d buy it. I trust you and your opinion. If you say it’s good, then it is."

He knows that in that moment, not giving in, not allowing those negative emotions to resurface as they did in the past, was the best choice he could’ve made if it meant seeing your smile—so timid yet flustered—with those rosy cheeks of yours, as you try to hide your giddiness from his words.

TIM DRAKE

Ah, my favorite little gremlin. The issue I have with Tim is not with Tim himself, but with the fandom that constantly mischaracterizes him.

I’m not even going to get into the coffee addict recurring joke, but I want to focus on one thing. "Precious bean Tim". This guy is absolutely unhinged. Dick, Jason, and Damian all had their moments, but Tim? His whole being is centered around being a sarcastic, witty little shit who does the most unhinged things, and somehow, people always give him a pass. (I mean... do we need to talk about his red robin run? Or when he was dating two people at once? Or when it's canon that at first impression people feel judged by him?)

My point is, Tim is literally out of his mind lol. He struggles a lot with his emotions, we see this in his Red Robin run, how obsessive he became over the idea of finding Bruce, someone he cares for. He was spiraling bad.

His jealousy manifests in possessiveness. Mine, mine, mine. Let's not forget that Tim lost his mother, watched his father die too. He is messed up emotionally, because everything that was his has always been taken from him one way or another. First his parents, then robin mantle by Damian and even his best friend (or lover) Kon at somepoint.

"You're pouting."

"No, I am not." He says, while comically enough, pouting more. It had been about 30 minutes, give or take, since you two came back from the movie theatre. Where you and Tim had to sit through an almost 2 hours long movie with your ex as the main lead.

Was he pissed? no, no, no... why would he be? Absolutely no. Him? Tim Drake? Jealous? Pff. Definitely wasn't. And yet, he kept pressing each key of his keyboard so hard, as he typed, that you feared it might come flying at his face very soon.

"If you're jealous you can just say so you know." You say with a half amused grin. If he wanted to act like a brat, might as well enjoy it. "I mean, who wouldn't be right? My ex is after all, rich, handsome, a great ac-" your words are cut off as his face he is pretty much pressed against yours.

When the hell did he come on the bed? He was sitting at his desk just a moment ago...

"Shut up" he scoffs as his cold nose nudges yours, his hand goes to the back of your head pulling you in for a kiss. and what a kiss. His lips, slightly chapped and cold, meet yours with such ferocity you're left stunned. His body has yours pressed on his bed, as he straddles your lap. Your tongues meet as he lets out a quiet little moan as your hands go in his soft raven hair.

"fuck- i am sorry" he pants gulping, cheeks red and eyes wide, as he pulls back after a few moments in a panic. what the fuck had he just done?

"You shut up now." you say with a little grin, equally as breathless as him, as you bring back your lips against his. Losing each other in a kiss that would be just the beginning of a beautiful imperfect thing.

BRUCE WAYNE

Now, Bruce was hard to crack, for me at least. Because, I think depending on the person, the situation and how he is feeling at the current moment, he can be like any of his sons.

His jealousy is not driven by insecurity or possessiveness in the conventional sense, like Dick’s or Tim's would. Not necesseraily.

I mean, we are talking about a man with his fair share of lovers

I think his jealousy would stem from his deep emotional connections and the high stakes involved in his relationships. Sure, Tim, Dick and Jason are all vigilantes too, but Bruce is the Batman. he cannot afford, he does not have the luxury, of dating who he wants just because. It's either flings or a deep emotional connection with him.

We see him getting jealous with Selina, for example, when he feels his emotional connection getting threatened by other men she is flirting with. His jealousy is so damn complex and subtle and sometimes it shows up as in actions and decision making rather than extensive show off of jealousy.

That's why I think if he has a crush on a woman (or man), his attidute will depend on the situation they find themselves in. He might become overall more vigilant, assertive or distant base on how the event will play out.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[soft-beams]

caitvi x f!reader, established!vi x reader

caitlyn's nervous and you're there to...help.

-----

"Keep her alive, sweetheart," Vi says to you, leaning in to peck your cheek. "I'll be right back."

Then she's headed down to the hall to see Babette. Leaving you and Caitlyn standing in the hallway of the Brothel, noises of the various sort sounding left and right.

This isn't anything new to you; you're undercity born, and it isn't uncommon to hear unsavory noises now and again. People fuck everywhere down here, it's surprising that a lot of it is happening in the Brothel.

But you can tell Caitlyn is nervous with how she fidgets. Her eyes are darting all over, cheeks delicately flushed as she's exposed to what most Topsiders aren't exposed to. She's on edge, looking as if she's about to burst out of her own skin.

So you attempt to comfort her, aiming a small smile her way which is weakly returns.

"You've gotta try and relax, y'know?" You tell her, leaning against the wall behind you. "Being in here is all about being confident and letting people know you aren't from out of town."

"Easy for you to say," Caitlyn grumbles, still looking around, her body tight and rigid. "I wasn't...I'm not used to—"

"I know," you assure her, smiling and hold out your hand. "I'm here to help so we can, at least, survive until Vi comes back. Let's find an empty room and pretend you're my client or something."

Caitlyn looks down at your hand before grasping it, allowing herself to be led down the hallway. She notes how soft your hands feel, along with the small ridges of callouses that lay on the width of your palm. A stunning contrast that feels...very nice.

You quickly find an empty room and slip the both of you inside it. Then you perch yourself onto the couch, sinking into the cushions with a pleased sigh. Caitlyn watches you from the doorway, wondering what's to happen next.

But you leading her is a common theme this evening, your eyes pining her down as you beckon her with a curl of your finger. Caitlyn feels herself go flush, the sight of someone as beautiful as you calling her forth not going unnoticed to her.

She steps forward, ready to sink into the couch by your side, when she thinks of Vi and stops.

You notice.

"What's wrong?" You ask, concerned, and Caitlyn looks behind her, as if Vi's been there watching her eye up her girlfriend. She swallows and asks:

"Is this okay? It's not going to...make Vi upset?"

You stare at her for a second before your lips curve into a sly smile.

"Why? Do you like me or something?"

Caitlyn quickly shakes her head, so fast it pains her neck and she's saying, "No, of course not! I mean, I do like you as a friend a-and I enjoy your c-company and—"

You lean forward with a laugh, reaching out to take her hands and pull her onto the couch.

"I'm just messing with you!" You exclaim, laughing still. "Listen, Vi's not gonna get mad at me pretending to flirt with you. We've been apart for seven years and are still strong, our relationship is rock solid." Then you smile, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Caitlyn's ear, the touch leaving a burning sensation. "Besides, I really don't think she'd mind. Two hotties sitting real close and personal as they talk about who knows what."

You're really close when you say that, your breath warm over Caitlyn's mouth, your knee pressed against hers and—

Caitlyn swallows.

[unknownati]

iv. ekko x gn!black!reader hcs

a/n: they got me yall.

sorry for whoever followed me for tlou content we'll be having a brief intermission i'll come back to them in a minute js let me get this out my system 😭🙏🏾

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, no mention of reader's features (except for being black, but it's only in a few points 🤷🏾‍♀️ so it can be read otherwise), arcane s2 spoilers (minor), sfw and nsfw hcs, (oral sex, kinks, riding), in some au where everyone is happy and nothing bad ever happened 😊, never proofread we ball 🔥

______________________________________________

sfw:

- i feel like ekko is a bit shy (awkward shy though, not shy-shy...does that make sense) when you first get into a relationship with him, and it's just because he's shocked that he's managed to get with you. at first he's stumbling over words, playing off your compliments, desperately trying to keep eye contact with you but if he does he just keeps smiling because you look so good.

-one time, while riding past you on his hoverboard, you waved at him. he waved back, but even as you walked away his eyes kept following you. if it wasn't for scar warning him at the last second, he would've crashed straight into a wall.

- his cockiness comes later into your relationship, every successful action he does followed by a grin that you roll your eyes at.

-and did y'all see the way he looked at powder in ep. 7? his puppy dog eyes are LETHAL.

-he doesn't even know it either. every time he wants something, he just looks at you with those eyes and murmurs "please, ☆?" you fold so quick.

-(you've tried to learn to resist his eyes as they are what caused you to sprain your ankle in a hoverboarding accident since he begged you to race him. he just wanted to show off, too. he didn't stop apologizing for weeks.)

-he usually doesn't really like people touching his hair. he's fine with the kids doing it from time to time, but in general it's not his favorite thing in the world.

-you, however

-you get a pass because you get it. you know how it feels for your hair to just be like a petting zoo from time to time. you know exactly how to help him care for his hair, so much so that he's stopped doing his own retwists. (not like they stay in for very long, you immediately help him sweat it out 😊)

-he's made a lot of random little things for you, like a small chain necklace with an empty locket. he kind of sucks at wrapping gifts though, so he just handed it to you with a stupid smile while you two were perched at the top of the firelight tree.

-"ekko, this is so cute," you mutter, your bottom lip jutted out in adoration as you inspect the delicately crafted chain. small mistakes here and there, but you loved it.

-he also learned how to sew just so he could make you a bonnet/durag. he even sewed a crude little "e" in the corner of it, and made himself one with your initial in it as well.

-will randomly shadow box you out of no where. it's some form of cuteness aggression or something, because you'll be talking about your day while absent-mindedly twiddling with the hem of your shirt, and suddenly there are fists flying towards you that he knows to never let connect.

-"...ekko, the fuck are you doing?"

-he makes small noises that sound like "shoo" every time his fist flies, watching you stare at him with an unimpressed look.

-saw someone else say this but yeah ekko can't hoop. sorry

-he CANNOT hide his facial expressions. he may tell you one thing, but his face will never lie. if you're out eating and you feed him a bite of your food, you can watch his face contort into one of disgust, so much so that he almost looks offended. upon realizing that he doesn't want to yuck your yum, he'll fix his face into the fakest smile you've ever seen and nod.

-"...ekko, go spit it out."

-you've never seen him reach for a napkin any quicker.

-idk who the arcane universe's michael jackson is but, when he was younger he absolutely learned all the dances.

-probably the biggest softie the world has ever seen. he's very tough in public, but once he closes the door behind you two and climbs into bed with you, he's clinging onto you like a sloth.

-if you like painting your nails, he'll (hesitantly) allow you to paint his nails to match yours.

-(these next few ones are sliiightly for me 🤭)

-loves when you draw on his arms.

-until he can't get whatever marker you used off of his skin in the shower, so now he's walking around looking like a coloring book with little flowers, hearts, and signatures on his arms.

-he hangs up all the drawings you make of him up along his work space. sometimes he forgets one and leaves it on his desk, so it's a pleasant surprise to find a drawing of himself among scattered and disorganized papers while he was cleaning up.

-has gotten used to you randomly biting him. you'll come up behind him while he's working, and he already knows it's coming when you rest your chin on his exposed shoulder. 2 seconds later, your teeth are sinking into his skin. he just chuckles, but he does ask once.

-"why do you do that?"

-"oh, i dunno. i just like doing it. 's how you know i like you."

nsfw (very brief i'm sorry):

-praise kink. you couldn't tell me otherwise

-loves giving praise, loves receiving praise.

-when he's giving you head, he almost does it for his own pleasure. feeling your hand rub against his undercut while you whine and mutter "fuuuck, ekko, you're so good. don't stop please" is all he needs

-and i'm glad we've all agreed he's a thigh guy too 🙌🏾

-and IK we say this about every fictional man but HE WHIMPERS.

-he starts off with groans and grunts, but the closer he gets, the more his voice starts to shake and his words start to become whines.

-he looooves when you ride him holy shit

-looking up at you while your face contorts in pleasure is absolutely on his top 10.

-and if you stare into his eyes while you do it? his soul has left thanks!

-in general he loves eye contact. when you look up at him with his length between your lips, you can see his brain start to short-circuit.

-he's definitely the type to make sure you finish first before he even gets to think about his own pleasure.

-he's usually super sleepy afterwards too, but he refuses to lay down for a second until he makes sure you're all cleaned up and comfortable before he's out cold on your chest.

______________________________________________

[yiichan]

I'd love to see an almost inverse version of effortlessly- where chan (feels odd to say his name in this context lol) is a submissive stalker- almost pathetic and desperate for the reader to pay attention to him, and by extension, be claimed/posessed by the reader. Think limerence. I'm excited to see what you write next!

😶‍🌫️

pairings. yandere!sub!chan x top!m!reader (ft. jeonghan & vernon). word count. 2.7k genre. yandere, request, smut.

warnings. obsessive behaviour, manipulation, the (in)famous drunk dino and kneeling jeonghan story, stalking, drunk sex, no protection (pull out game, sorry. please use a condom, people, ik mpreg doesn't happen in reality but you might never know), anal fingering, biting, chan is feral, reader is younger (idk but i feel like lee chan should be a hyung here), oral sex (chan receiving), use of drugs.

writer's notes. it took me a long time to figure out how i should write this. i might have went out of the theme im sorry hehe. normally im all down for bottom chan (esp wonchan or allchan) but i prefer uke male readers (rip my current and future ocs' and readers' asses). i hope that you are satisfied with this, though. let me know about your thoughts through my inbox, the anon who sent this in!

mentioning my imperial beta reader, @sousydive

network: @mansaenetwork

masterlist | navigation | main page | kofi | ao3

Chan needs you like a fish needs water.

You are his air, his world, his everything. His heart races wildly every time he catches a glimpse of you walking down the lecture hall.

But his love—no, his obsession—runs far deeper than simple admiration. He knows everything about you: your schedule, your favorite seat in the lecture hall, the snacks you nibble on between classes. He’s memorized the little quirks that make you you—the way you twist your pen between your fingers when lost in thought, the slight tilt of your head as you read, the soft furrow of your brows when something puzzles you.

Before he even realizes it, his phone is in his hand, snapping another photo of you. A snapshot of you deep in thought. Another of you sitting alone at the cafeteria. One of you walking home.

And then, there’s the one that sends his pulse racing the most—a picture of you standing by your window, reaching out to close it.

The pictures are printed and carefully pinned across the walls of his room, a shrine dedicated to you. Chan has convinced himself it isn’t wrong. He’s not hurting anyone, after all. He just wants to keep a part of you close, something to hold onto during the hours you’re out of reach.

But it isn’t enough.

The pictures, the fleeting glimpses of you, the stolen moments he captures through his camera lens—they only feed the growing void inside him. He needs more. He craves more.

He doesn’t just want to watch from the shadows anymore. He wants you to see him. To look at him the way he looks at you. To need him the way he needs you.

You were looking at your phone when you bumped into someone.

“I’m so sorry!” you quickly apologized, boxes tumbling to the ground as papers scattered everywhere. The man you knocked onto the floor coughed, peering up at you with narrowed eyes.

“It’s okay. Could you help me find my glasses, please?” His voice was soft and warm—and your heart skipped a beat. You bent down, quickly retrieving a pair of golden-rimmed glasses from the floor, gathering his scattered papers in the process.

You recognized him.

Lee Chan, from the finance department. He was a popular student—quiet, yet effortlessly attractive.

You held out your hand, and Lee Chan grabbed it, using you to pull himself up from the floor. “Thanks.”

“No worries, I wasn’t looking my way…” You passed the papers back to him, scratching the back of your neck in embarrassment. You were slightly taller than him, and as he stood close, you couldn’t help but notice a faint, sweet strawberry-like scent coming from him.

Your ears burned. What were you thinking?

“It’s fine. I wasn’t paying attention either.” Lee Chan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Oh, I know you. You’re from the sports department, right?”

“Yeah. You’re Lee Chan, right?” You made a quick bow, which he returned. “I didn’t know someone famous in this college would know someone like me, haha.” You tilted your head, scratching at the back of your neck again.

Lee Chan raised a brow, his tone surprised. “Are you trying to brag or something? You’re famous for that baseball match, you know?”

“Am I?” You laughed. Lee Chan nodded.

“Anyway, I should be on my way.” He glanced at his watch, ready to leave. You eyed the boxes and papers still scattered around, feeling guilty about knocking into him.

“Actually, I can help you, you know?” you said, flexing your toned arms with a grin. Before Lee Chan could protest, you quickly grabbed the heavy boxes from his hands. Seeing that you’d left no room for argument, Lee Chan reluctantly allowed you to carry the boxes for him.

By the time you reached the finance department, you had already started calling him "Chan hyung"—a natural transition since you two were now exchanging phone numbers. The walk had been brief, but there was something about the way Chan kept glancing at you, his lips curling into a small smile every time you caught his gaze, that made the air feel charged, even in the mundanity of it all.

"Thanks for helping me out," Chan said once you reached the door. He paused, the corners of his mouth still lifted in that soft, almost shy smile.

You grinned. "No problem, hyung. I’ll see you around, then?"

He nodded, and you gave him a quick wave before heading back towards the sports department.

From that day onward, Chan was always on your mind. You could almost always smell that intoxicating scent of sweet strawberries whenever you walked down the corridors. You found yourself checking Chan’s social media, or searching for his figure when you passed the finance department.

Chan texted you from time to time—sometimes to congratulate you on a game, other times to ask if you'd be up for a casual coffee. You would invite him to watch your games, eagerly looking for his familiar figure among the crowds. 

Until one day, when you got a phone call from him.

You had just finished practice and were washing up at the dorm when your phone rang. Stepping out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around your waist, you quickly checked the caller ID. Your eyes widened when you saw who was calling.

Without hesitation, you answered, putting the phone on loudspeaker as you grabbed another towel to dry your hair. "Chan hyung?" you asked, your voice slightly breathless.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the phone was unfamiliar. You frowned, pausing in your actions as you glanced at the screen. The background noise was chaotic—loud music and indistinct chatter. “Sorry, are you Chan’s friend? Could you come pick him up? He’s, uh, really drunk—VERNON! HOLD HIM!—sorry, he’s very, very drunk right now.”

You blinked, your pulse quickening. “Oh.” The unexpected turn of events threw you off balance.

There was a brief pause, and you could hear muffled voices in the background. Whoever was on the phone sounded frazzled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out... but he’s not really making any sense right now. He keeps asking for you. Can you come?”

Your hand tightened around the towel at your waist. Chan, drunk? And asking for you? It was a lot to process in a moment. “Uh, yeah, I’ll be there. Just... send me the address.”

The call ended abruptly, and the address was quickly sent to you. You threw on a casual shirt and black pants, grabbed your jacket and wallet, and headed out of the dorm. You hailed a cab and gave the driver the address.

As you neared your destination, you saw three figures standing at the roadside outside a nightclub. You instructed the cab driver to stop and wait for you, then quickly opened the door and rushed over.

Chan was holding onto a lamppost while one man supported him. The other man was kneeling before him, almost as if begging him to let go of the poor pole. You rushed forward, calling out, “Chan hyung!”

Your heart pounded as you neared the scene. The man who had been kneeling quickly stood up, pointing toward you. “He’s here! Chan-ah, please, let go of the lamppost—”

Chan’s head snapped up, his glassy eyes locking onto yours. A small, drunken smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it seemed distant and unfocused. His grip on the lamppost tightened for a moment before he slowly, shakily let go and staggered toward you. “You... You came,” he slurred, his voice slow and heavy with alcohol.

You instinctively reached out to support him as he wobbled toward you. His breath smelled faintly of alcohol and something else—something sweet, like strawberries. He tried to stand on his own but swayed dangerously, his body pressing too heavily against yours.

The man who had been kneeling sighed in relief, a slight smile on his face. “Thanks for coming. He’s been asking for you for the past half hour. We thought he might knock himself out with the pole at some point.” He sighed, while the other man nodded coolly. You recognized them as Yoon Jeonghan and Vernon Chwe from the marketing department. As Chan leaned heavily on your shoulder, you gave a quick bow to them. “Nice to meet you, sunbaes. I’m—”

“We know you.” Jeonghan gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “You’re the rising star of the baseball team, Cheolie’s most reliable striker. Besides, Channie told us a lot about you.” He sighed at the man currently trying to hide his face in your neck. You quickly wrapped your jacket around him as he tightened his arms around your waist. “I see. Do you have the address to his dorm?”

“About that,” Vernon spoke up. “Chan’s dorm room is undergoing renovations. He’s been crashing at Jeonghan hyung’s place, but since he got drunk, he refused to leave with him. If you don’t mind, could you bring him back to your dorm instead?”

“Sure.” You nodded. Jeonghan looked relieved. “Great, I’ll leave Channie in your hands.” He said, before dragging Vernon off in the opposite direction. You gently guided Chan’s hands off you and led him back to the cab. 

By the time the cab reached your dorm, Chan had already fallen asleep. The driver, kind enough to assist, helped you carry Chan onto your back, and you left him a generous tip. Once inside, you laid Chan gently on your bed.

As you straightened up to grab a warm towel, a hand gripped your shirt tightly. You looked down to see Chan staring up at you, a faint blush across his face. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just getting a towel for you, hyung,” you replied, taking in his appearance. Chan wasn’t wearing his usual glasses—his eyes were wide, pupils dark, pulling you in like a siren. You swallowed, suddenly aware of the sweet scent of strawberries filling the room.

“Stay,” Chan insisted, his head tilting slightly to the side. You nodded, a bit dazed, and before you could fully process what was happening, he pulled you onto the bed, positioning himself to straddle you.

When your lips crashed, you froze, your hands laying helplessly at either side of your hips. You could feel Chan grinding on you, his hands gripping your shirt as his lips moulded with yours. When Chan finally pulled away from you to gasp for air, you quickly held him by the waist, stopping his movements. “Hyung… You’re drunk-”

“‘M not drunk,” Chan replied, his hands snaking down your chest. Your face burnt as he reached the hem of your pants, teasingly pulling at the band. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Hyung…” You swallowed. The air thickens as Chan frowned, leaning so close that your noses touched. “You want me to beg you? Please, fuck me?” He growled, grinding harshly at the tent in your pants. You let out a groan, your grip around his waist tightening. “I-”

“I’m giving you permission to put your cock in my ass right now. I like you.” Your eardrums ringed as Chan confesses, one hand pulling up his shirt while the other working on your pants. You choked on your own saliva at the sight of his body, quickly turning your head to the side. “Hyung, sl-slow down.”

Articles of clothing were soon removed, pooling at the ground of your bed. Chan is now lying beneath you, one hand grabbing the sheets as he moaned loudly, his other hand now tightening around your hair. You hollowed your mouth, your tongue flicking against his tip as you gave a harsh suck. 

Chan whimpered, arching his back off your sheets as his thighs clamped around your head. You ignored the tightness around your head, your finger working relentlessly on his hole as he thrashed around the sheets, wailing loudly before spilling into your mouth. “Ah…ha…”

The taste of salty musk and sweet strawberries filled your tongue as you lolled them out, letting them spill onto your fingers. Using Chan’s cum and your saliva as lube, you continued to venture in him, earning a loud cry from the older man. “Wait- T-too mu-”

“You were impatient just now, hyung.” You replied, forcing his knees to open for you again. Chan panted, looking at you through his hooded lids and wet hair. His upper body was littered with hickeys and bite marks, his nipples red and swollen. “I’m just giving you what you want.”

You added another finger into him, stretching him out as he moaned your name in earnest. A particular sharp jab of your fingers caused him to arch his back yet again, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. You poked around that soft muscle for a few more times, before pulling your fingers out. 

“You…” Chan looked down at you, a confused yet fucked out expression on his face. You stood between his legs, your expression suddenly mortified. “Um, hyung, I don’t have condoms…”

“Just do it raw.” Chan deadpanned, rolling his eyes. He raised his knees up, hanging them over your shoulder and hooking you closer to him. “It’s not like I would get pregnant.”

Your cock twitches at his words and you hummed in reply. “You do know the colour system-”

“Green, now hurry up and fuck m- ah, shit,” You guided your hardness towards his hole, burying in Chan’s warmth with one slow thrust. You could feel him sucking you in as you groaned, pushing gently so as to not hurt him. 

Once you bottomed out, Chan’s eyes were unfocused. You leaned downwards to nibble at his swollen lips, and his hand quickly wrapped around your neck, supporting himself. You took this as a sign to continue, and your hips started to move. 

Moans and groans bounced off the walls as you rammed Chan into the sheets. Chan felt like a drug, his addictive scent filling your nose and brain as you continued to plant hickeys along the sides of his neck. It didn’t take long for Chan to arch his back again, and so you stopped. 

“Wha- Y-” Before Chan could say anything, you flipped him around, still impaled in him. Your hips moved at an unforgiving speed, as Chan could only cry your name out in both pleasure and mercy. “Can’t… Please- close…”

“I’m close too, hyung.” You pressed a gentle kiss on his shoulder, your hand reaching down to grab at his cock. A few lazy tugs and Chan was cumming, his head on your shoulder as he sobbed, falling to the bed. You groaned at the sudden tightness, pulling out before tight ropes of your cum spurt over Chan’s back and ass. 

“I’ll clean you up, hyung,” you whispered softly as Chan’s heavy eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. Carefully, you lifted him off the bed, guiding him toward the bathroom.

With patience and gentle coaxing, you managed to shower him with warm water, wash away the remnants of the night, and dry him off. By the time you were done, Chan looked peaceful, dressed in clean clothes, and already half-asleep. You laid him gently on your bed, now fresh with newly changed sheets.

Sliding in beside him, you couldn’t resist wrapping your arms around his resting form. His familiar strawberry-like scent lingered, soothing you as you nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck.

Contentment swelled in your chest. Tomorrow, you would ask him out on an official date. For now, though, holding him close was more than enough.

bonus:

02:23 a.m.

hannie hyung🐰: so... how did it go? did you get cheol’s favourite junior?

hannie hyung🐰: judging from your lack of response, i guess you got what you want. i really need that strawberry perfume back, you know. besides, if he smells it too often he might get really, like really addicted to it.

hannie hyung🐰: and bononie just cleared out the stash of photos in your dorm, you can bring him back any time.

hannie hyung🐰: we didn't throw it away though, it's at shua's.

hannie hyung🐰: and text me back when you're awake. i can't believe i had to kneel down to you in public, you little freak. do we really have to go all out to that extend?

hannie hyung🐰: hyung loves you, anyway.

© yiichan, 2024 origin of divider

[capquinn]

can we get a blurb about quinn telling his parents he’s gonna be a dad, pretty pretty please???? i feel like he’d be nervous to tell them but also bursting at the seams wanting them to know. it’s probably hard for him being so far away for most of the year, that he wants them to be involved as much as they can, but he’d also want to respect his partner’s wishes if she wanted to wait to tell people until she was further along in case something happened

The decision about when to tell Quinn’s family about the baby over Thanksgiving weekend had been made weeks ago, but actually doing it was proving to be a whole different story.

For Quinn, the excitement of telling them had been almost overwhelming at first, a buzz of energy thrumming beneath his skin every time he thought about the moment. He could picture their reactions so clearly: Ellen’s face lighting up with joy and then tears, Jim’s steady pride breaking into a wide grin. He’d played it over in his mind again and again, letting the thought carry him through the quiet moments of doubt.

But now, as the reality of actually saying the words settled in, the nerves crept in too. It wasn’t that he doubted their reaction — they would be thrilled, he knew that. They adored him, a love larger than life itself, their pride woven into every word they spoke about him. A love so steadfast it felt unshakable. And over the years, that same love had effortlessly extended to you, not just welcoming you into their family but embracing you as if you’d always been a part of it.

However, the weight of the moment, of what it symbolised, suddenly felt heavier. This wasn’t just a fleeting piece of good news to share. It was life-changing, not just for him and you, but for them as well. They were about to become grandparents, stepping into a new chapter of their lives, and he couldn’t shake the pressure of wanting the moment to be perfect.

The confidence he’d carried on the flight home for the weekend was slipping, giving way to a swirl of emotions he couldn’t quite name. He’d been eager, almost impatient, to share the news, to feel the weight of it lifted and replaced with their joy, their pride, their unwavering support. He wanted them to share in the excitement, to feel connected to this life-changing moment despite the physical miles that often separate them. He needed them to know that their place in this new chapter, as grandparents, was as important to him as the one he was stepping into.

But now, standing on the brink of saying it aloud, a sudden wave of nerves hit him, sharp and unexpected. The enormity of it all — the love, the hope, the vulnerability wrapped in the words — made his throat tighten.

It wasn’t just an announcement. It was a shift, one that would ripple out and reshape everything. Parenthood, after all, was still something the two of you were learning to grasp.

The first evening back home unfolded in the warm glow of Ellen’s kitchen, the scent of roast chicken and fresh-baked bread filling the air. The house alive with warmth — the crackle of the fireplace, the low hum of laughter, and the familiar cadence of Jim’s voice as he spun a tale about the neighbour’s runaway tractor. He gestured animatedly, earning chuckles and interjections from Ellen, who corrected him at every exaggerated turn. It’s a familiar, comforting scene — the kind of moment Quinn usually soaks in without a second thought.

But tonight, his mind is a thousand miles away.

You can feel the tension humming beneath his relaxed posture, the subtle way his fingers tighten around yours every few minutes, like he’s trying to ground himself. His gaze keeps darting to his parents — catching the glint of Ellen’s wedding band as she leans forward in her chair, the crinkle of Jim’s eyes as he laughs at his own joke.

He wants to tell them. You can see it in the way his lips press together, his chest rising and falling with a slow, deliberate breath as though he’s rehearsing the words in his head.

We’re having a baby.

It’s right there, sitting on the tip of his tongue, waiting for the perfect moment. 

Quinn shifts in his seat, his free hand sliding up to rub the back of his neck as he leans forward slightly. You can feel the faint tremor in his grip as he laces his fingers tighter with yours, like he’s steadying himself for something big.

Jim’s voice carries on in the background, the rich cadence of his story weaving effortlessly with Ellen’s laughter, but Quinn’s focus isn’t there anymore. His gaze is fixed on the table, the firelight catching in his eyes as he takes a deep, deliberate breath.

You recognise the signs immediately. The way his shoulders draw back just slightly, the faint movement of his lips like he’s practicing the words in his head. It’s coming — you can feel it in the subtle shift of his energy, the way his knee bounces once under the table before he stills it with a hand.

He glances at you, and in the flicker of his gaze, you see everything — the love, the nerves, the overwhelming weight of what he wants to say. 

Your expression softens, and you give his hand a gentle squeeze, a quiet I’m here. You’ve got this.

Quinn swallows, his throat working against the knot of emotion rising there. 

“So, uh,” he starts, his voice low and hesitant, barely cutting through the warmth of the room.

Ellen turns toward him, her smile easy and expectant, and Jim sets his drink down, his brows lifting in quiet curiosity.

It’s right there. The words are sitting at the edge of his lips, just waiting to fall out. We’re having a baby.

But they don’t.

Quinn falters, his mouth opening slightly before he closes it again, his jaw tightening as he drops his gaze to his lap. His hand squeezes yours, and the quiet pressure feels like an apology.

Ellen’s eyes flit between the two of you, a flicker of concern crossing her face. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” she asks gently, her voice laced with the kind of maternal intuition that always catches him off guard.

He looks up at her, his lips curving into a faint, practiced smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Nothing,” he says softly, shaking his head. “Just... it’s good to be home. That’s all.”

You watch as Ellen’s concern melts into warmth, her smile returning as she reaches over to squeeze his arm affectionately. 

“Well, we’re glad you’re here, too,” she says simply, her love for him evident in every word.

Quinn nods, his gaze falling back to his lap, and you can see the frustration flickering just beneath the surface. He’s upset with himself — not because he doesn’t want to tell them, but because he does. Desperately. He just… can’t.

You lean into him slightly, your shoulder brushing his, and when he looks at you, you offer the smallest smile. He exhales slowly, his grip on your hand relaxing just a bit, and when Jim launches into another story, the tension eases from Quinn’s shoulders — if only for a moment.

The second opportunity comes the next morning, when the day feels impossibly slow and golden, like it’s giving Quinn every chance in the world to speak up. The two of you lie in bed longer than usual, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains as you talk quietly, voices still hushed with sleep.

“We can’t leave without telling them,” Quinn says suddenly, his voice quiet but resolute, like the realisation is finally settling in. His gaze is fixed somewhere on the ceiling, his brow furrowed in thought, the weight of his words pulling his shoulders just a little tighter. “I just… I want to do it right, you know?”

“I get it,” you reply, turning your head to look at him. His profile is soft in the morning light, his jaw flexing slightly as he wrestles with the thought. “You want it to feel special.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a faint, almost sheepish smile. “Exactly. And every time I think about actually saying it, I freeze. Like, what if I screw it up and it’s not as perfect as I want it to be?”

You can’t help the way your heart squeezes a little at the vulnerability in his voice, the honesty of it catching you off guard in the best way. Sliding a little closer, you prop yourself up on one elbow, your hand brushing lightly against his arm. The movement pulls his attention, and for a moment, his eyes flicker to yours before settling back on the ceiling.

“Quinn,” you say softly, your voice laced with affection, “they’re going to love it. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be you.”

He doesn’t respond right away, the words settling over him like a quiet balm. His jaw flexes again as he chews on your reassurance, his hand absently dropping to your abdomen. It’s such a natural gesture, like he doesn’t even realise he’s done it, his palm curving gently over the barely-there swell. 

The corners of his lips twitch, like he’s debating whether to believe you. Then he lets out a soft laugh, low and self-deprecating, his free hand coming up to rake through his already-messy hair.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is easy,” you insist, squeezing his arm lightly, your gaze steady on him. “It’s you, Quinn. They’re going to be over the moon no matter how or when you tell them.”

His eyes flick to yours then, something unspoken passing between you — a quiet thank you, maybe, or just an acknowledgment that he’s holding onto your words a little tighter than he lets on. His thumb brushes a slow, thoughtful circle against your skin, and you can feel the tension in his shoulders ease, if only just a little.

“Don’t worry, you’ll tell them today,” you murmur. There’s a quiet encouragement in your voice, a steady belief that seems to seep right into him. Your fingers trace lazy circles over the back of his hand where it rests on your belly.

Quinn nods, his lips twitching into a small, tentative smile. It’s not the full-blown confidence he probably wishes he had, but it’s something — a flicker of determination breaking through the haze of nerves.

“Yeah,” he says softly, the single word carrying more resolve than hesitation. “I will.”

He sounds ready. You believe him. So does he.

And so the morning unfolds beautifully. Ellen, with her usual warmth and efficiency, packs coffee and snacks into a little canvas bag, insisting with a bright smile that everyone take advantage of the clear weather to walk the trails. There’s a lightness to her tone, a sense of simple joy that seems to catch on everyone as they prepare to head out.

Out in the forest, the world feels peaceful, quiet but alive. The rustle of leaves underfoot mingles with the occasional chirp of a bird or the soft swish of wind through the trees. The trail is dappled with sunlight, patches of golden light breaking through the canopy above. Quinn walks beside you, his shoulder bumping yours every now and then as the two of you amble along.

He’s quiet at first, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, but there’s a softness to him that doesn’t feel like nervousness — it feels like he’s soaking it all in. The crisp air, the sound of his parents chatting a few paces ahead, the steady rhythm of your steps beside him.

“You good?” you ask softly, nudging him with your elbow. Your breath fogs slightly in the cool air, and he glances over at you, his lips quirking into a small smile.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low but steady. And for a while, it feels like he means it.

At the overlook at the end of the trail that feels perfect, too. The sunlight glints off the trees, the breeze is cool and gentle, and his parents are close, their laughter light as Ellen unpacks the thermos of coffee. You can feel the moment hanging there, just waiting for Quinn to take it.

He squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles. You glance up at him, catching the way his jaw tightens just slightly, his lips pressing together like he’s rehearsing the words in his head.

“Now’s a good time,” you say softly, tilting your head toward him. Your voice is quiet, meant just for him, but there’s an encouragement in it that you hope will nudge him past whatever’s holding him back.

Quinn nods, his shoulders straightening a little as he draws in a breath. 

His gaze flicks over to his parents, who are standing a few feet away, cups of steaming coffee in their hands as they admire the view. They’re relaxed, happy. Completely unsuspecting.

For a moment, it feels like he’s going to do it. He takes a step forward, clearing his throat softly, and both Ellen and Jim glance over at him. 

“What is it, Quinn?” Ellen asks, her voice warm, a smile playing on her lips.

You watch as Quinn’s hand flexes at his side, his fingers twitching like he’s trying to grab hold of the words before they slip away. 

“I—” he starts, but then his gaze falters, dropping to the ground for a fraction of a second. He hesitates, just long enough for the nerves to creep in.

Jim’s brow lifts slightly, his smile curious. “Everything okay?”

Quinn freezes, his jaw working as if he’s wrestling with the weight of the moment. You see the exact second he decides against it — the subtle shift in his stance, the way his eyes dart back to the view like he’s searching for an escape.

“Yeah,” he says finally, his voice low but steady. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

There’s a beat of quiet, and then Ellen laughs lightly, her attention shifting back to her cup. 

“Good,” she says, clearly not noticing the undercurrent of tension. “Come have some coffee before it gets cold.”

Jim watches Quinn for a second longer, his gaze thoughtful, but he doesn’t press. He just claps a hand on Quinn’s shoulder as he passes, squeezing lightly. 

Quinn exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging just slightly as he turns back to you. His lips twitch into a faint, sheepish smile, and he shrugs like he’s trying to laugh it off. But you know him too well to buy it.

You don’t say anything, just lean into his side a little, the warmth of him grounding in a way words wouldn’t be.

“Just… not yet,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost like he’s saying it to himself more than to you.

You nod, giving his hand another squeeze, a quiet reassurance passing between you. 

“It’s okay,” you murmur, your voice just as soft. “You’ll know when the time’s right.”

He breathes out slowly, his gaze flickering back to the view for a moment before settling on his parents again. And even though the moment passes, and the group begins to move again, their laughter breaking through the quiet hum of the forest, you can feel it. The way his hand tightens slightly around yours. The way his shoulders stay just a little too tense as you walk.

He’s still building up to it, you know that. But he’s getting closer.

Back at the house, the moment arises again, this time while everyone is lounging in the living room after lunch. Quinn sits beside you on the couch, one hand cradling his coffee mug, the other resting on your thigh. His parents are across from you, their chairs pulled close to the fire, and the warmth of the room feels almost tangible, a gentle weight of familiarity and love.

He’s relaxed now, leaning back into the cushions, his gaze sweeping over the room like he’s soaking it all in. His hand tightens slightly on your leg, and you glance at him, catching the way his eyes flicker with something you recognise — nerves, anticipation, resolve.

Ellen catches his eye and smiles, tilting her head slightly. “What’s on your mind, Quinn? You’ve been out of sorts today.”

Your heart skips, and you sit up just slightly, willing him forward with the quiet encouragement in your expression. 

This is it. He’s going to say it. You can feel it.

He clears his throat, straightening a little. “Just... uh,” he starts, his voice steady but hesitant. He glances at you, then back at his mom, and his lips twitch into a small, uncertain smile. “Just thinking how I’m gonna miss this when we leave,” he finishes, his tone light but not entirely convincing.

Your shoulders relax, a mix of understanding and disappointment flooding you as you press your knee gently against his. Quinn glances at you, his jaw tightening as he picks up on your unspoken it’s okay. Next time.

Ellen smiles warmly, tilting her head in that soft, motherly way. “It’s not long until Christmas,” she reminds him, though her voice carries a faint wistfulness, like she’s reminding herself too.

Quinn nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Not long.”

The following morning unfolds in the quiet, unhurried way that comes after a weekend of family time, everyone savouring these last hours together. The kitchen is warm and familiar, filled with the smell of coffee and the soft sounds of Ellen moving around, flipping pancakes on the griddle. Jim leans against the counter by the sink, drying dishes, while you’re perched on a stool at the island, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. Quinn stands a little apart, leaned back against the counter with a piece of toast in hand, his damp hair sticking up in every direction, evidence of a quick shower.

The conversation drifts easily — something about Jim’s plans for the yard that afternoon, Ellen’s pancake technique, a joke about Luke’s questionable cooking skills. But Quinn is quiet, and not in the usual, thoughtful way. His eyes flick between his parents, to you, and back again, a pattern he’s been repeating all weekend. You know he’s been carrying the weight of the news, the excitement and nerves tangling together, keeping him from saying it despite countless opportunities.

And then, just like that, it happens.

“We have something to tell you,” he says, his voice steady but quiet enough that it cuts through the easy flow of conversation. 

The kitchen stills, all eyes turning toward him. Ellen pauses mid-flip, the spatula poised over the griddle, while Jim straightens from his spot near the sink, his brow furrowing slightly.

“What is it?” Ellen asks, her voice soft but expectant, her gaze darting between you both.

Quinn shifts slightly, his toast forgotten on the counter behind him. His hand brushes over the back of his neck, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to back out again, if the nerves will win one last time. 

But then he glances at you, his expression searching, and you nod gently, giving him the encouragement he’s been looking for.

“We’re having a baby,” he says, the words tumbling out in a rush but steady, sure. His voice catches just slightly at the end, but his eyes stay locked on his parents, watching as the meaning sinks in.

For a moment, the room is silent. Ellen stares at him, her eyes wide and unblinking, her hand coming up to her mouth. Jim’s towel stills mid-fold in his hands, his gaze flicking to you as if for confirmation. And then Ellen gasps — a sound so full of joy and disbelief it feels like it fills the entire room.

“Oh my God,” Ellen whispers, her voice trembling as her hand covers her mouth. Her eyes dart between Quinn and you, wide and shimmering with emotion. “A baby? You’re having a baby?” She looks at you then, as if she needs your confirmation to believe it’s true.

Quinn nods, and the soft, tentative smile that had been tugging at his lips finally breaks free. It spreads wide, unstoppable, lighting up his entire face. 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and steady but filled with something raw and achingly real. “We’re having a baby.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, the world feels suspended, as if the house itself is holding its breath. Then Ellen moves, her emotions bursting forth as she crosses the kitchen in a blur, her arms outstretched. She pulls Quinn into a fierce hug, her laugh bubbling up through a flood of tears.

“Oh, Quinn,” she says, her voice breaking with joy. “A baby. My baby’s having a baby.” Her hands cradle his face for a moment before she hugs him again, tighter this time, as if she can pour every ounce of love she feels into him.

He laughs softly, wrapping his arms around her as his chin rests against the top of her head. “Thanks, Mom,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

When Ellen pulls back, her focus shifts immediately to you. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, rounding the island with tears streaming down her face. “A baby. Oh, I’m so happy for you.” She pulls you into a tight hug, her warmth and joy washing over you in waves. “You’re going to be incredible parents. Both of you.”

Jim moves forward more slowly, his hand landing firmly on Quinn’s shoulder as a wide smile spreads across his face. 

“This is incredible news, son,” he says, his voice steady but with an unmistakable quiver of emotion. “Congratulations. To both of you.”

Quinn exhales then, properly exhales, like the weight of all his nerves and hesitations has finally lifted. 

For the rest of the morning, the kitchen hums with joy. Ellen flits between the stove and you, her emotions spilling over every time she catches Quinn’s eye. She can’t seem to stop smiling, crying, or imagining the tiny new addition to the family. 

“How have you been feeling?” she asks, her eyes searching yours with a mother’s concern. “If you need anything, you’ll let me know, right?”

Her hand briefly brushes over your arm, the gesture warm and reassuring, and you nod, assuring her that you’ve been well, that Quinn has been attentive, that everything is as it should be. It’s impossible not to smile at the way her joy bubbles over, filling every corner of the kitchen like sunlight.

Quinn, for his part, has shed every trace of hesitation. He talks easily now, the nerves replaced by an earnest kind of excitement. He shares the small details — the due date, how you found out, how ready the two of you feel — and every word seems to deepen the pride in Jim’s expression. He stands quietly nearby, his presence grounding and constant, his smile unwavering.

When it’s finally time to leave, the hugs linger. Ellen pulls Quinn close, whispering something through her tears before letting him go to hold you just as tightly. Jim’s hand finds Quinn’s shoulder again, squeezing it once in a way that says everything without words. There’s an unspoken promise in their goodbyes, a warmth that stays even as the front door closes behind you.

Quinn doesn’t say much as he helps you into the car, his hand brushing over your back as he opens the door. But as he settles into the driver’s seat, he glances back at the house one last time, his expression soft, a little dazed. When he turns to you, his smile is quiet, content, the kind that makes your heart ache in the best way. 

As you drive away, the crisp Michigan air shifting through the windows, his hand finds yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles in that familiar, absent minded way, and you realise that for the first time all weekend, there’s nothing holding him back. The weight is gone, replaced by something steadier — joy, contentment, and the simple knowledge that everything is exactly as it should be.

[mywitchyblog]

Why i will Nver take Antis seriously

Okay, let’s talk about why I will NEVER take anti-shifters seriously. 💀 These people seriously think they’re serving some type of intellectual argument, but let’s be real—they’re just pathetic dick riders with no valid point to make. Sweetie, they think they can just hop on some anti-shifting bandwagon, pretend to be “woke,” and act like they know better than us. But we know the truth, and it's so obvious how weak and desperate they are. The only reason they’re even talking is because they can’t handle the fact that the shifting practice is real, and people are out here thriving while they’re stuck in their flop era. 🙄

I usually just scroll right past the negative content, but one day I saw this video that made me roll my eyes so hard I almost gave myself a headache. This girl is doing a makeup tutorial, all casual and cute, and then she drops the bomb: “Remember when we all used to shift in 2020? Can we admit that it was all a lie?” Like, girl, please. 💅 Immediately, the comment section is filled with people agreeing, “Yeah, it was just lucid dreaming.” “It was maladaptive daydreaming.” Sweetie, no. Just no. You’re out here acting like you have some epiphany, but it’s really just you looking for attention because, let’s face it, you’ve got nothing else going on. 💔

Here’s the thing: If you’re gonna pretend like you’re some kind of expert on shifting, at least do the work. At least try to understand what it actually means to shift, and not just repeat what everyone else says. 🧐 This girl comes out here saying she “shifted” and was “diagnosed with schizophrenia.” Girl. I had to pause and check if I was still watching the same video, because that was a whole mess. You’re throwing around terms like mental health issues just to sound edgy and relatable? Nope. Let’s be clear: schizophrenia is not something you just casually throw around to justify some half-assed clout-chasing narrative. If you really shifted, you wouldn’t be out here trying to “debunk” something you clearly never tried to understand in the first place. You pretended to shift for attention, and now that the hype died down, you decided to flip the script and start bashing shifting because it didn’t give you the clout you wanted. Pathetic. 🤭

And let’s not forget how she conveniently chose to make this video the one that blows up. 5.2 million views, girl? 😱 But the rest of your videos barely make it to 5k? Sis, we see you. We see how this is the only way you can get any traction. Your “I’m exposing shifting” video is your only shot at relevance, and it’s clear as day that you’ve jumped on this anti-shifting bandwagon just to get some views. The flop era is real, and it’s showinggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg. You had one moment where you got some attention, but the rest of your content is crickets. 🦗 I mean, honey, if you were actually serving something real, you wouldn’t have to rely on dragging people down to make a name for yourself. 🤦‍♀️

The truth is, she’s out here just riding whatever trend gets her noticed. That’s all she’s doing. When shifting was trending in 2020, she hopped on the wave pretending to be a part of it, and now that it’s not the "in" thing anymore, she’s throwing it under the bus to stay relevant. She’s the definition of a dick rider. Trying to latch onto whatever’s popular and ride the wave for as long as she can. But we see you, and it’s not cute. 🙄 You thought this was your moment to “expose” shifting and act like you’re somehow above it, but you’re just showing how desperate you are for attention. You're chasing views like a lost puppy, and it’s pathetic.

And don’t even get me started on that comment section. Why are these people agreeing with her, parroting the same old tired “shifting is just lucid dreaming” nonsense? Where are the real thinkers in this comment section? Sweetie, if you want to speak on something, at least educate yourself before you start spreading false info. 🙅‍♀️ It’s like y’all are too lazy to actually look into shifting, spiritual hygiene, and the depth of the practice. But instead, you’re just echoing a 2020 “shiftTok” narrative, regurgitating outdated and ignorant opinions like it’s fact. I’m honestly embarrassed for you. Do your research or stop talking. Simple as that. 🧠💡

The truth is, these anti-shifters don’t care about anyone’s mental health. They’re not “protecting” anyone; they’re just mad that they couldn’t get in on the trend or didn’t put in the effort to understand it. They want to act like they’re doing some grand thing by “debunking” shifting, but all they’re really doing is exposing their own ignorance. Like, sweetie, just admit you’re jealous. You couldn’t get the attention shifting gave others, and now you’re bitter about it. 😝 You couldn’t connect with the practice, so you’re going to try and tear it down. But guess what? It’s not working. 😘

Let’s talk about the bigger picture here. The real shifters—the ones who do the work, who research, who respect the practice and the boundaries it requires—we’re still out here, and we’re still shifting. We’re still growing, we’re still thriving, and we’re not letting some random, clout-chasing person get in the way of our personal journeys. The real shift doesn’t come from attention or clout; it comes from within. It comes from dedication, intention, and respect for what we’re trying to achieve. And trust me, anyone who genuinely shifts knows it’s an empowering, transformative experience—not something to be mocked. 💫👑

So to all the fellow shifters out there, don’t let these clowns get to you. Don’t let their negativity and petty arguments distract you from your journey. You are doing something real, something powerful. While they’re stuck in their flop era, we’re out here creating new realities, growing, and elevating ourselves in ways they’ll never understand. Keep going. Stay true to your path. And remember: the truth speaks for itself, and the real ones will always rise above the noise. ✨💖 Keep shifting, keep evolving, and never let anyone who doesn’t understand the practice try to dim your light. You’re not in the same lane as them—and you never will be. 👑💫

[willowwithaheart]

Angst to the max with Arlecchino x reader. Please make it established relationship. I would like the situation for reader to die after they had an argument

|| Death rattle.

|| pairing; Arlecchino x gn! Reader

|| summary; Arlecchino had helped you recover from a devastating attack on your family that forced you to leave Mondstadt. But one day, you find out that she's one of the reasons you had to run in the first place...

|| cw; ANGST, major character death, dark themes, unhealthy relationships, descriptions of people dying,

|| wc; 1.8k

|| note; DAMN anon. I was gobsmacked when I read this ask. You sure do love angst…

How long had she been lying to you?

Parading around, acting like she wasn't the whole reason hundreds of people were killed. Lying to your face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You sneered, face sticky with long-dried tears. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Arlecchino stood stiffly before you, cold gaze not wavering once. That was what you loved about her, originally. She had a good head on her shoulders and didn't let her emotions get to her. But now? Now, you knew–she was just a lying bastard good at keeping up a poker face.

“It was to protect you,” she spoke up, taking a single step towards you. Her footprints barely left a dent in the thick snow surrounding you, and you found yourself shuddering against your will. “Come inside, [Name]. It's cold.”

“No,” you answered, tugging your thin shirt closer to your body. Fuck this, you thought, I'd rather freeze than go with her.

“You're a harbinger,” you swallowed, and you weren't sure if you were shaking because of the cold or because of the sheer emotion coursing through every vein in your body. The cold nipped at your exposed skin, but somehow, it hurt less than the idea of your lover being the reason you had to run away from Mondstadt in the first place.

Arlecchino stayed silent.

“I told you- I told you everything that happened. I told you I hate the fatui for everything they've done. And you didn't think to tell me? What the fuck? What else have you been hiding?” You accused, jabbing a finger in her direction. It was so cold. Freezing, even. But for some reason, it felt better than being with her.

“You know I love you,” she started, slowly taking another step towards you, “and I only did this to keep you safe. If you knew, how would you have reacted?”

Oh, you found yourself thinking, what the fuck? So she decided to pin it on you? How on earth did she even hide it? Why didn't she answer your fucking question?

“I'm done. We're done. I can't fucking do this,” you muttered, taking a few steps backwards. She wasn't even reacting. How did you keep up with her for so long? How did you not notice your relationship had been built on lies?

“[Name], stop acting like this. I can explain everything. I really do love you, I promise,” Arlecchino insisted, and you would've thought she was begging if you didn't know any better. She was ordering you. Like a fucking dog.

“No. No, I'm sorry. I need to leave. I need a break.”

Again, she didn't react. At least, you didn't think she did. You could barely see through the tears clouding your vision, hot against the crisp winter air. Snowflakes slowly descended from the sky, and you wished you could have stopped to appreciate the scenery more before walking away.

Arlecchino didn't follow. She stayed still, almost rigid in place, watching you leave but unable to do or say anything.

Part of her was almost shocked. Another was disappointed. And something deep inside her was screaming: “I knew this would happen.”

You'd come back. Surely, you'd come back. This would be just like all the other arguments you'd have in the past. You'd storm off, have some time to yourself, and then the two of you would make it up to each other. That was how it always worked.

And yet, something told her this time was different.

–

The cold wrapped around you like claws ensnaring you in a dangerous trap.

Your breath came out as puffs of steam against the harsh winter air. You hadn't quite adjusted to the climate of Snezhnaya, and for once, you realised–you were all alone.

All these years, you had entirely relied on Arlecchino. Well, you didn't have anything, now did you?

After you were forced to flee Mondstadt, leaving your family and belongings behind, you had nothing. No money, no food, barely any clothes, no one to trust.

And then she found you.

Her, with her harsh, commanding gaze and deadly authority that made a shiver run up your spine when she met your gaze. “Are you alone?” She would ask, “do you have somewhere to stay?”

And you, being the foolish, desperate person you were–you answered.

“T-The Fatui–” you gasped, grasping onto the material of her thick coat. She didn't push you away. “They…they took everything. I had to run. I-I don't…”

You didn't know what kind of expression you had on your face. All you could remember was the feeling of hot tears spilling over, and how terrifying it was to realise–your family was gone. Everything was gone.

And Arlecchino–who was a woman of very few words, but you liked to think she had a soft spot for you–helped you back up to your feet. She did so much more than that. She gave you a home, a steady income, something to live for.

But now? Now you knew she was one of the reasons you were at rock bottom in the first place. And it fucking hurt.

The cold didn't seem nearly as bad as that realisation. Nor did the hunger, or the exhaustion dragging you down as you ran and ran and ran until you couldn't remember why you were running in the first place.

You could barely even think straight. The air was nipping at your exposed skin, and each desperate drag of breath felt like it was cutting up the insides of your lungs. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes.

You loved Arlecchino. The snow crunched beneath your boots. You could feel the cold seeping through your clothes. You didn’t know where you were.

You loved her, you really did. Was that a cave in the distance? Maybe you could stay there for a while. Just for a little while. You were so tired…and sore…and cold.

With your whole being, really. You dragged a hand against the jagged rocks of the cave, covered in a thin layer of snow. It made you shudder.

She saved you, in a way. It was dry inside the cave. It was still cold, but really, did you care? Did you have anything to lose?

But she also cursed you. You circled around the cave, pacing back and forth. You couldn’t feel your legs.

Love was one hell of a curse.

You paused, pressing your lips into a thin line. Your gaze stayed stuck to the ground, as if you’d see her if you looked up.

“It’s okay, baby, it really is,” a voice rang in your head. One you tried so hard to forget. One that purged your dreams and haunted your waking thoughts, always creeping in the back of your mind.

Behind your eyelids, you saw the splatter of blood on a once pristine wooden wall. You heard a gasp—a death rattle. A haunting sound consisted of someone’s last breath, all the air being pushed out of their lungs as they fought for their life.

Death rattle. Like a snake, you thought. A sound that shook you to your very core, that sent a jolt of fear down your spine which urged you to run. But what were you running from? You’d been running for so long. You’d been cold for so long.

You were on the floor. Since when were you on the floor? Why were you so dizzy?

Why did your head hurt?

But oh. Oh, it was warm. It was lovely, feeling the warmth ooze from your head and spread to the rest of your body. You felt a dull throb. Was that warmth?

You found yourself calling out to your mother. But she was gone, wasn’t she? She felt so close. Just out of reach. Just like the day you lost her, the day you saw the light leave her eyes and heard her take her last, shuddering breath.

How did she die? You couldn’t remember.

You remembered the fatui had something to do with it.

Something like…an argument. A heartbreak. Someone was running until they could barely breathe. Why did you know all of this?

Oh. You remembered now.

Something caved her skull in.

No…wait. Was that her?

Was that her or…was it you?

You couldn’t make sense of anything. Were you dying? Were you already dead?

You felt so safe. So warm. So peaceful. If you died right now, would you really mind? You were happy here. At least…at least it was you.

A faint memory played in the back of your mind. Was it a memory? You weren’t sure. A small child was laughing.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, a big, goofy grin on his face, showing all of his missing teeth and the joy only a child could have. He hadn’t yet learned to hate his smile. He hadn’t yet learned that the world really was a terrible place.

His hands were warm in your own. He sounded so happy, warm eyes gazing up at you as he regarded you with a nickname only he used.

You couldn’t remember his name. You couldn’t remember who he was, but oh, how you loved him. You loved him like your own child. You remembered being oh-so proud of him.

But…what happened? You couldn’t remember. But you were sad.

So, so sad. It was like a pit had opened up in your chest, caving in on itself and eating up the peace you felt so strongly until now. Something was wrong.

He must be alive. You couldn’t remember his death.

So, then…were you sad because…of your own death? But it was so peaceful. So quiet. You were so glad it wasn’t him.

Maybe you were just confused. Maybe you were just tired. If you closed your eyes, you’d probably wake up right next to him. Yeah. You’d wake up. Of course you would.

You closed your eyes.

—

White hair was ruffled by the wind. It was cold, seeping into her very scalp.

But it was so much better than the sight before her, even if her face betrayed her true feelings.

Blood seeped into the expensive leather of her boots. She didn’t care. It was yours, after all. All yours.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. You didn’t move. How could you? You were likely long gone.

Long gone. The thought made something stir in her chest. You were gone.

What if she’d gotten there sooner? What if she didn’t let you leave in the first place? You’d be upset, but you’d still be here. You’d still be in front of her. Your blood wouldn’t be soaked into her boots.

Oh, but…you were smiling.

You were happy. Peaceful. At least, she hoped. She hoped you’d spent your last moments not in fear or anger but in peace. It was all you deserved, especially for putting up with her for so long.

Arlecchino turned away, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. She knew you’d hate her for it, but she didn’t let herself cry.

You were happy. You had to be.

After all, you had a smile on your face.

|| note; fun fact! A death rattle is a very real thing. Reader did, in fact, hear their mother make a death rattle. But that only happens when someone is choked to death. The blood splatter on the wall was the kids. Reader was very confused in their moment of death, and since they didn’t see the kids death first hand, they assumed it didn’t happen. Don’t worry, they reunite in the afterlife :)

|| disclaimer; please don’t copy, translate or repost my work without credit.

[nemesyaaa]

kxizkfkzkdke oh my god, the situation is so intense, it's feel like watching an action movie but with words stucked on papers (screen*) but anyways, that's so fucking fantastic. this is getting even more fun. but i love how they handle the case and this reader is amazing. she's offers us a good dynamic with rafe. that's so well-written, can't believe you're the same girl who feeds me with zach mclaren fics because this is truly two diff atmosphere. the light and the dark. 😩😩🫶🏿

Ripping away the life of a man who wronged him was a thrill. He spends every day feeling like he’s losing and the power he had in his hands tonight felt so fucking good. He won for once. — this is just such a powerful line to introduce the second chapter ‼️

Rafe swallows hard. He’s not sure many people would do what you did for him tonight. They’d watch. They’d let him die. The possibility that you might feel something for him makes his chest twist with an unfamiliar warmth. — «They’d watch. They’d let him die. » I just think i dont feel good about this. my baby deserves some more love (I KNOW, he isn't a good guy but PLEASE, he went through a lot ����😭😭)

You can’t do it. You know you’ll need to touch him when you move him, but you’d rather limit the contact you have with his body. Even dead, when he can’t hurt you, touching him is terrifying. — the last line, I felt that so much. she never gonna forget about him, even if he's dead. and the fact, that she killed him with rafe make the situation less forgettable. this is so sad :((

Rafe’s still a man. A man who takes what he wants when he wants it. A man who killed someone because he didn’t obey him. He could hurt you if he wanted to. It’s best not to be alone with him. — but he's now your partners in crime. dont you dare screw him

Even though you were afraid of him on the boat, when he dropped you off, he waited until you got into the house before he drove off. Maybe he sees you as someone he needs to protect, even if it is for his own selfish reasons. — ahh the selfishness IS back ‼️ no but rafe feeling the need to protect the reader ?? i'm in, I WANT TO SEE HOW torn he is it about this

the act of unravelling (part two)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

< prev

Rafe stands and looks down at the body, his fists clenched tightly. Reality is setting in now. He could go to prison. His future could be ruined.

He’s perpetually at the mercy of his impulsivity, thinking only of the minute he’s living in, burdened with the consequences later. But still, even with his head a little clearer, he doesn’t regret this.

Ripping away the life of a man who wronged him was a thrill. He spends every day feeling like he’s losing and the power he had in his hands tonight felt so fucking good. He won for once.

You feel heavy as you push yourself up off the floor. You wish you could curl up in your bathtub under hot, gushing water, washing away everything that happened tonight.

The corpse is harder to look at with every second that passes. You glance up at Rafe, blood splattered on his face as he stares down at what he’d done, at what you’d done, chillingly unfazed.

“We can’t leave anything that’ll point back to me,” he mumbles, his voice low over the fireworks still crackling outside.

“Or me,” you have to remind him tensely.

His eyes land on yours. He’s always only looking out for himself. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have to worry about someone else.

“I’m serious,” you urge. Your survival instinct rushes through you for the second time tonight. You refuse to let Rafe throw you to the wolves. “I saved your life. You owe me. I won’t take the fall for this.”

“Well, neither will I,” he snaps.

“You shot him.”

“I could say you did,” Rafe replies. “And it’d be your word against mine. What then?”

You scoff, in disbelief of his selfishness.

“I saved your life,” you repeat. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

Rafe swallows hard. He’s not sure many people would do what you did for him tonight. They’d watch. They’d let him die. The possibility that you might feel something for him makes his chest twist with an unfamiliar warmth.

“We’ll look out for each other, alright?” he relents, letting his guard down for a moment. “Let’s just clean this up.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket again. You pull it out, seeing Pope’s name. Twelve missed calls.

You hope your friends don’t get so worried that they come up here, ignoring the Off Limits sign Porter had put up across the stairs. But they don’t know where you went. You’re almost certain.

“My friends keep calling me,” you whisper.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. His friends aren’t worrying about him.

“You can’t answer them,” he snaps.

“I know.” You let out a shaky sigh, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “We have to be fast. What do we do? Do we bury him?”

Rafe takes a beat to think.

“We dump him in the ocean,” he finally says. “We go to the marina and drive my boat out far enough where nobody will find him.”

“How do we move him so nobody sees? We can’t go through the house. We might run into someone.”

Rafe looks to the glass door on the other end of the room, the balcony offering a view of the inky night sky.

“There,” he says. “We’ll push him off and put him in the back of my truck.”

You consider it. Of the limited options you have, it seems like the only one worth trying.

“Okay. We have to clean the blood off the floor,” you say. “And everything we touch needs to be wiped. Maybe there’s something with bleach in it around here?”

For the first time since you entered this room, you feel hope. There’s a chance, a real chance, you could get away with this. You look back at the desk Rafe ransacked.

“Pick that stuff up,” you say. Frustration rolls through him. He never liked being bossed around. “I’ll try to find something to clean with.”

“Don’t let anyone see you,” Rafe mutters.

“How stupid do you think I am?” you huff before you turn towards the door.

You tiptoe through the second story, peeking into a bathroom cupboard. When you find a spray bottle that reads Cleaner and Bleach on the packaging, you grab it and head back to the room.

You and Rafe move quickly and quietly, using clothes you found in the closet to wipe everything with bleach. After a loud, consonant cracking of fireworks that you assume is the grand finale, the show ends. And you know people are on their way back to the house.

The neighbor’s private beach can’t be that far away. You have a minute. Maybe two.

You’re glad Rafe thinks to find the shell of the bullet. He puts it in his pocket. You spray the bleach over the floor again, cleaning every drop of blood you can see.

“Tuck this stuff under his shirt,” you say breathlessly, handing Rafe the bottle and the blood-soaked clothes.

You can’t do it. You know you’ll need to touch him when you move him, but you’d rather limit the contact you have with his body. Even dead, when he can’t hurt you, touching him is terrifying.

You pick the gun up off the floor, then open the balcony, relieved you can’t hear any voices yet. You peer over the edge to see the sandy ground. The balcony overlooks the side of the house, dark and secluded.

Rafe grunts as he drags the corpse out onto the balcony. You have to muster up every bit of strength you have as you help heave Porter’s body over the railing. He falls with a hard thud, facedown in the sand.

You have to jump the balcony. You can’t risk going downstairs. Rafe is wide-eyed as you hitch your leg over the railing, looking down with shaky breaths.

“Wait,” he whispers. “Let me go first. If you break something, we’re fucked.”

He shifts down as low as he can before letting his feet hang over the edge. He lets go, dropping hard, his ankles pinching with pain from the impact.

“Okay,” he says. “Go.”

You feel a splinter dig into your palm as you clutch onto the wooden railing with one hand while the other holds the gun. You make the split-second decision to keep the balcony door open to air out the smell of bleach.

You hope you cleaned away every drop of blood in the room. There’s no going back to it now.

You sink, hanging as low as you can, looking over your shoulder before you drop. Rafe’s arms wrap around you as your feet hit the ground, his chest hard against your back, breaking your fall.

“If someone comes,” he whispers in your ear, “run.”

Waiting for him to get his truck is torture. The humid night air presses against your face and you can’t bear to look down at the body on the ground.

Rafe returns and you move quickly, straining as you carry the body over the uneven terrain, the soles of your shoes slipping on the sand.

Once the body is in the trunk and Rafe unfolds the cover, blanketing the cab and concealing the evidence, you feel a shred less frightened.

You glance back into the darkness just in case. A glow of a phone screen is in the sand. Rafe is already behind the wheel, demanding that you get in, his voice carrying through the open rear window.

You feel for your phone. It’s still in your pocket.

“Do you have your phone?” you whisper.

He responds after a moment, “Yes. Get in.”

“I think his phone fell on the ground when we were carrying him,” you say. “We should–”

Faint laughs in the distance interrupt you. There’s no time to run back and get the phone without being seen.

“Get the hell in,” Rafe mutters angrily.

You obey, swinging open the door, barely closing it in time as Rafe peels away. Your muscles prick from the weight you’d just carried as you drive past the partygoers coming back from watching fireworks.

“Holy shit,” Rafe chuckles, near elated. “We did it.”

You stare ahead, your head foggy.

This will haunt you for the rest of your life. The thought forces a torrent of dread through you worse than you’ve ever felt before.

What if you’d run out of the room when Rafe and Porter came in? What if you’d left Rafe to deal with the body on his own?

What if you’d never gone upstairs?

You’re destined to agonize over the what if’s of tonight forever.

You gaze down at the gun in your lap and hold your hands out in front of you, skin stinging from the bleach. You’d wiped away the blood, but you think you’ll always see it on your hands.

You figure out that it’s a good thing you left Porter’s phone. If he was sharing his location, you’re sure the police could track where it was last before you threw it into the sea with him. They’d know exactly where to look for his body.

“We should shut off our phones,” you realize. “I think they can track GPS history from cell towers.”

Rafe digs into his pocket, glancing down to watch the screen go black.

“How’d you think of that?” he mumbles with a laugh. “Is this not your first time doing this, Pogue?”

“Nothing about this is funny,” you reply.

“Relax,” he says. “We got away with it.”

“You can’t be so sure,” you say. “One fingerprint in that room and…”

You can’t think about it.

In the paroxysm of emotions you’re already feeling, guilt digs a hole into your stomach when you see Pope’s most recent text before you power off your phone.

Answer the phone. We’re worried.

·········

The clock on Rafe’s dashboard reads 10:44 when you reach the marina. He parks right by the main dock. The place seems quiet, the water crowded with seemingly unoccupied boats.

“I’ll take a walk around to make sure we’re alone,” he says, pulling his key out of the ignition.

The car door slams shut and you’re left with a gun in your lap, a body in the trunk, and your tormenting thoughts.

Maybe you missed something back in that room.

You picture Porter’s phone lighting up in the sand. His last text to you said to come upstairs. When the cops inevitably start searching for answers, you’ll be questioned.

A minute later, Rafe swings open your door, pulling you out of your daze. You meet his glare, his hair tousled and sweaty.

“We’re good,” he says. “Move.”

Having to haul the body over the dock past darkened, quiet boats is unnerving. Ater you leave it at the back of Rafe’s boat, you stand behind him at the helm.

Your arms are crossed and the gun is tucked by your elbow, because if you learned anything tonight, it’s that you can’t trust anyone.

Rafe’s still a man. A man who takes what he wants when he wants it. A man who killed someone because he didn’t obey him. He could hurt you if he wanted to. It’s best not to be alone with him.

“I should wait in the car,” you mumble. Rafe shakes his head in frustration, driving the boat forward. The boat’s motor hums as you rock with its movements.

“No,” he mutters condescendingly. It reminds you of why underneath the stubborn pull you’ve always felt towards him, you’ve also harbored a quiet fear. Rafe is violent. Possibly enough to hurt you the same way Porter did.

You feel for the gun again. If two men have to die tonight, so be it. The fact that your mind went there chills you.

Rafe looks over at you, lips twisting in annoyance.

“Don’t feel bad for that asshole,” he mutters. “He asked for it.”

It’s the worst possible thing he could’ve said. Your throat is raw with the threat of tears. Asked for it. Would he say the same about what happened to you?

“I don’t regret it,” you tell him, sure that he’s assuming that that’s why you’re so tense. “I’m just worried we missed something.”

“If we did, nothin’ we can do about it now,” he says. You look ahead at the dark sea, moonlight shining over the water’s ripples.

“We need to figure our story out,” you say. “How’d you end up upstairs? Did anyone see you?”

“I stopped him while everyone was going outside to watch the show,” he recalls. “Told him to show me where he was keeping his coke because I heard he was selling again. It was loud. I don’t think anyone heard, but maybe someone saw. I don’t know.”

“Why do you sell?” you ask, face pinched in confusion. “Why did you even care that he was selling, too? You don't have enough money already?”

“I gotta keep your tips coming, don’t I?” he says smugly. You scoff, jarred by his blasé attitude, despising his cold arrogance.

He notices the angry scowl on your face. He’s convinced he’ll never break through the hatred you have for him.

“I want to make my own money. That’s why,” he admits. It’s half the truth, but it’s good enough.

It’s surprising to hear that Rafe, a man you thought coasted on the wealth he was born into, possesses a work ethic. Even though he uses it to deal drugs.

“Did anyone see you go upstairs?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” you say.

“Why were you there?”

You chew on your lip, the truth sitting on your chest like a ton of bricks. There’s no point in telling him. He thinks your motive was the same as his. Money. And you’ll let him believe it.

Besides, talking about it now, merely an hour afterwards, will only make you cry again and your head is pounding from how much you’ve already wept tonight. How could you possibly say it out loud?

“To buy pot. Then I smoked too much and passed out.” You keep talking before he can ask anything else. “Are we far out enough?”

Rafe looks back to make sure the marina is out of sight before he kills the engine.

Pushing Porter’s body over the guardrail is harder than the other times you’d carried him tonight. The water is rocking the boat so much now that you’re far into the ocean. Your breath is strained as you heave him over the metal, his body hitting the water with a loud splash under the bright moon.

Rafe pulls out the bullet shell in his pocket and tosses it in the water. You know you have to throw the gun in, too. It’s hard to. But you do it.

Rafe looks over the edge now that everything is sinking to the bottom, his forearm brushing against yours. He notices how quickly you jerk away, refusing to let him touch you. The pull he feels towards you is obviously one-sided. Your eyes flit away when you look at him.

“You have blood on your face,” you tell him soberly. His temper flares, feeling stupid for thinking a girl could feel anything but afraid of him after he shot someone right in front of her. Even though she was the one who told him to do it.

You might have a deadly thirst for revenge in common, but that’s where the similarities end. He stalks past you to wash himself off in the bathroom below the deck.

You let out a shaky breath. The unexpected contact with Rafe startled you. After tonight, you’re sure you’ll always be scared to be around men you don’t know all that well. Even the ones that seem decent are just lions in sheep’s clothing. The monster that proved that to you is below the ocean’s surface now.

You look into the murky water, and despite the fear and the anxiety and dread weighing on your heart, you’re glad that this is how it ended. Porter paid the ultimate price for what he did to you. He doesn’t deserve to live, to smile, to feel anything ever again.

·········

You and Rafe sit behind the hull, the boat swaying with the tide. You start to piece together an alibi and decide to admit you were upstairs together. If even one person says they saw either one of you go up there, you won’t be caught in a lie.

As you talk, Rafe can’t take his eyes off of you. You’re clearly scared, but trying to stay level-headed. He doesn’t get how you do it. He’s always been bad at keeping his mind steady. He never had a reason to even try.

“So, I went up first after he texted me to come buy from him,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t shake. “I got high and passed out. Then you came up with him to find his stash. We’re obviously going to have to come clean about the drugs.”

“What do you mean obviously?”

“You’re going to be a suspect the second the police start talking to people,” you tell him. “Everyone knows you had an issue with him. And why. You can’t lie about the coke. And they’ll have evidence that I was buying weed from him. We have to be honest about it. They’ll find out anyway.”

Rafe sighs, knowing you’re right.

You hug yourself as a cool breeze carries over the water. The weakness in your gaze reminds Rafe of the way you’d cried on the floor earlier tonight. Before all this, he only ever saw you as strong-willed and sharp-tongued.

Even though calming a man like Rafe down when he’s angry sounds like it’d be impossible, you figure it’s the only direction your alibi can go.

“We’ll say I talked you down and…” You shake your head. “It doesn’t make sense that we’d stay up there. I think we say we left him in his room and sat on the beach alone in front of the house to watch the fireworks from there.”

You worry it’s not enough. You’re certain that no one who knows either one of you would buy that you voluntarily spent time together.

“Maybe the cops would believe we hung out,” you mumble, “but nobody else would.”

Rafe stills. His friends like to give him crap about how much time he spends talking to you when he supposedly hates Pogues. If he told them he was with you all night, they’d say they saw it coming.

“They could,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

“My friends would never believe it,” you scoff. He purses his lips, pissed off at your tone, at the clear implication that you talk shit about him with your friends.

“It’s our only option,” he mutters sharply.

“You’re right,” you give in. “Then what? We went home before people got back? I guess that way if anyone saw us leave together, we have it covered.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “That’s the story.”

“Okay. It’s not great, but it’s the best we can do.” You check your phone for the time, only to remember it’s turned off. “Can you drive me home now? I’ll say my phone died. You should do the same when people ask where you’ve been.”

Rafe doesn’t admit to you that nobody was checking up on him, that nobody ever does. He only stands up to drive back to the dock.

·········

Your first priority when you get home is to text your friends, guilt consuming you now that it’s been over two hours since you last saw them and they have no idea what happened to you.

You turn on your phone to see a string of missed calls and texts from the guys. You open the group-chat and type: I’m so sorry. I’m okay. Got too high and lost track of time. Home now.

They video call you to be sure that you really made it home safe, drunkenly rambling on about how they assumed you went to see the fireworks early, leaving them to search the neighbor’s beach for you.

As you listen to them talk over each other on the phone, it’s the first time you see your reflection since you left the house, when you were oblivious to the fact that the impending hours would change you forever.

You can see it in your eyes that you’re not the same. You can only hope that they don’t catch on.

·········

It’s been three days. You haven’t been sleeping. You’ve hardly been eating. And no matter how many times you tell yourself there’s no use in thinking about how different the night could have turned out, it doesn’t stop your head from spinning into hypotheticals.

All you told your friends was that you were with a boy and that they didn’t need to know any more. Because they all see you as a sister, they were happy to be spared the details.

If only they knew. A few nights ago, you promised them you wouldn’t talk about Rafe ever again. You never would’ve thought the reason would be because you’d committed a crime together.

You’re back at work. Smiling and chatting and serving drinks and acting like everything is fine is harder than you expected.

The thought of seeing Rafe again is oddly comforting. No matter how twisted it is, you have a bond now, held together by secrecy and shared trauma. He’s the closest to knowing what you’re going through.

Even though you were afraid of him on the boat, when he dropped you off, he waited until you got into the house before he drove off. Maybe he sees you as someone he needs to protect, even if it is for his own selfish reasons.

No matter how unhinged he is, having someone like him in your corner is comforting after what you’d suffered through.

You spot Rafe sitting alone at the near empty club bar on your way out and your heart settles, but when you catch a glimpse of the flatscreen mounted on the wall a moment later, it drops. You knew it was inevitable, but it doesn’t make it any better.

Rafe swallows bitter whiskey, gazing up at the tv. Under a photo of Porter reads MISSING as his parents speak to the press. What if he went missing? Who’d care? What would his dad say – at least it wasn’t Sarah?

He looks down at the bartop. The thrill of what he did has faded. It’s not a surprise. His life is nothing but a cycle of short-lived highs.

When he sees the look on Porter’s parents’ faces on the tv, jealousy and loneliness screw a hole into his heart. He knows it’s fucked up to envy the man he killed. He doesn’t care.

His eyes drift over the bar to see you standing on the other end. You’re in shock as you stare up at the broadcast, looking guilty as hell. He glares at you until you finally meet his eyes.

Rafe curtly gestures to you to sit next to him. Even though he looks mad, you’re relieved to close the distance between you.

“You’re being obvious,” he says quietly once you sit next to him, an edge to his tone.

You look back to see only a few other people sitting in the restaurant area behind you, far from earshot. You won’t be heard, but you both know you have to speak vaguely just in case.

“Someone I know is missing,” you reply. “It’s normal to be worried about that.”

“What do you know about normal?” he scoffs.

You lock eyes, sure that you’re both replaying the night in your minds, sure that you’re both far from sane after what you did. His gaze is cold, a reflection of how angry he is that you’re not handling what happened as well as he is.

“Great talking to you,” you snip sarcastically, shifting to stand up.

“Wait,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks at you again, this time with a bit of the hardness in his eyes gone. “We need to talk.”

next >

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[aajjks]

The Conqueror (XXIV)

Synopsis: He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.

Pairings: Yandere!King Jungkook x Commoner!servant Reader

warnings: yàndèré, Dàrk thèmès, Fòrcèd màrrìàgè, Tàlk òf vìrgìnìty ànd màrrìàgè cònsùmmàtìòn, Gòssìpìng, Còld béhàvìòr, Ùnhéàlthỳ rèlàtìònsìp, Dèprèssìòn.

note. besties I hope you enjoy this, The reason I’m updating this more often now is because I want to finish the story as soon as I can and please share your feedback because it’s really important to me. I love you guys enjoy! Ash I finished this chapter just for you x

series masterlist

taglist: @mageprincess7 @starsggukk @sprinkleoftee @koremis @minshookie29 @sana-b @bangtannoonalvg @oonaaurora @jeonsweetpea @sugaslittlekookies @outro-kook @kthyg @lunaashes @debicaptain-saturn @laurynne5 @captainsjoongs @myblackconfessions @lanalanexpjm @namjooncrabs @shadowmoon21 @kookunot @natalie-rdr @angelicasdre @iwasfuckinginnocentonce @mermaidtea @foulnightharmony @ungodlyjoon @quechulitaaa @telepathytae @silversparkles11 @j3alous-ang3l @bunzom @1-in-abillion @breadgeniedope @jiminie-08 @artgukk @lovesthetword @bunijmin @pinkcherrybombs @afangirllikeme-blog @twilight-love-nochu-main @wedarkacademia @hollxe1 @bighitfics @darkuni63 @golden-thv @investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @koocreampie (I can’t tag anymore people, it’s full 😭😭)

•••

You wake up, and the first thing you notice is the absence of him-

Jungkook. The bed is cold, empty. You feel the space beside you, where his body should have been, yet it remains untouched.

Why is he the first thing on your mind when you wake up?

You were the one who sent him away last night so you should be happy about it, as you rub your blurry eyes, your vision finally clears.

The sheets are crisp and neat, too neat, too clean.

As you sit up, the ladies-in-waiting enter quietly, their movements practiced. They approach the bed, and immediately, you see them take note of the immaculate sheets, the lack of any sign of what should have been..

A mark of possession, a proof of consummation.

“Good Morning to Our Lady Jeon.”

A sense of dread creeps up when they refer to you as a Jeon.

“Lady yn,” Na-yeon calls, her voice soft yet commanding, “it’s time to prepare for your duties as the emperor’s wife. The king will be expecting you.”

You nod, but you can’t shake the guilt settling in your chest. You already know what they’re whispering about. The sheets, they’re clean. There’s no sign of the king’s touch, no evidence of the night that was supposed to bond you together.

One of the maids, her voice barely above a whisper, says, “She wasn’t touched last night. Look at that. There’s no mark, no blood.”

Another one replies in a hushed tone, “No sign of anything.”

They probably know that you can hear them, but do they give a fuck about it? No.

So what? you want to scream but you can’t

You feel the weight of their words, like they’re pressing down on you, suffocating you. You know they’re gossiping, but you can’t stop the flush of embarrassment that creeps up your neck. The sheets, the clean, untouched sheets, they feel like a reflection of your rejection. You had turned him away last night. You had rejected him. And now, the palace is talking.

You don’t regret rejecting him, but there is a guilt that is so heavy.

You are undeniably embarrassed.

The guilt tightens your chest. It feels as though the weight of the entire palace is on your shoulders.

You didn’t want to, but it happened.

You couldn’t let yourself go through with it. Not like that. Not when you know what kind of man he is.

He is a monster. He’s someone who killed your father and ruined your entire fucking life. How could you let someone like him touch you?

You hate him so much but then why didn’t you feel the satisfaction when he had walked away from you last night leaving you untouched?the shame of turning him away is like a shadow following you now.

The ladies continue their work, preparing you for the day ahead, but the whispers echo in your mind, too loud, too real.

You were the one who rejected him last night, so why do you feel embarrassed? He’s the one who should feel embarrassed… why are they gossiping about it like it’s a big deal? You will never let someone like him touch you anyways.

So why does it feel like there is a heavy burden on your heart and why do you feel so embarrassed about still being a virgin?

They dress you in your royal attire, the weight of the silk robes feeling heavier than ever. The red and gold, the fine embroidery—it should feel like power, but instead, it feels like a prison.

You feel like a fucking puppet

Finally, they place the pin in your hair. It’s subtle but significant. You immediately feel the burden of the pen on you because you realize that you are now actually the emperor’s wife.

You’re still not queen yet and you hope that you won’t be, but this pin indicates that you are married to the emperor of Goryeo.

Emperor Jeon Jungkook. A.k.a. your worst nightmare.

You are the emperor’s wife, but not yet queen. It’s a constant reminder of your place, of how far you are from the woman you want to be, and how close you are to the role you’re forced to play.

They leave you alone with your thoughts, but you can’t escape them. You look at yourself in the mirror, trying to connect with the woman you see with the woman you feel like inside. A pawn. A possession.

The sound of tea and breakfast wafts into the room, but it feels like a distant, empty thing. Time to face him,

The emperor awaits.

“My Lady. Come on let’s go into the dining hall where you will be joined by the emperor Jeon.”

Looks like you’re not gonna be able to eat because whenever you’re in his presence, you feel sick to your stomach.

But it’s not like you have any choice.

•••

You sit at the long, opulent dining table, the sound of footsteps echoing from behind you.

The breakfast spread is grand & delicate plates of rice, fruit, meat, and steamed buns, the aroma of the dishes wafting through the air. Yet, all of it feels distant, as though it’s meant for someone else. The golden utensils, the fine porcelain cups

It’s not meant for you.

none of it feels real. Not when you know what hangs between you and Jungkook.

He enters the room quietly, his presence is as always commanding.

His tall frame fills the doorway, and despite the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the large windows, he seems to cast a shadow.

His dark curly long hair is perfectly styled, his robes a deep crimson, embroidered with gold threads, marking him as the emperor. He is a king, but right now, he looks like someone out of reach, someone untouchable.

Jungkook’s eyes flick to you as he takes his seat across from you, his gaze cold. There’s no warmth in his look, no softness.

The air between you feels thick with tension, and you know, without a doubt, it’s because of last night.

You meet his gaze, but the words you want to speak catch in your throat. You can feel his anger, simmering beneath his calm exterior.

He’s holding back, but just barely. His hands rest on the table, his fingers clenched tightly around the delicate porcelain tea cup in front of him.

“You know,” Jungkook begins, his voice low, almost mocking, “last night was supposed to be different. I thought…” His voice trails off for a moment as he takes a sip of tea, his eyes never leaving you. “I thought I might have finally gotten what I’ve been waiting for. But you, you rejected me.”

He scoffs.

“You know? You look so beautiful. But it’s useless. Your beauty is useless.”

His words cut through the air like a knife, and your chest tightens. You can feel the weight of his gaze, his cold stare, as he leans back slightly in his chair, studying you.

“I don’t understand,” he continues, his voice is turning sharper. “You’ve been in this palace for a year. You’ve been living in luxury, waiting for this moment. Yet, when it comes, you turn away from me? What makes you think you can do that, hm?”

You swallow, trying to gather your thoughts. It’s hard to speak when the tension in the room is so thick, so suffocating. You know you can’t apologize, not with the pride he carries. But you can’t keep quiet either.

His presence is so overwhelming and maybe the guilt in your heart is also weighing on you.

“I didn’t—” you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp gesture of his hand, signaling that he doesn’t want to hear your excuses.

He just dismissed you like you mean nothing.

“You didn’t what?” he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You didn’t want me? The man who made you his wife?” His lips curl into a cruel smile.

He thinks that you are pathetic.

“You really think you can just refuse me and walk away from it all? There’s no escaping me, not anymore. You belong to me now, whether you like it or not.”

The words hit you like a slap, and you look away, unable to meet his eyes. The food in front of you suddenly loses its appeal, the steam rising from the rice feeling like it’s choking you.

You want to speak up, to explain yourself, but you know it won’t change anything. He won’t listen. Not now, not after what happened last night.

Jungkook leans forward, his eyes narrowing as if he’s waiting for you to speak, to beg, to plead for his forgiveness. He’s enjoying this, you realize.

Enjoying the control he has over you, enjoying the way you’re forced to sit there and endure his words.

“Well?” He presses, the coldness in his voice now unmistakable. “Are you going to explain yourself? Or are you just going to sit there and pretend everything is fine?”

You clench your fists in your lap, the urge to stand up and leave the room almost overwhelming. But you can’t. You can’t leave. Not when the emperor is sitting right in front of you, and you know the consequences of defying him.

Instead, you hold your breath and force yourself to speak but no words come out.

His expression darkens, and he leans forward, his eyes locked on yours, piercing and dark.

“You’re my wife. But you are one ungrateful woman, and if you don’t want me to touch you, then I won’t.”

The words make your skin itch, your chest is tightening with a mixture of fear and frustration.

You didn’t expect him to understand. How could he? He’s the emperor. He’s always had power. He’s never had to ask for anything, he just takes it.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be forced into this life,” you mutter, barely able to keep the bitterness out of your voice. “To be used as a pawn in your game.”

His eyes flash with anger, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to snap. But instead, he leans back in his chair again, his jaw clenched tight.

“You don’t get to speak to me like that,” he warns, his voice dangerously calm. “You may be my wife, but I will not tolerate disrespect. Not from you. Not from anyone.”

“Especially not from you yn.”

The room grows silent, the only sound the clinking of silverware and the soft hum of the palace outside. You know he’s not done with you yet. This conversation is far from over. But for now, he sits in silence, his anger barely contained.

You don’t know what to expect next. Will he lash out? Will he punish you? You’re not sure, but deep down, you know one thing—

This is only the beginning of the torture that you’re going to be facing for the rest of your life.

“Fuck.. you just know how to ruin my fucking mood, but there are other important things that I need to make sure that you know.” he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his simmering anger down.

Jungkook looks at you with his unyielding cold gaze.

“ the king of China, along with his daughter will be arriving to our empire in a few days. They have started their journey through ship so they shall be here in sometime. They are coming here to congratulate us on our marriage and maybe some political alliances but that is none of your concern.”

His tone is mocking.

“What should be your concern is that you’re going play the perfect wife in front of them, and if you don’t, my love?” he smiles, sickly at you.

“There will be severe consequences. Because you don’t seem to be wanting my love. So instead, I’m going give you my anger and my hatred.”

Those words of his send shivers down your spine because he says them such practiced ease. And what’s even more unsettling is the fact that his eyes seem to be empty and cold.