#i feel so sad about it too. like. man. what the fuck has this country come to. our revolutionaries fought and bled and died for us

[brother-emperors]

APOLINARIO MABINI July 23, 1864- May 13, 1903

VIII Strive that your country be constituted as a republic, and never as a monarchy:  a monarchy empowers one or several families and lays the foundation for a dynasty.

-Mabini’s Decalogue for Filipinos

Skipping pleasantries when introduced to Aguinaldo, [Mabini] asked if the Americans had committed to help Filipinos gain independence from Spain in writing. Aguinaldo had no such commitment. Mabini then ruined the festive mood by saying that the declaration of independence was premature. He criticized the wordy document and its statement that the colors of our flag mirrored those of the US. Worse, the document stated that we owed Philippine independence to the grace of “The Great North American Nation.” That afternoon, Mabini made his first political enemy by replacing Ambrosio Rianzares Bautista, author of the declaration of independence, as Aguinaldo’s principal adviser.

Months later, when Aguinaldo submitted Mabini’s appointment as [President] Chief Justice of the Supreme Court to the Malolos Congress for confirmation, Rianzares Bautista seized the chance for revenge by exposing Mabini’s physical disability in a newspaper article. Writing under the thinly disguised pseudonym “Zerzarian,“ he asked: “How can a man without feet be appointed or elected to such high office?”

To which Mabini replied: “Does the job of Chief Justice of the Supreme Court require constant walking? No? Therefore, he can be a man without feet, as long as he possesses the brains and able hands for the office.” Not content with that, Mabini gave the dagger a few twists before pulling it out. In an open letter to “Zerzarian,” Mabini, writing under the pseudonym “Paralitico,” said: “Being assured that old age produces in definite persons a sickness at least as inconvenient as paralysis, I shall not bear you any grudges.”

-Mabini: Conscience of the nation, Ambeth Ocampo [the open letter being referenced here is Mabini’s October 5, 1899 letter to Zersarian]

anyway, I love him

society6 | ko-fi | redbubble | twitter | deviantart

#apolinario mabini #philippine history #listen. listen to me. i love him. Love™ him. #I Am Always Thinking About Him #if i think about him for too long i get so emotional about literally everything ಥ_ಥ #im going back in time and strangling paterno with my bare fucking hands. aguinaldo too tbqh!!! #there's a line that a lot of people echo in texts about machiavelli echo regarding him as a sort of prophet: that but mabini :| #i feel so sad about it too. like. man. what the fuck has this country come to. our revolutionaries fought and bled and died for us #and look at what happened :\ anyway lino brocka was right about the marcoses etc. read mabini's work. fuck the fascists.

[bewby]

.

#unmmmm i'm like Feeling so fucking Bad and i'm thinking sbout how ** ** will meet *** *** ********** tomorrow and i just want to DIE 🤣🤣🤣 #and it sucks cause i can't do anytjing about it like my heart is Being Ripped in half and i talked to him yesterday and i cried so much #because i still love him and he's my soulmate but it's like 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Ahshhyyhhaha. it's hopeless now. he has someone else #bur he told me too that. he wished so badly it could've worked out #and we talked about times we felt comforted by eschother. and about how we wished it coould've worked out. and like #how will i even work tomorrow knowing he's IN MY COUNTRY but it's because hr will see someone else. Hahsucuuddjshshshshhs. oh my god #i wanna die it all really sucks. last night we literally told eachother we only think We understand eachother deeply like that #and it's like we have our own language and no matter what Nobody seems to understand us like we do with eachother #it's so sad. that it's ending like this #there's so many bad things about our relationship but also so many good things too but the bad is too much. god #and with him i feel so unstable too i can't explain it i neeed to figure myself out first but i wish i could do it with him #god life is so diffiuclt. man

[forlix]

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative, alternating perspectives

warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia. again, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED.

warnings (cont'd.)・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack. alcohol is consumed. lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication. latter half is just kind of sad in general tbh but what do u expect from a fic based off alex turner lyrics

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?” 

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause. 

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path. 

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.” 

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there. 

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.” 

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour. 

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

 “Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?” 

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall. 

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze. 

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter. 

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds. 

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session. 

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete. 

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person. 

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe. 

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels. 

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you. 

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand. 

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system. 

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod. 

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?” 

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane. 

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

#hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #skz x reader #hyunjin smut #skz smut #k-labels #hyunjin imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #hyunjin fluff #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #hyunjin scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids #hyunjin #*writing #*oneshot

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Just Friends, Chapter One:

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ ONLY, mutual pining, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 34), angst??, masturbation (m))

wc: 2k

joel masterlist | series masterlist

Joel feels weak when he sees you.

That’s the best word for it. Weak. A complete lack of control—of power. Logic and reason are nothing but incoherent mumbles in the background every time you’re in the same room as him, even worse when you look into his eyes and speak his name.

He hadn’t felt this sort of tug towards someone in years, and the unfamiliar sensation of needing to simply see you at least once a day in order to function properly was beginning to consume him. He didn’t know what to do to rid himself of this infatuation, avoiding you was impossible and so was getting closer thanks to that 30-something year old patrol ranger you called your boyfriend.

He watched the two of you together as though it was his job. He watched the way you seemed to keep him at an arm’s length when the two of you were out together, always sandwiching yourself between your friends rather than beside the man you were supposed to love.

He couldn’t help but wonder what the two of you were like in private.

It couldn’t be a very passionate affair, that much he knew. Real passion wasn’t so easily concealed. It was consuming, drawing you like a magnet to your partner, burrowing beneath your skin, creating an itch to be near them—to be touching them. It couldn’t be an affair of passion.

Just now, he’s sat in his usual seat in the corner of the bar, his back pressing to the padded walls of the booth, his hand holding a crystal glass filled with whiskey, his brows drawn together, his eyes locked on the back of your head as you ordered a drink, your friend next to you. Joel wants to stand up, walk over, and offer to buy your drink right in front of him just to see the look on your face.

Would you tell him to fuck off? Or would you say yes?

The laugh you let out in response to something your boyfriend whispers into your ear stops Joel from finding out.

“God, I need a drink,” Ellie sighs as she emerges from nowhere, her backpack being shrugged onto the floor as she sits down across from Joel.

“Tough day learnin’ your ABC’s?” he quips, his tone still flat from the war jealousy was waging inside of his head.

“Ha-ha,” she replies, just as dry. She knocks her knuckles on the wooden table as she watches his eyes drift back to you, now seated at a table just five or so feet away from him—too close for his comfort. Downing his drink, he shifts his eyes back to Ellie in time to catch her chuckling at him.

“What?” he asks, tilting his head at her as though he were begging her not to read him as easily as she does.

“Nothing,” she shakes her head and laughs again before reaching over the table to swig the finger of whiskey left inside Joel’s glass.

“Hey,” he calls as he catches her mid sip, stealing the glass back. “They got rules about kids drinkin’, you know that. You itchin’ for another lecture from Maria about followin’ the rules?”

“No,” she replies. “It’s a bullshit rule anyway.”

“No, it ain’t,” he sighs as your laughter fills the room again, his chest panging causing him to physically wince. “I’m ready to go home. You comin’ or you stayin’?”

“Staying,” she says, grabbing her backpack and setting it on the table. “Have homework to finish and your sad country music being blared through the house isn’t going to help keep me focused.”

“Don’t disrespect my sad country music,” he warned playfully as he stood up with a grunt, finishing the little whiskey left in his glass in one gulp. “I’ll see ya back at home by curfew.”

“About that…” Ellie looked up at Joel with a hopeful smile. “Dina invited me over to spend the night—“

“Dina can spend the night at ours,” he argued, that protective streak of his making it’s usual appearance.

“Dina and I don’t wanna watch you drink and sing along to George Jones, dude,” she replied, frowning up at him until he broke.

“Fine. But you’re back in time for breakfast tomorrow.” Ellie grinned as she nodded at him, his eyes rolling and a chuckle escaping his chest. “Spoiled.”

As Joel starts to make his exit, he stops at the bar to deliver his empty glass and pay off his bill. That’s where you find him.

“Hey,” you start, hoping to conceal your deeply hidden crush on the older man with friendliness. Joel’s head turns to you so quickly you swear you hear his neck crack, his unreadable eyes locking on yours as though you were some sort of apparition he was almost certain wasn’t actually there. “I just wanted to come over. Say hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, choked and unprepared. Clearing his throat, he tips his head towards your table. “I saw you were with your friends, otherwise I would’a came over and said somethin’.”

“You can always come over and say something,” you assure, fighting the urge to bat your eyes at him as you give him a smile. The man whose coat you’re wearing lingers in the back of your mind as you stare at the man you’ve wanted since he arrived.

“How’s the new fence treatin’ ya?” he asks, a smile creeping onto his face as he leans a shoulder onto the bar and faces you. You think back to the weekend he spent building your white picket fence last month, free of charge. The way his arms looked in a t-shirt as he sawed away at the wood still makes you dizzy.

“Well, it’s still upright so…you must’ve done a good enough job on it,” you offer with a smirk, earning the slightest of chuckles. You always wondered why everyone seemed to think he didn’t have a sense of humor, he seemed to find you funny enough. “I, uh, also came over to invite you over to my place tomorrow evening.”

You watch as Joel’s brow lifts with interest.

“Oh yeah? You throwin’ a party or somethin’?” he asks.

“My birthday,” you shrug. “Figured I’ve gone twenty years without celebrating it, might as well.”

“That’s what this place is supposed to be about,” he says. “Doin’ normal things again.”

“Exactly,” you smile, ignoring the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when he mimicks it. “So, can I count you in?”

“Long as you got somethin’ to drink.” You laugh and nod in reassurance. “Well, I’m in, then.”

“Alright, I’ll let you escape before someone else comes up and tries to talk to you,” you offer, reaching your hand over to touch his arm. Joel looks down at the contact before meeting your eyes again, something unreadable lingering in his dark irises that makes you flustered enough to pull your hand away. “I’ll see you.”

“See ya,” he replies, quiet as he taps the counter with his knuckles before turning and walking off. Your eyes couldn’t help but lower to his fist as it hung by his side, clenching and unclenching. With a subtle but deep breath, you turn around and walk back to your table—back to your boyfriend and all of his perfection that bores you beyond belief.

“Why did you go up to him?” Josie, a friend of yours, asks as you return to your spot at the table and reach for your beer to wash down the lingering desire.

“I invited him to my party,” you replied, shrugging as you gave her a confused look. “What?”

“Babe,” your boyfriend, Will, chuckles. “He’s…old.”

“And an ass,” Josie adds. You roll your eyes at them, knowing that neither of them ever had a real conversation with Joel, making their opinion of him mute. “Did he say yes?”

“Yes,” you chuckle, amused by the shock on their faces. “We’re friends!”

“Since when?” Josie asks with a hearty laugh.

“Since always,” you reply with a shrug before continuing, “I helped show him around when he got here since I’m right across the street.” Josie looks to Will and then Will looks to you, a look of amused confusion on his handsome face. “He’s a nice guy when you get to know him.”

“Maybe, but he’s also old enough to be our father,” Will argues. You roll your eyes at the reality of the age gap between you and your secret crush, twenty-two years to be exact.

“There are only so many people our age in Jackson, honey,” you say, irritation thick in your tone. “And besides, just because he’s older means I shouldn’t be friendly to him? We’re just gonna start shunning every person in Jackson above what, fifty?”

“You know what,” Will starts, reaching his hand over to rub your back, his warm touch only making you feel colder. “You’re right. We’ll be friendly to him too. Okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, lifting your beer up to your lips, wishing more than anything that the man touching you was someone else.

Joel’s in bed, his drunk thoughts centering around you. Around the way you smiled up at him as though you had no clue that his heart was beating out of his chest. Maybe you didn’t, but how could you not notice his sweaty palms, the nervous twitch of his lips when you forced a smile onto his face?

He was sure he was going to lose it completely when your hand came to rest on his arm. He wanted to run and at the same time wanted to get closer, to feel you too. But, the falter in your smile once his eyes met yours and your hand leaving his arm so abruptly it hurt grounded him back to reality. The one in which you were a taken woman and he was a man twenty years older.

It makes him feel sick when he tries not to think about you, so he doesn’t bother as he reaches his hand over his briefs and grips his swelling girth in an attempt to soothe the throbbing ache there. He grunts as he strokes himself through the fabric, just enough to build himself up slowly.

He thinks of you. He thinks of that weekend he built your fence. He thinks about the way you looked in the sun, the green grass beneath you as you sat out on the lawn and kept him company. He thinks about your legs, bare in the summer heat, your denim shorts cut short enough to make him turn red when you rolled over to lay on your stomach.

As he rubbed his thumb over the now weeping head of his cock, he imagined what it would be like to take those shorts off of you. To lay claim to what lies underneath. He moans as he imagines the sounds he’d pull from you.

Pulling his briefs down enough that his cock was springing free, he licks his hand and grips himself at the base, another choked moan slipping free as his fist glides up and then down again, over and over.

He wonders what you’re like in bed, how you like it, if you’d let him take control or demand it for yourself. It didn’t really matter, he remembers, not when he’d never have the chance of finding out.

When he cums, he groans, his fist stroking up and down, gathering his spend to help ease the glide of his hand until he’s finally had his fill. With a sigh, he lets his head fall back against his pillow, his eyes on the ceiling fan spinning above him.

“Get a fuckin’ grip,” he curses himself.

It doesn’t work.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller reader insert #joel miller tlou #just friends

[xfgpng]

“𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞”

— : [nsfw] slight angst, smut, fluff, pet names, fingering + getting together

(tw.// kidnapping and auctioning of real people as a plot device.)

— : [ wc ] : 6.1k

a/n :: this is not stockholm syndrome at all. their relationship is and will be 100% consensual. i think it’s pretty obvious that it isn’t but it’s better to just address that.

she has always made sure to do right by her father. y/n knew his career was important and while her mother was out the country on vacation with her girls, he insisted y/n join him for a fancy dinner party.

she had to dress up and look good so she didn’t embarrass him or their family name. it was a simple matter and she enjoyed the new clothing.

this time it was a beautiful silk red dress that stopped at her ankles with a slit up the right side.

“you don’t look all that excited for this party” yuzuha sighs but she helps her fix your outfit and makeup.

“he parades me around like some .. trophy” she scoffs, “father feels the need to brag to everyone about me but he forgets that he was barely around, too busy with work”

“i wish you’d move in with me” yuzuha says gently, “hakkai has moved in with mitsuya now so i have the extra space”

“yuzu—”

“y/n you’re 21 now” she says, “you don’t have to do everything they tell you to do. you need to live for yourself”

y/n knew she was right but there was no arguing against whatever her parents wanted. they could’ve abandoned her but at least she had her nannies and everything she could’ve dreamed of.

she felt that she owed them this much.

“think about it okay?” yuzuha smiles, “and please, chifuyu really worries about you so don’t ignore his texts”

y/n grin up at her as she reaches for the lipgloss to finish up her makeup.

“maybe i like playing hard to get” y/n tease and yuzuha laughs, flicking her forehead.

going to these parties were never really her thing but this one was different, he made sure to remind her just how important this night was for him and their families entire fortune.

the limo was parked right out front and he slowly helped her get in, which was good because she felt her arm catch onto something. a tiny pin prick could be felt as she made her way inside and then everything went black.

the sounds of people talking outside jostled her into consciousness. she’s still in the limo, she doesn’t even remember falling asleep but the slight pain on her side had her much more aware now.

“dad?” she call out, stumbling out the car. she hated the stupid dress she wore because it felt shorter now and the heels were uncomfortable against the gravel.

“why are we at the back?” y/n ask, confused. “the entrance is—”

“take her inside and make sure she doesn’t make too much of a scene” her father tells one of the bodyguards

she look at him in confusion and the grip on her arm is almost bruising.

“dad? what’s going on?” she tries to pull away but the taller, much larger man pulls her along and she sees the sad look on her fathers face and she knows this isn’t a regular dinner party.

there are other women around her age, looking as beautiful as she does but even more afraid. they’re all dressed up like they were attending a fancy dinner party but they all had the same black collar around their necks with a colour in the middle.

“what the fuck is going on?” y/n ask, eyes widening when the men in the room force them all into pretty glass boxes. as if they were about to be put on display.

“if you don’t want to be sedated, you’d better behave and do as they tell you” a girl whispers. she looks younger than y/n is, meaning she could be 19 and y/n feel an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.

her own father was about to sell her off. it had to be a nightmare and maybe she was still in the limo, passed out from the lack of sleep from all the school work at college.

the lights dim and then the curtains are drawn. there are women and men all around the room, rich people with money to waste and she felt dirty as she felt eyes on her.

“oh” sanzu chuckles, leaning back as he grabs another flute of champagne, “they have new faces”

“how sickening” ran rolls his eyes. he had no reason to be here but rindou was getting restless and mikey suggested they follow a lead on their recent customer who owed them a lot of money.

“he’s in the front” rindou nods, “he’s not with his wife so perhaps his here to buy”

“not quite” sanzu smirks, “look towards the stage”


mikey clenches his jaw as he sees what sanzu is talking about. none of them could be considered good people with morals but family was important and so was loyalty.

“what am i missing?” ran asks dryly

“pretty little thing in red” sanzu sighs

rindou grins when he sees her. she’s the prettiest one on stage, the red bringing out her eyes even from the distance. she didn’t look scared like the other women were. she looked angry and hurt?

his smile drops when he realises what’s going on.

“that’s his daughter” rindou says

“she is” sanzu shakes his head, “disgusting pig will do anything for money, even going this far”

“is he planning to use this money to pay us back?” ran asks

“i want her” rindou says

“rin you—”

“i want her” he says more firmly, eyes never leaving her as she stands uncomfortably on stage behind the pretty glass.

he has always had a special kind of love for dolls, porcelain was his most precious treasure but he needed to have her.

“he’ll owe us” sanzu smirks, “he doesn’t know we’re here so i say we make him squirm a little”

“do your worst” mikey says dryly and leaves with ran out the back.

ran isn’t sure he wants to leave his younger brother in a room with beautiful women in glass cases but he’s never really collected humans before. perhaps he was playing around .

“number 4!” the host calls out and she feels her blood run cold. this wasn’t a nightmare. her own father was really auctioning her off to a bunch of rich people who wouldn’t even see her as a person.

she felt sick and resisted the urge to run, she knew she wouldn’t get far with the amount of guards surrounding the place and she could see a weird looking man standing nearby with a briefcase. she had a feeling there was something in there that would be used on her if she didn’t cooperate.

everything feels like a blur as the host introduces her. she can hear him speaking about her achievements, her family and where she comes from. they have no shame admitting who her father is and the old bastard has the nerve to look smug as the people in the room cheer for him.

she felt like throwing up, head a little dizzy and she realises then that he had drugged her on her way into the limo. she forces her poker face and looks straight ahead. she would not cry in front of these people and she’d never give him the satisfaction.

did her mother know what he was doing? did she go away on purpose?

she sees two men approaching her father, one with pink hair and pretty scars and another much more stoic man, his purple hair catching her eye before she looks away again.

“good evening” sanzu grins

“what—”

“don’t try anything stupid or we’ll shoot you” sanzu warns, smiling brightly.

“you sell your own child?” rindou asks, “do you have any shame?”

“it’s not what—”

“here’s what i think happened” rindou cuts him off, “you thought you’d made some money tonight, have someone have their way with her and then when you’re done paying mikey off, you get her back and act like nothing happened?”

“rich people love to throw their kids in therapy anyway, isn’t that right?” sanzu adds

“well tonight, things are going to go very differently” sanzu pats his back, “we are going to put in the highest bid for her”

“no please don’t do this” he begs, “she’s my only child you don’t understand”

“i didn’t ask” sanzu scoffs, “you’re just another sorry motherfucker”

“you better find another way to get the boss his money or it’s not gonna end well for your sweet little girl or your wife” sanzu whispers, “she’s in macau isn’t she?”

he swallows hard and tries his best to smile when he sees another couple walk by and greet him.

“this is what happens to people like you” rindou downs the last of his whiskey and walks towards the host.

they knew who bonten was and no one would try and outbid them.

she looked scared now that she was alone with them. she kept trying to pull her dress up despite it not revealing too much. sanzu found her to be very pretty but rindou couldn’t stop looking at her pretty brown eyes.

“what’s your name pretty girl?” rindou asks, “we’re not going to hurt you”

“y/n” she says, “why did you—”

“buy you?” sanzu asks from the drivers seat

“your father is a very bad man y/n” rindou explains, “he owes us a lot of money and tonight, he was here to sell you off to pay his debts”

her eyes widen and she allows herself to cry, covering her face as she leans against the car door. she didn’t even feel like she was in her body.

“my name is sanzu” sanzu says, “and that’s rindou, he really liked you”

“do you always do this?” she asks

“no” rindou says immediately, “in our line of work, we have different departments and we don’t deal with these things”

“but you do” y/n says, scoffing as she holds her arms around herself.

“the women who choose to work for us come on their own” sanzu says, “it’s easier than having a pimp on the streets”

“am I going to be like that?” she asks softly

“never” rindou takes her hand, “no, that’s not why you’re here”

“you’ll stay with rin for now” sanzu pulls up in front of a huge house, “his maids will assist you with whatever you need while we do our jobs”

“are you going to kill him?” she looks at rindou, “my father”

“he knew what he was getting into” rindou explains, “it’s not up to me what happens”

“it’s been a long day” sanzu yawns, “go inside and sleep it off”

“what about my cell phone?” she asks, “or my bag?”

“it’s here” rindou says, “i’ll be keeping it for now”

“as long as you behave, there’s no reason to be scared” he adds and she doesn’t say anything. she can see they both have guns and she’d rather not try her luck and when she didn’t even know where she was.

his house is huge, filled with paintings and it was almost haunting. he guides her through the house and into a large bedroom.


she feels scared and can’t help but start crying again. she didn’t want this and she didn’t want him to touch her either.

“this isn’t my room” he says, “you’ll stay here and if you need something, you’ll call for me and no one else”

“you’re not —”

“despite what people think, we’re not disgusting enough to sleep with women against their consent, go to sleep”


she’s too stunned to say anything as she walks out and locks the door. she knows her friends will be worried about her and she doesn’t even know what she’ll say to them.

she couldn’t tell them the truth, it was far too scary but she swore she saw a familiar face last night. he looked shocked to see her there.

there’s no doubt he would tell yuzuha, their relationship had improved over the years. maybe they could help her?

she cried herself to sleep that night, dreaming of running away from home, far away from the city and far away from the family she thought she knew.

“are you sure you saw her there?” yuzuha is pacing the kitchen, “this can’t be right”

“can’t we go to the police?” hakkai asks

“no” taiju says, “she wasn’t bought by some random rich guy”

“rindou won the auction” he adds and that has yuzuha panicking even more. what business did her best friend have with bonten?

“calm down” taiju says, “last night her old man sold her off, i heard he did some shady business with bonten and ran with their money.. she’s safe for now, just let me find out more before you try anything stupid”

“what will they do to her?” yuzuha asks, she’s trying to not cry but she can’t imagine anything good coming from this.

“nothing” taiju says, “they’ve never done any shit like this before, they’re playing a game and unfortunately her father got her involved”

“are you going to see them today?” hakkai asks, “maybe you could at least find out where she is”

“no promises but i can try” he sighs, “this is a lot bigger than any of us because no one crosses mikey and gets a slap on the wrist”

“he has to make an example” hakkai whispers, “even if it’s at her expense”

“I can’t promise that i’ll find anything out but trust that they won’t hurt her and y/n isn’t weak” taiju says, “let me handle this”


yuzuha nods, knowing she wouldn’t be able to do anything even if she tried to.

she wakes up a little disoriented, having fallen asleep in the red dress from the night before. she tries to remember where she is when the memories come crashing back like a wave.

she sits up fast, glancing around the otherwise empty room. the bed is huge but she can tell this room has never been used before. she doesn’t know if that makes her feel better.

the door opens and rindou enters. he’s changed from the night before and he hands her a bag with clothing and a towel.

“you can take a shower and change into something more comfortable” he says and when she finally stands, she notices the glass case to the side of the room.

“are those—”

“antiques” he grins, “i’m a .. collector”

she doesn’t know what he means by that but she can appreciate the fine china though she doesn’t know why he’d keep the tea sets locked up in a bedroom.

“you’ll come have breakfast with me once you’re ready” he says and she can tell it’s not a question.

“my phone” she says softly, “please, my friends they’ll worry”

“if you do as you’re told, you’ll get your phone back” rindou explains gently, “i don’t intend to keep you as a prisoner though you’d look beautiful all dolled up”

y/n doesn’t ask what he means by that, following him into the on suite bathroom.

“this is your bathroom” rindou smiles, “you’ll be able to get new clothes and whatever else you may need but try and run from me and i won’t be so nice”

she nods and waits for him to leave before she takes a deep breath, staring at her reflection in the mirror. her face is puffy from crying herself to sleep.

the entire night still doesn’t feel real but she can’t get the look of her fathers face out her head. her was willing to sell her off to anyone that would pay a high price to pay off his own debts. she was starting to realise she never really knew her own father.

the warm water relaxes her enough to let her guard down and she allows herself a moment to think about rindou. she didn’t understand what the man wanted from her. he didn’t want to sleep with her or maybe he did but he wasn’t going to push her.


he was being nice when he didn’t have to be. she supposes this might just be a lesson for her father or whoever else tried to cross bonten.

if she really thought about it, it might’ve been effective if she didn’t know all about bonten and the rumours she’s heard even at college.

she swallows hard. would she be able to go back to school after all this? she was sure some of the people there last night could’ve easily been parents to kids at her college and the thought has her running out the shower to throw up. her stomach was empty anyway.

“you can text your friends” rindou hands her the phone, “i don’t know what you’ll say but be careful, i don’t want to have to make an example out of your friends”

“that won’t be necessary” she says quickly, “thank you���

there are over 50 missed calls from Yuzuha alone and when she opens her text messages, she realises she doesn’t have to say a thing.

taiju was there and he told her.

she feels a knot in her stomach as she sends a quick message promising that she was fine and that she’d call whenever she could.

“what did he do?” y/n asks when she’s done drinking her juice, “my father…”

rindou sighs.

“you don’t think your father could run his business that successfully all these years without making some deal?” rindou asks, “do you remember when his business started getting successful?”

“he’s always been successful” y/n frowns, “but last year, he gave almost every single employee a bonus”

“which would’ve been bad for business if he couldn’t afford it right?” he asks and she nods slowly

“last year a friend of your fathers introduced him to my boss” rindou shrugs, “your old man had other interests outside finance”

“what do you mean?” y/n asks

“women” rindou grins

“no” she immediately shakes her head, “he wouldn’t”

“no?” rindou laughs, “and yet look where you are right now sweetheart”

she looks down at her empty plate and feels like crying again. she wasn’t sure how much more she could take before she really had a breakdown.

“don’t look so sad baby” rindou pats her head as he walks behind her, “you’re far better off with me than that old man of yours”

she doesn’t know what to believe right now but she feels too tired to argue. she just sighs and stands to take her plate but he stops her.

“how about we go for a drive hm?” he says softly, “i have some things to do for my boss but i’m all yours”

she doesn’t want to think about the shiver that runs up her spine at his words or the way he smells so good from being this close.

“okay” she finds herself agreeing. it’s not like she has anything else to do because she was off from college for a while anyway and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to go back to her old life.

a life that seemed so distant now.

“where’s my daughter” he asks, slamming his hands on the table as ran lazes in his chair.

kakucho smirks as he watches the old bastard throw a fit.

“you weren’t this concerned about her last night” ran scoffs

“i had everything under control!” he says, “i knew the buyer-”

“you’re a sick fucking man” kakucho cuts him off, “selling your kid for a night for what? so you could pay off your debts?”

“i do what i have to for my family” he says angrily

“no, you do what you have to for yourself” ran rolls his eyes, “you’ll never see her again so you better just focus on getting mikey his money or your wife won’t be getting on that plane home tomorrow night”

“she’s just starting her life” he begs, “please,i’ll do anything”

“you should’ve thought about that before you paraded her around like some pretty little prize” kakucho moves from where he had been standing.

“we’re done here” ran says dryly, “see yourself out”

“i’ll go to the cops” he threatens but they just laugh at him. they were used to empty threats.

the drive seemed to make her feel less uneasy around rindou. he wasn’t very talkative but she liked the quite anyway. she didn’t feel like talking either and when they arrived home.

he still had business to do so she found herself walking around the house. it was beautiful but she wondered how he stayed by himself aside from his maids. it felt too big and cold for just one person.

at the end of the hallway, she stumbled upon a large oakwood door. it was bigger than all the other doors. she hated how curious she was as she slowly pushed the door open.

the room was covered from top to bottom in glass. it felt as though she was intruding but she slowly entered, eyes widening in shock when she saw all the dolls.

porcelain dolls of all shapes and sizes in beautiful glass cases. she gasped when she felt someone stand behind her, her back pressed firmly against his chest.

“i see you’ve found this room” he chuckles, “beautiful isn’t it?”

she wasn’t sure she’d call it beautiful. it was a lot more scary than she’d like to admit but she was also fascinated by it all.

“why—”

“i’ve told you before, i liked to collect pretty things” he gently places a hand on her waist

“like me?” she finds herself asking despite herself.

“i’ve never collected humans if that’s what you’re asking” he laughs, “though you are very pretty and i guess last night, i found myself wanting to keep you too”

“what about now?” she turns to face him

“i don’t want to see you the same way i see these antiques” he cups the side of her face, “if your father complies, you’ll be free to go”

“and if he doesn’t?” she whispers

he just chuckles, lightly patting her cheek.

“i have to go see mikey” he smiles, “behave yourself”

“are you going to lock me in the room again?” she asks and he sighs

“no” he shakes his head, “you’re free to roam, just don’t run from me because i will find you”

“i want to see my friends” y/n says

he runs his hands through his hair.

“okay” he agrees, “but remember what i said”

“thank you” she says, sounding relieved.

“and keep your phone on” he adds and she nods

yuzuha nearly drops her glass in the sink when y/n walks into the kitchen.

“y/n?!” she grabs her into a tight hug and y/n laughs, a little startled.

“what’s going on?” yuzuha asks, “how did you—”

“you’re squeezing me” y/n pats her arm, “i’m fine, let me go so i can explain”

“is it true?” yuzuha asks, “did he do anything to you?”

“he didn’t do anything to me” y/n promises, “he let me come see you so maybe this isn’t even about me right now”

“your dad… he really did that shit?” yuzuha takes a hold of y/n’s hand

“yeah” she laughs bitterly, “it feels like a horrible joke”

“so you’re just gonna … stay?” yuzuha asks

“for now, yeah” y/n shrugs, “i think it’s better to just do what he asks”

“did you … meet them all?” yuzuha asks after a while, handing y/n a glass of water.

“no” she shakes her head, “just the brothers, their boss and sanzu”

“he gave you one of his cars?” yuzuha looks outside

“it’s probably because it’ll be easy to track me” y/n laughs, “i could still technically escape”

“so why don’t you?” yuzuha can’t help but ask

y/n doesn’t know how to answer that question so she looks down at the glass in her hands. was it weird that she felt safer in rindou’s house than her own?

“i can’t go home and he knows to look for me here” y/n shakes her head, “word would get out that i escaped and he’ll come here first”

“i also don’t know if my mother is involved or not so they could easily get her too” she adds, “it’s just better to stay with rindou, at least he’s nice”

“nice?” yuzuha huffs, “y/n don’t tell me you’re crushing”

“crushing?” y/n scoffs, “i met the guy at an auction where i was one of the prizes, it’s not exactly a meet cute situation”

yuzuha laughs. at least y/n could make light of a serious situation.

“you came back” rindou says and she’s surprised at how shocked he seems to be.

“did you think i’d run?” she asks, giving him his keys back.

“i gave you an out” he admits, “this has nothing to do with you”

“i don’t..want to go back there” she says, “my fat— that man, auctioned me off like a piece of meat.. he could do that again without hesitation”

“hey it’s okay” rindou says gently, “can i?”


she nods and he pulls her in for a hug. he pats her head gently. he wasn’t sure what he was meant to be doing. he never had this kind of intimacy with his past relationships. it was always about the sex or business, nothing more and yet here he stood comforting the daughter of the man that crossed them.

“take a nap if you need to” he tells her, “dinner will be ready later”

“thank you” she sighs

“do you want to let her go now?” sanzu smirks, “that’s interesting”

“i don’t” rindou admits, “but i didn’t think it would get like this”

sanzu laughs. it was fun seeing rindou like this. the man was never girl crazy but he had his fair share of fun but rindou haitani didn’t care for anything other than his brother and work.

“word on the street is her father hired some low life gang bangers” sanzu grins, “think he’s trying to get her back by kidnap”

“what does mikey want to do?” rindou asks

“nothing” sanzu shrugs, “we’ll wait and see what the old fucker does”

“hm” rindou nods, reaching for his drink.

“isn’t glass dolls so much easier to deal with?” sanzu asks, “they can’t talk back and they don’t cause you to feel anything”

“and you have complete ownership” he adds

“i don’t want to own her” rindou scoffs, “not in the way you think”

“you have a soft spot for the girl” sanzu laughs loudly, tipping his head back.

rindou thinks his friends is so much prettier with his mouth shut.

y/n finds it harder and harder to sleep. a week has gone by but it feels longer and there’s been no calls or texts from her mother either. she’s starting to realise they must’ve been planning this for a very long time.

how else would her father know about that type of auctions? he had to be apart of it. she feels sick to her stomach that laying down only makes her feel dizzy and nauseous.

“you’re still awake” rindou says when he sees her in the kitchen. she startles and he grins, standing next to her as she pours him a glass of wine as well.

he likes how comfortable she seems to be in his space and that could pose as a problem because how would he be fine with her leaving?

he leans closer and if she notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“you haven’t been sleeping well” he says and she sighs. it wasn’t like she could deny it.

“would you like me to keep you company?” rindou asks

“rin—”

“i’ll just lay with you until you fall asleep” he adds, “i meant what i said, i won’t touch you unless it’s what you want”

“okay” y/n nods and lets him take her hand, leading her to the room she’s been staying in.

“just close your eyes for me darling” he smiles, “you’re safe with me”

she finds that she believes him. his warm next to her and she falls asleep.

“he gave you his card to go shopping?” yuzuha laughs, “oh my”

“it’s not like that” y/n says, “i don’t have anything of my own and i don’t think i’ll get it right now”

“have you spoken to chifuyu?” yuzuha asks, “he’s been asking about you”

“i texted him this morning” y/n shrugs, “i don’t want anyone making a big deal about this right now”

y/n walks around the clothing isle to look at dresses when she feels 2 men come up behind her.

“you scream and I’ll shoot your friend” he says, “walk forward and don’t make a scene”

she swallows hard and nods quickly. she doesn’t know what’s going on, was this bonten? was this rindou’s plan all along?

she wills herself not to cry as she walks out the store, she doesn’t look back even when she hears yuzuha call after her.

her phone vibrates in her pocket but she knows she can’t reach for it. none of this feels real.

“your fathers been expecting you y/n” the other man says, “get into the car”

father?

when she gets inside the black suv, she feels like throwing up. her father looks far too pleased to see her and he takes her hand and squeezes.

“you’re safe now dear, don’t cry anymore”

she hates him.

“i didn’t know who else to call” yuzuha cries, “one moment we were shopping the next she’s walking out the store with two men dressed in black suits”

taiju looks over at mikey who clenches his jaw. he looks angry, this wasn’t them.

“what’s going on?” yuzuha asks, “is this her father?”

“i’ll handle it” rindou says

“rindou” mikey says but rindou ignores him

“i said i’ll handle it” rindou walks out with ran following close behind.

“you aren’t hurt, are you?” her father asks but she doesn’t answer him. she won’t even look at him as the guards force her to sit down in his office.

he dismisses them and he sighs.

“you need to understand that i do what i must to take care of our family” he says

“you do what you must to take care of yourself” y/n scoffs, “you’re disgusting”

“you say that but i did everything for you” he laughs, “how else would you have everything you’ve ever wanted?”

“your mother was too soft on you” he adds dryly, “this was character building and you’ll do right to remember everything i do for you”

“what—”

“you’ll do as you’re told” he cuts her off, “i have spoken to a friend in italy and his son is around your age”

“excuse me?” y/n widens her eyes, “you’re still trying to sell me off?”

“don’t be so dramatic” he rolls his eyes, “it’ll be a legal marriage”

“i hate you” y/n stands and tries to leave but he grabs her arm.

before she can yank her arm away or scream, the sound of gun shots rings loud outside. she can hear the commotion and shouting before her father knocks her out.

the last thing she hears is the sound of the door opening and another gunshot.

her head is spinning when she opens her eyes. she feels the softness of her pillows and she’s got a cold cloth on her forehead.

“y/n?” rindou whispers

he dims the lights when she squints, sitting up slowly. she looks around the room and she feels herself crying.

“hey, it’s okay baby it’s just me” rindou sits beside her and she moves closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“it’s okay, you’re okay now” he says softly, “he’ll never hurt you again”

“did you…” she trails off

“i wanted to but i didn’t” rindou admits, wrapping his arms around her, “i did shoot him in the arm but he’ll be fine”

“he wanted to send me to italy” she sniffs, “he was never worried about me”

“i’m sorry” rindou says because he doesn’t know what else to say. he wasn’t good at comforting people but he’d try for her.

“do you want —”

“please just… kiss me” she says, “i want to be distracted for a while”

“your adrenaline is high” he pats her head, kissing her cheek, “you don’t want this”

“rindou i’m not a child” she frowns, “i want this”

“how long?” he asks

“when you stayed with me the other night” she says, “i think i started liking you before then but i do”

“this situation isn’t exactly ideal” he sighs

“i don’t remember a time where a situation was ideal in my life” she scoffs, “especially after everything he said to me”

she did feel like her life was a lie, everything until now.

“rin” she whispers and he caves, leaning in to kiss her softly. he’s been thinking about this since the first night he saw her but it was so much better.

her tiny gasps and the way she wraps her arms around his neck makes him feel dizzy.

he pushes her gently onto the bed and she’s never been more happier to be wearing a skirt. it’s a pretty skirt that rindou had complimented her on.

“so fucking beautiful” he groans, spreading her legs further to fit himself in the middle.

she was far pretty than any doll he’s ever collected and her skin was soft and warm. she was real and all his.

“tell me what you want baby” he grins, “I’ll give you whatever you want”

“i just want you” she smiles shyly up at him and he’s imagined this moment far too often to ruin it.

“you have me” he smirks, running his fingers up her thigh before he reaches her panties.

“lift your hips” he playfully hits her thigh, “i’ll make you feel real good”

she does as she’s told and the next moment she finds herself flipped over onto her stomach. he doesn’t give her a moment to breathe before he slips his middle finger into her pussy.

she whines and he bites back a loud groan. she was so tight and wet, he needed to keep his composure because he had no desire to hurt her.

not unless it’s what she wanted and since this would be the first of many, he planned to make her remember this moment forever.

“so good” y/n moaned when she felt him add a second finger. he leaned down to bite down on her ass before kissing his way between her pretty legs.

“such a pretty pussy” he moans before he slips his tongue between his fingers.

she cries out, arching her back and he uses his free hand to spank her. he then grips her firmly so she can’t move away and begins a slow rhythm of eating her out and fingering her open.

“want more rin” she slurs, “please”

she's never been this open during sex, has never felt this good before and she knows she doesn’t want the feeling to go.

“so impatient” he chuckles but he’s already undressing. he wants to take his time with her but he can feel how hard he is and he knew he’d have enough time to explore.

right now, she wanted him and he’d be the perfect distraction for her.

“spread your legs a little more sweetheart” he says, rubbing his tip through her folds before pressing into her.

she bites down onto the pillow and he smirks. he knew he was big and thicker than most. this wasn’t the first time he’s had sex but he’s never had feelings for anyone before now and he feels lightheaded when he finally bottoms out.

“fuck” he grunts, “shit baby, keep still for me”

he could use the excuse that he just wants her to get used to the feeling but he’s the one that needs a moment. he didn’t want to embarrass himself but she felt so good around him that he couldn’t resist thrusting forward.

her moans are so pretty and she’s not shy to call his name over and over again.

“that’s it pretty girl” he says, “it’s all yours”

he feels her squeezing and clenching around him and it’s so hot and sticky that he can’t help but pull back a little to stare down at where he’s fucking into her.

they needed to be careful and they did have a lot to talk about but that could all wait.

“god baby, fuck yourself back on my dick” he groans, throwing his head back.

talking could wait, he wanted to focus on her and only her.

#[ 🪼 ] xfg writes #tokyo revengers rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #rindou haitani x you #rindou haitani x y/n #rindou smut #bonten rindou #bonten smut #bonten rindou haitani #bonten rindou smut #tokyorev rindou x you #tokyorev rindou x reader #tokyorev smut #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers rindou x you #tokyo revengers rindou x y/n

[animentality]

can I just talk about Godzilla Minus One and how it was absolutely fucking brilliant for a minute?

It centered around a disgraced kamikaze pilot who hesitated, who was scared to die, so sabotaged his own plane before he could fly out. and because he sabotaged his plane, a crew of engineers had to hang back at the base, to try and fix it.

and then of course, this being a Godzilla movie, Godzilla attacks. kills most of them, excluding him and an engineer, who immediately blames him. says that if he had just died, then the rest of them would still be alive too.

his "cowardice" saved his life, and he was haunted by it, ashamed of "betraying" his country simply by wanting to live.

he spent the whole movie struggling with survivors guilt and feeling like he let his country down just by continuing to breathe.

and he couldn't forget the men he saw die, and he can't escape memories of the war, because he's living in the shattered remains of Tokyo after it was bombed, the place he used to call home, where his community is gone and his family is dead, and there is no escaping the death and devastation.

and the people who are still living? they hate him. they blame him for the loss of the war. they blame him for not dying for them.

and because he's haunted by his past, he cannot live in the present.

the guilt of being alive is too tightly wound around his heart. it can't beat even once without him being reminded of all the people whose hearts were nothing but dust now, and the outcome of the war feels like it's solely laid upon his chest.

and that's all very heavy. and I cried.

but that wasn't what I cried at. Because it wasn't the hopelessness that had the most impact on me. it was the end of the movie, where he was given the choice to redeem himself. to die for his country this time, and save them from Godzilla.

and he said he was ready, he can do it this time, he will be the hero. he will lay down his life this time.

only...

...this time, the engineer, who called him a coward... designed his new plane for this mission. and he gave him an ejector seat.

and the movie says this:

"This country has treated life far too cheaply. Poorly armored tanks. Poor supply chains resulting in half of all deaths from starvation and disease. Fighter planes built without ejection seats and finally, kamikaze and suicide attacks. That's why this time I'd take pride in a citizen led effort that sacrifices no lives at all! This next battle is not one waged to the death, but a battle to live for the future."

And it's like...

Oh it's so corny, it's always corny, when the message of a story is simply, life is precious.

But I don't fucking care.

It was still brilliant. It still hits every time. That's what made me cry. Not the hopelessness or the sad things, but the way the movie could be so heavy... while also being hopeful. optimistic.

Everything about that movie was just so perfect. A Godzilla movie actually set immediately after WW2 is a genius idea. The post war devastation. The criticism of Japanese imperialism, the war, and the way it treated its own people, both at home and abroad. The condemnation of kamikaze attacks and the callous disregard for human life.

And the deeply human story, of a man who was afraid to live, after seeing so much death.

Choosing to die wasn't easy. But choosing to live was even harder.

#godzilla minus one #godzilla

[emmedoesntdomath]

it has occurred to me that this was supposed to be a parkner blog. so here’s some parkner thoughts. 

fun fact- harley’s a little gay boy from tennessee who grew up hearing that the devil came for kids like him who wanted to kiss the wrong person. so when harley moves to new york, he’s not immediately waving a pride flag. instead, he has a beat up leather jacket, an old car, and a smirk that could cut glass. peter is sold and practically swooning because hello, gorgeous. but he’s also like,,, harley’s from tennessee. what if he’s like, homophobic??? and not an ✨ally✨??? and then harley full on outs himself to an asshole who harasses peter on the street with an ‘I’m gay, dickface’ and just. punches him hard enough to break his nose. (peter is THIS close to proposing okay)

harley forgets everything. out of sight, out of mind. keys? gone. phone? poof. jacket? who? and peter’s memory is kind of shit, too, honestly, but karen’s memory is fucking golden (perks of being a computer) and she’ll remind peter to remind harley to grab his stuff. harley still doesn’t know peter has karen do it, so he just thinks his boyfriend’s awesome. peter’s not gonna correct him. 

peter doesn’t wear nail polish that often, but when harley casually (definitely not feeling casual internally, but that’s fine) mentioned that he was considering sometimes wearing it, peter went ALL OUT. like, he added color, he added glitter, he made his nails the biggest and brightest part of his being. harley called him an idiot, but he would always grin when he saw them, so peter considered it a win. 

harley likes country music. but only the country music from 70s-90s. the rest is absolute slander to him. 

(yes, I wrote a whole ass fic about that, and no, I’m not sorry.)

peter can’t draw for shit. he just can’t. harley swears by stick figures. (watch the insidious part two promo with ty. you’ll get what I mean.)

peter does unironically call himself biderman. harley calls him homophobic. 

harley’s defining emotion is offense and/or what he calls his ‘bitch, fucking excuse you?’ emotion, and he’s very proud of this fact. 

peter’s favorite color changes pretty consistently, but he’s really attached to his blue and red, especially when they’re together. 

harley’s is dark red (darker than peter’s), and gold. he will deny to his denying breath that it’s tony’s colors, because ‘why would I care about the old man? fuck off’

they aren’t allowed to have a dog, because new york (peter is so sad about this, okay), so harley just brought home a pet lizard one day. no warning. no call. peter asked zero questions and named her mrs. cheeto. 

#marvel #marvel mcu #mcu #mcu spiderman #spiderman #autistic spiderman #trans spiderman #biderman #bi peter parker #peter 3 #trans peter parker #peter parker #peter x harley #parley #parkner #harley keener #peter parker x harley keener #harley keener x peter parker #nwh #gay #gay spiderman #emme’s bad ideas

[heavens-aesthetic-kitchen]

Why the TF2 Defense Trio deserve more recognition

The people have spoken, I have decided to create an essay disguised as a post on this godforsaken website because it's a free country goddammit! (I would have done it either way lmaooo, I have a lot of shit to say about these maniacs) To start this formal essay glorified very serious shitpost, why should you as a tf2 fan care about these 3 men? They're so "boring" and there's not much going on with them. If ya took a second, let's pause with what was being said. YOU MUST BE OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND to think such thoughts, we must shake you out of cuckoo land by giving you an in-depth look into these three so that you understand where I'm coming from. Let's start in order:

Demoman:

After being in the fandom since 2019, there's always one character I always thought wasn't given much anything in the fandom at all. Even taking ships out of the equation, there's barely any fics I've that focus on Tavish Finneagan Degroot specifically that I've seen that isn't a compilation fic (I read a lot of x readers, don't judge me). Believe me, I checked ao3. I went through Demoman's tags and I tried very hard to filter a lot of the crossover and relationship tags, yet there's less of Demoman himself, than there's him just existing as a side character of a story. Which is honestly sad, I honestly think Demo is one of the more kinder mercs compared to a lot of the team. This man made friends with the BLU soldier, despite knowing that they were supposed to be killing each other. Sure, it's unclear whether or not Demo did actually go through with it and it's just a ruse, because the voicelines in WAR! don't have a set timeline. But I do think that Demo would have tried to keep his friendship with BLU soldier. He's very chill. I've never actually seen him get violent against his friends and family, despite being a drunkard. I honestly think he's one of the sweetest people in TF2, he takes good care of his mom and haunted sword lmaoooo. Jokes aside, he seems like a genuinely good man and I barely see anything that suggests he's sadistic. He's a chaotic and loud, but not bad. Not bad at all. The fact he can still do his job well, even after drinking so much that his body created a whole distillery, is even more impressive. He is damn good at what he does and works very hard. He's had multiple jobs, even as wee little lad. Despite what people think of him, the fact he's getting paid 5 million dollars a year, is proof he knows what he's doing. He loves his job and couldn't bear the thought of not working. I feel like his backstory isn't talked about enough in the fandom either. When you think about it, it's kinda fucked up that he was put in an orphanage by his biological parents until he was in the right age to be blowing people up. Not only that, his eye socket was haunted by the Bombinomicon so that every halloween a giant eye would manifest, attacking him and his friends. Even Medic couldn't help him and instead resorting to scooping the part of Demo's brain where he remembered so he would stop asking. He most likely has a lot of stories for you, I see him as the type that has a lot to say. His past is the most fleshed out and complete out of all the mercs, which I really appreciate, you can do a lot more with him. Also another thing, during Unhappy Returns, he took the time to reassure Soldier that he wouldn't think he's a civilian. He didn't brush Soldier's worries aside and instead comforted him. I wish I had a lot more to say about Demo because I am baffled that he isn't being gushed about as a potential partner. He has the excitement and like zero baggage. A thing I also wanna point out is that he seems to be insecure of the fact he's a black scottish man with only one eye during Meet The Demoman. I may be reading into things a bit too much, but it makes me wanna be like "NOOOO don't talk about yourself like that, bro. You're so cute UGHHH" Also also he's handsome. Sure looks can be subjective, but I still think Demo has a face I would kiss hehe. He looks great with his beard and his cheeky ass smile. GOD I could gush about him all day, but I have to move on rip.

Heavy:

Honestly, I'm having a hard time just finding the words to describe this amazing man without giving him the respect he deserves. But I'll sure try. Heavy has had a difficult life and I've always admired how strong he was. Not just of his muscles, but he endured one of the toughest situations and still kept moving forward with his life even though it was traumatizing. You see why I'm even having a hard time talking about him? I can't really get down into the weeds, without getting serious for a min. I feel like the fandom doesn't give him much credit for being able to deal with so much. He's the rock for his family after his father disappeared (atp I think he's dead, which is the cherry on top this depressing sundae) and I wouldn't doubt that he would be the same for his team. He's a man of few words, but that makes him all the more intriguing. Just because this man has a lot of brawn does not mean he's dumb at all. Despite how he acts in the battlefield, Heavy is observant and clever. Although, it's implied that Spy being Scout's dad is an open secret between the mercs and Miss Pauling, the fact he figured it out without saying it directly must mean he has a lot more going on. He's also educated, getting a phD in Russian Literature. It's not a STEM program, but he actually got a doctorate and went to college, that's a lot more than half of what the mercs did lmaooo. Also he has a bit of a softie side, not just for his mom and sisters, but also other creatures as well. I respect him so much for avoiding violence against those dogs during the Showdown comic. Not only shows what an absolute sweetheart he is, but also how much he's able to think quickly on his feet. Heavy is very direct and blunt, I don't see him as the type to lie about his feelings. I appreciate that he doesn't feel the need to sugarcoat anything, he'll get the job done and he ain't playing. There's no fluff, he knows what he wants and that's to rev up Sasha and ram through sons of bitches without any worries.

I feel like I wanna point out, his story seems the most unexplored in the fandom, even though it has a lot of potential for ANGST factor. I already broke down how sad it is, but I just feel like it isn't said enough. Can I just say how cuddly he looks?! GAH, I feel like he would give the warmest hugs! The way he smiled in Unhappy Returns when he finds out his family doesn't need to live in fear anymore, just melts my heart! He's so protective over his family and friends! I wish I had a lot more to say about this guy because I just can't stop finding more things about him that go unappreciated. I had to literally edit this part so many times before moving on, he just has those little details you don't notice until you take a second and have that OH MY GOD moment

Engineer:

I was getting so hyped, when it was finally our resident southern nerd's time to shine. GOD I have so much to say about this man. It's been over 5 fucking years and I have never stopped simping for this man since 2019, I think I'm gonna go insane from how much I've been repressing, I go feral when he's around. Anyways enough stalling. I don't ever think a fictional character has ever made me swoon quite like Engineer, I really mean that. I have ask and pleaded to whatever god was listening to give me a man like Engie. To me, he is everything I ever wanted and more.

First, I wanna talk about what makes him attractive to me. His accent. His southern charm, UGH he's killing me with that smooth voice and chivalry! I swear this man could make me faint just from existing. The way he smiles is so warm, his insults are so corny I love them. That five o clock shadow GAHH! I'm getting butterflies all over again. I swear I love all three of the defense bois, but Dell Conagher has my heart wrapped around his gunslinger metal finger. All those personal reasons aside, I've always thought Dell Conagher was a very interesting character in the world of TF2. He might not have much screen time or goofy shenanigans like the other mercs, but that doesn't mean you can ignore him oh no no no. This man is important within the whole story of Mann Co and TF industries, his grandfather being the catalyst of the game's events and the comics going forward. The Conaghers are the SOLE REASON why Team Fortress 2's story exists. I find it strange that the fandom hasn't done much with this fact because you can do a lot with this idea. Engineer knows a lot of shit and would be the biggest threat to Helen, if not for the fact that his family has been helping her for years.

Like his backstory, he's not seen much in the battlefield, but he has a lot more going on behind the scenes. Imagine the possibilities. He is damn intelligent and he knows it. While Dell is very sweet and has a southern charm, this is a facade to hide his God complex and sadistic tendencies. If you think this man is just your boring gentle engineer, you've got a big storm coming. It's heavily implied that he sawed off his own arm so that he could use the gunslinger. This man works on projects with Medic and doesn't question the moral implications of putting a human brain in a pumpkin. Hell, he threatened his own employer, even if he was an old man (Granted, Blutarch dug up his grandpa's grave, so he probably should have gotten something a lot worse than just Dell telling him to fuck off). Engineer is more than the texan egghead sweetie pie, he is a mercenary for a reason and I would argue that he might be as insane, if not more than, the rest of the team. No sane man would willingly work with a bunch of war criminals if he wasn't also crazy. That's the thing I really like about him. I love playing as him in the game because it represents his character very well. He technically serves a supportive role to the team with his buildings, but he is a killer with a lot of tools in his disposal, With the right amount of training, he can absolutely dominate in the battlefield.

I feel like he's one of the people that underestimate and assume that he's an easy target, but he's a lot more than that. He has a lot of layers that makes me want to learn more about him and what he has to offer.

In Conclusion:

These guys are cool. Lmaooo okay I won't just end it there. I genuinely believe that they're not getting the recognition that they deserve, they've got a lot more going for them if you pay attention. Sure they might not always be the loudest or most prominant character in the story, but what they lack in quantity, they make up for in quality TEN FOLD. They don't have to be your favourite, but you should at least give them a chance. You never know, they may surprise you.

Okay so thats enough of that, I couldn't find a divider above this message, so you're getting this grainy ass gif. Honestly, I put way too much effort on this shitpost lmaooo, but I just wanted to get my thoughts out in a more concise manner. If you want to add more stuff about these three that I didn't mention, feel free to do so. Anyways thanks for reading

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 demoman #tf2 engineer #tf2 heavy #tf2 engie #tf2 demo #tf2 mikhail #tf2 defense #i spent way too long on this post than I should have bruh #enjoy the ramblings of a thirsty idiot #defense nation rise up

[undertheorangetree]

The Aftermath

Summary- Near death experiences have a habit of changing relationships.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. DUBCON due to persuasion. Female reader. Arguments. Bigotry/Islamophobia. Discussions of near death experiences/trauma. Dark-ish/toxic Billy. Fingering. P in V sex.

Author's Note- Okay so I've never actually seen the show in its entirety because it's not available in my country so I'm working off the wikia and what I've seen in scenes. Please forgive any mistakes/misinformation, he looked too sad and pathetic not to write for. Full link below :)

She doesn't bother to knock when she arrives at Billy's flat, storming inside with little regard for his privacy. He had given her a key not long after he moved in, promising that she could come over whenever she wanted, though she isn't sure this is what he had in mind at the time.

She makes her way passed the trash building up at the front door, forcing her way inside and finding him exactly where she expects to, lounging on the couch with some football game playing on the TV. He sits up when he spots her in the doorway, the smile that graces his face when he sees her slowly fading when he catches sight of her expression. She is sure it is a storm, her anger obvious, but she doesn't give him a chance to speak first.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

He looks at her blankly for a moment before a realization seems to come over him. "Lana told you then?"

"Yeah, Lana told me. What the hell were you thinking?"

He rolls his eyes, pushing forward to grab the beer bottle sitting on the coffee table and taking a swig. Her eyes catch the cuts on his knuckles, the opposite hand covered with a bloodied bandage, and watches the skin between his brows crease when the abused skin stretches. "Why does it matter to you? It's not like anyone was there anyway, was there? And you can't tell me they didn't deserve it."

"Why does it- Billy, you're not this stupid."

In all the years she's known him, she has never known him to be cruel. Quiet and insecure, surely, but never vicious. She almost hadn't believed Lana when she had called her, informing her of the one man attack he had pulled at the butcher's. It seemed so entirely out of character from the friend she had always known it nearly scared her, hearing about how he had destroyed the storefront for the crime of being owned by a Muslim family. But more than fear, it made her skin crawl, a disgust for him she had never felt toiling in her gut.

She isn't an idiot. She knows how he has been struggling lately. From his breakup with Becky to his consistent unemployment to his family ragging on him to make something of himself. Nothing has been easy for him as of late but she never would have expected him to let his rage out like this.

"If you only came here to bite my head off about it, save us both the trouble, yeah? Lana already beat you to it."

"So you don't regret it at all? Any of it?"

She wants him to say yes. And not just for the criminal record he has now contracted for it but for the guilt of screwing over innocent people. She wants him to prove that he is still her friend, to believe that he hasn't fallen down this path without so much as a blink.

He does little to assuage her fears. "What do I have to regret about it?"

Her disgust increases tenfold with that- she is grateful for it, as it manages to cover the pain of his confession- and she feels her face contort. "Why would you do it? What was the point?"

"They're the reason the world has gone to shit. It's 'cause of people like them, their whole fucked up religion. They're the animals here, not me."

She physically recoils at that, not bothering to hide her repulsion now. "Jesus Christ, Billy."

"Well I don't expect you to understand it. You're too nice, got a fucking bleeding heart for every poor bastard that walks past ya. It's 'cause of people like you that Nick and I-"

That catches her attention. "Nick? Was someone else with you when you went to the butcher?"

His face drops as if he realizes he has said something wrong but he still shakes his head as nonchalantly as he can manage. It isn't indifferent in the slightest. "Nah. Just my friend."

Read the rest here

#billy Washington x reader #billy Washington x fem!reader #billy Washington x you #billy Washington smut #billy washington trigger point #billy washington #trigger point #trigger point 2022 #billy Washington fanfic #billy Washington fanfiction

[rosepascal]

A Wound That Never Heals || Joel Miller x Reader

summary: For the last twenty years you believed your parents to be dead. But after stumbling upon Jackson with Joel and Ellie you come to discover that's not true at all.

warnings: heavy angst, heavy themes of child abandonment, unresolved family issues. Readers got some trauma y'all. Bad parents.

a/n: This is an interesting fic for me. I wrote this as a way to vent my anger/sadness I feel towards my birth parents. The circumstances are different compared to this fic though because my parents abandoned me because of the one child policy in China. It's hard to think about sometimes but I just want to say that I do love my family. As far as I'm concerned the only family I have are the ones who have been in my life for the past 21 years. Plus my bio sister <33 Please note I do not speak for every child who has been abandoned/adopted and this is just my personal feelings about it

Twenty years. For twenty fucking years. You thought your parents were dead. That the outbreak had killed them or FEDRA did or something took them from you. That’s what you told people.

That they died, they were forced to leave you. Forced to give you away and abandon you in this god awful QZ. You were only a child. Put in shit school full of kids who were just like you.

At nights, when you laid in your uncomfortable cot with a thin blanket, you thought about them. Missed them. Wished you could be with them instead of here. You cried and cried your heart out when you were alone.

A child wasn’t built for an apocalypse.

Now you’re older. You’re not a kid anymore. You’re an adult now who has lived through years and years of horror. Everything you’ve done has been to survive. Including partnering up with Joel Miller. You met him only a few years ago but you had heard his name whispered among the QZ for a long time.

Mostly in fear. He was a man who got what he wanted and didn’t really give a shit if he pissed people off in the process. When you finally crossed paths with the man it was clear that you wanted to stay on his good side.

You don’t know why Joel let you into his smuggling ring. Maybe he felt bad or maybe it was his other partner Tess who convinced him. You were smart, tough, and quick on your feet. To them you were an asset. To you, they were protection. Mutually beneficial.

Tess was easier to get along with while Joel, well you and Joel’s partnership turned into…well it’s a little complicated. Putting a label on it isn’t easy. All you know is that he keeps your bed warm at night and kisses you in the morning.

For the last three-ish months, it's hard to keep track, you’ve been traveling across the country with a girl named Ellie. Marlene from the fireflies roped the three of you into her rebellion mess. At this point you aren’t even sure why Joel is still going. With Tess gone it’s just the two of you. He had known her longer than he had known you so you really didn’t know what to say to him afterwards. Tess was family to him.

You could only hope he feels that way about you too. Would he? Would he go across the country, dealing with clickers and raiders for your dying wish? Would he risk everything for you? Like he’s doing for his brother. His flesh and blood. It’s Tommy that he had been searching for, it’s Tommy that is his real family.

It’s Tommy that he finds in Jackson as you ride in on horses.

You’ve never seen Joel react with so much emotion when he sees his brother. The way he hugs him, you can't look away. Silently wishing that it could be you. Reuniting with someone who cares so much about you that they never stopped searching for you.

Looking over at Ellie you smile to try and get her to smile too, seeing that same look written on her face. Ellie never had a family but you know Joel and you mean more to her than she lets on. You zone out as you eat, their conversation fading in the background as you look around the cafeteria.

All these people have been here for who knows how long. You understand why Jackson could never promote themselves to the world. But still. There’s a selfish part of you that’s jealous of just how happy everyone seems. Kids get to experience a nice bed and warm food. But it’s not their fault that you didn’t.

So you bury that inside as you thank Maria for letting the three of you in. They talk and you listen, Joel and Ellie are shoveling down the food. Not that you blame them, it's been so long since you’ve had a nice home cooked meal. For some reason though you don’t. Picking at it with your fork and eating slowly. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel who shoots you a look. Waving him off you continue to eat.

Then following them as Maria and Tommy give you a tour of the town. It’s pretty overwhelming to be honest. People pass by you and there’s just so much noise coming at you at once. Your eyes scan a crowd of people who surround the big tree in the middle of the town. You stop. Stop moving, stop breathing for a moment. Just stop. By the tree are two people, giving out small gifts to the kids. It’s not them. It can’t be them. They’re dead, they were killed.

They..They look like your parents.

It’s been twenty years since you’ve seen them. So it can’t be them right? People change over that much time. It can’t be them because that means they’re alive. That they’ve been alive this whole fucking time. While you were stuck alone in some fucked up QZ they had been alive. A hand grabs your wrist, pulling you from your spiral.

“You alright?” Joel asks. You shake your head and pull your hand away from his.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Joel watches you walk off.

A frown on his face as he sees the turmoil brewing in your head and not knowing what he can do to help. When Joel goes off with Tommy and Ellie with Maria you’re left to wander alone. Quietly you walk through the town. Choosing to sit on an empty bench to just watch.

“You alright dear?” 

It’s dark when Joel comes back. Ellie’s asleep, safe and sound in her bed. He sighs in relief as he stays in her doorway for a few moments. Just to be sure. The light down the hall is still on though. Quietly he walks down, looking in the room to find you sitting on the bed. Staring at the wall. Joel doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what you need.

“I found them.” You say suddenly. He doesn’t react beyond stepping closer.

“Found who?” Looking over at him you smile half heartedly.

“My parents.” Closing your eyes you feel tears building up in your eyes. No matter how hard you shut them the feeling won’t go away.

Joel freezes.

Backstories weren't really his thing, he didn't like telling others much about before the outbreak and frankly he didn't care to listen to other peoples. But with you he did listen. He let you talk about them, a sadness in your voice that he recognized so clearly. That gut punch he gets when he thinks of Sarah.

“They’re alive,” You laugh and it scares Joel a little bit. Standing up you start to pace back and forth.

“They’re alive Joel! Isn’t that great! All this fucking time they’ve been alive!” You shout loudly. Kicking a nearby dresser in your rage. The air becomes uncomfortably silent as your chest rises and falls quickly.

“I thought I was crazy you know, some fucked up shit in my head making me see them but nope. They’re here. They’ve been here for years.” You shrug and laugh again. Joel purses his lips and gently starts to walk over to you.

“My mom, she came up to me today. Asked if I was okay.” Clenching your fists so hard that your knuckles turn white.

The anger, the frustration, the sadness, the hatred. It’s building and building. Waiting to burst out in a tidal flood of fucked up feelings. Joel's hand rests on your shoulder squeezing it ever so slightly. You burst.

Slamming your hand hard against the dresser you push his hand off and grab one of the perfectly placed pillows and scream loudly into it. You fall onto the bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears start.

Big fat ugly tears streaming down your face, coupled with quiet sobs. Your body shakes as you cry and cry and cry your fucking heart out.

“She didn’t recognize me.” You choke out.

“She looked me in the eyes and there was nothing.” The harder you cry the harder it becomes to breathe.

It hurts so bad, the pain that’s been building for twenty years has finally been released. It's cathartic to be honest. It’s been so long since you’ve cried or even let yourself feel any emotions.

“How could they just forget about me? H-How could they not come back?” You ask, your voice broken as you reach for Joel who opens his arms for you.

Joel never meant to get attached to you. He protected his heart for years and even now it's strange. He’s not good at this. He can’t offer you words of advice or any real comfort.

All he knows is that he’s furious for you. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t think about his daughter and to know that you parents would just. Leave you, abandon you like that. It lights a fire in him unlike anything he’s felt in a long time.

He'd do anything for five more minutes with Sarah. To hear her laugh one more time. Yet your parents left and never looked back.

“How could they leave their kid alone and afraid for so long?” You fists grip his flannel shirt tightly.

He’s becoming the only thing grounding you to the world as you become lost in your own self doubt. There’s a million questions that run through your head.

Did they think about you?

Did they remember you?

Each question swirling around and around until it feels like it's sucking you into a deep dark hole that you can never come back from. There’s nothing but darkness surrounding you. It feels like you’re that scared little kid again. Crying out for their parents but this time you know they didn’t want you anymore.

Joel's arms wrap tightly around you. One of his hands rests on the back of your head, pushing you as close as you can get to him. Until you’re practically in his lap, crying into his chest. Joel exudes an overwhelmingly comfortable feeling in this moment. He stays silent as he lets you cry, letting you get it all out until you’re satisfied.

A slow pounding in your head starts to form as the tears stop. The hurt still lingers in your heart as you rest your forehead against Joel's chest.

“What do I do now?” Your voice is hoarse from the crying. You hate it. It makes you feel weak inside.

“I don’t know baby but I know you’ll figure it out.” Joel rubs your back.

“I know it’s not much but, your parents didn’t make you into who you are now, you did.”

“You…” Joel trails off, unsure of how to word how he feels.

“I wouldn’t’ve wanted anyone else by my side.” He says slowly.

For the first time tonight you smile a real smile. He presses his lips against your forehead. A way to tell you he’s there even if he can’t with his words. The hurt is never going to go away. At least not for a long, long time.

But Joel’s right. You don’t need them anymore. You never needed them. Your family, your true family, is right here. Holding you in his arms and peacefully sleeping down the hall.

As far as you’re concerned, they’re the only family you need.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction

[some-beans]

Hi! I wanted to request dormleaders with a reader like Millie from helluva boss?

yes 100% yes but god i'm bad at answering these fast 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

✎...pairing: twst dorm leaders x millie!reader ✎...themes: hints to murder, mentions of blood, reader is fem with she/her in mind ✎...enjoy !!

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄

ngl a little freaked out

given your horns and tail, and the vague/slightly tad bits of what your line of work is, it's safe to say riddle was very weary of you

but, i suppose that lessens up when he sees you respecting the queen of hearts' rules

lowkey loves that fact you fit in with the red aesthetic tho

also loves when you easily whip Ace and Deuce into shape

riddle feels surprisingly comfortable with you after the overblot incident due to the fact you simply held onto him and allowed him to cry, and get it out of his system

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀

ma'am

he laps up ALL the love and affection you give him

such a smug bastard [ affectionate ]

also kind of "he asked for pickles" but it's more that he's just lazy

definitely respects the shit out of tho

girlboss over here

is so impressed when he witnessed you take down, like, 15 of his housemates like it was riding a bike

did i mention cuddles??

cuz you are now his fav pillow

yeah nah, you're not moving until he's awake

well, i mean, you can cuz not gonna stop you, but ready to then deal with a grumpy lion later on

𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐋

flustered yet intrigued

you said you did some bodyguard work and know how to deal with problematic customers??

. . . do you need a job??

but in all seriousness, very much becomes your malewife

man legit folds at any and all affection you give him, big and small

very surprised when you help him get more contracts for him and he swoons lowkey

something to do with the fact you're from hell or something

he didn't really pay attention cuz azul's brain had crashed from the smile you sent him

𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐌

oh our sweet sunshine baby

you honestly end up taking over jamil's job at this point

jamil cried tears of joy over this

you can easily calm kalim down and divert his attention back on track

and easily dispose of any hitmen *ahem*

he definitely buys jewellery to decorate your horns

you casually mentioned your, uh, job once, and let's say kalim is grateful that he's on your good side

𝐕𝐈𝐋

you're like a slightly more violent cheerier version of rook in a sense

but also somehow less intense too??

ugh whatever

your bright red skin does intrigue him

and your makeup is quite impressive

. . .

what do you mean you have naturally smooth skin?? had no acne too??

vil may kind of reprehend you for your country accent, but quickly shuts the fuck up from the wicked glare you give him

epel snickered to himself when say that happen

𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐀

you are intense

but in a good way??

you have successfully bamboozled idia shroud

it confuses

he has heard of imps before bc duh ofc he has

he's watched too many manga and shit to not know what those are

you two very much give "he asked for pickles" and "girlboss + malewife" vibes

gets spooked when you don't bat an eye to the gore when watching horror series with him

may have prayed once or twice

𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐒

at first, he mistook you for another dragon fae cuz of ya horns and got really fuckin excited

tho lowkey sad once you explained you're actually an imp from hell

still jazzed about the horns and tail tho

loves to share stories and whatnot

. . . kinda concerned when you mentioned a job that left your leg in a bear trap

yeah

malleus may have almost asked to . . . talk to your boss

#💌 some beans requests !! #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons #millie!reader #vil schoenheit #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #kalim al asim #azul ashengrotto #idia shroud #malleus draconia

[headcanons-n-shit]

since there was already a prompt abt pining can i ask for hcs on how the ffxiv boys (+leofard?) would go about expressing their interest in a particularly dense wol? 😊

We do love a dense motherfuker

Thancred is fucjing suffering over here. He cannot possibly make his intentions any more obvious. The problem is that hes accidentally played himself-- hes spent so long disguising his feelings as jokes, or as ploys on missions, and now you just assume that his flirting and holding your hand and wanting to be in your space all the time is just what the two of you do. He ends up having to go all rose petals and sappy love confession under the moonlight like some kind of storybook love interest. Its so sappy, embarrassing, but its also so, so sweet.

Urianger is, unfortunately, painfully Sharlyan about the whole thing. He gives you nice paper, expensive ink, masterwork tools, intricate glasswear for your alchemy lab. Practical, highquality armor. A delicately embroidered handkerchief. He thinks hes being overly forward with his affections, you think hes just being a really good friend, yshtola would rather drown herself than watch the rest of this soap opera play out.

Literally what else does G'raha need to do to prove his devotion to you??? The man unwound time and unraveled space just to be by your side. He was practically your sugardaddy your entire time on the First. He almost, almost thought you were flirting back with him when you brought him food from the Last Stand, and then Alphinaud and alisae and krile trotted in behind you and it took every ounce of his Exarch discipline not to retreat with his tail between his legs. Pls this man is suffering.

Estinien literally can not. Look me in the eyes. This stinky dragoon has spent a good half his life behind an armet. He is a horrible mix of country bumpkin, career soldier, aymeric's half-assed attempts to pound courtly decorum into estiniens dumb empty head, and Nidhoggs instincts. He wants to cook you food, drag you into a corner and kiss you silly, send you flowers, and bring you something he killed with his bare hands. He ends up doing all four. Not necessarily in that order.

Aymeric is dying. You are going to be the death of him. He has gone through great pains to discover your favorite flower and have them always displayed in your room. He has written you letters full of poetry. He has showered you with gifts. He has invited you to dine with him. At this point the other nobles are asking whether its going to be a spring or summer wedding, and he doesnt know how to explain how you are still woefully oblivious bc he cant explain it himself.

Haurchefant gave you a LITERAL DOWRY. He handed you the reins to an extremely expensive war-trained black de chocobo in front of everyone whos ever mattered to him and also half of ishgard, and then he had to stand there dying internally while you praised him for being a "good friend". There are bets not on whether hes going to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to his room to. Ahem. Prove his devotions. But rather on how long it will take him to break.

Sidurgu. Barely has memories of the Orl traditions around courtship. His mother had often regaled him with stories of how she had courted his father. Food, presense and friendship, proofs of skill. And yes, it frustrates him that you seem to brush off his attempts, but. Well. It took almost five years for his mother and father to get together, from the way they told it. Hes learned a lot for your sake, and for rielles. He can learn patience too.

Leofard is a pirate. He doesnt dance around the bush, he strikes when the metal is hot and takes what he wants. It works well with garlean airships and the odd unfortunate merchant. Not. So much with you. One, because your consent and emotions are important to him. Two, because you are so. Fucking. Dense. He steals silks and jewels and fancy foods for you, spends time with you, saved your life from diabolos, told you his sad life story. Hes one step from throwing himself at you like some fainting dame, and its embarrassing.

(Hes not gonns stop tho)

#ff14 #ff14 headcanons #thancred waters #graha tia #urianger augurelt #estinien wyrmblood #estinien varlineau #aymeric de borel #haurchefant greystone #sidurgu orl #leofard myste #wolcred #wolianger #grahawol #wolstinien #wolmeric #haurchewol #sidwol #leofard/wol

[watsittoyah]

Along Came A Spider…2099

Warnings-Sexual content, and adult content. Some mentions of multiple dimensions. Some anal play, full nelson, penetration, sad moments...

(My Spanish isn’t great, so I did use google translate to help…)

Chapter 13- And The Truth Comes To Light…

Your whole body felt heavy and your ribs felt like they were on fire every time you inhaled. You feel as if your back was pressed against something solid.

A wall, maybe?

You open your eyes and instantly you remember what happened with Dana in the bathroom and you feel terrified.

Dana was standing there with a pumpkin in her hand. She was studying it for a bit and that’s when you see she’s no longer wearing her lime green dress. Instead she was dressed as the green goblin. You look around and see you’re on a roof of some kind.

Her ghoulish green eyes finally look at you and she places the pumpkin down. “Did you know there are over 150 type of pumpkins in the world. Yet here in this country, they’re mostly used as decorations. A pity watching these precious things rot on a stoop. But I found better use of them. This one…this one is going to be my greatest joy.” She kneels down in front of you an grips your face. “The fear in your eyes right now is pretty. Then again, I like to see fear in the eyes of the people I despise.” She lets go and walks away from you.

“Wh…why are you doing this? If this is all because of Miguel and me-“ She laughed throwing her head back. “Tommie, you are looking at all of this but you’re not really seeing the whole picture. This is all going to make sense once you get those memories back.”

“What are you talking about? Dana we can talk about this pl-” She was suddenly in front of your face causing you to jump. “Miguel hasn’t told you anything? Huh, maybe all of his memories aren’t back either. He has told you that he is Spider-man though right?”

How does she know all of this stuff? You wonder as you glance around trying to see if Miguel was around.

“What are you talking about?” You ask trying to fake being confused. “Lying to me won’t save you Tommie. I’ve been watching you. I know how he touches you. I know how he feels about you and oh god…do you know how hard it is to not cave your skull in right now? I just want to hurt you and laugh at your lifeless body. But I have to wait for the right moment or else my plan won’t fall into place. Then again…maybe I can snap your knee cap out of its socket? Nah that’s not good enough.”

You feel that your hands are tied behind your back and you think maybe you can get them loose if she just keeps talking. You catch movement in the corner of your eye and internally you’re happy because you see Miguel in his spider suit.

You had to keep her distracted long enough to let him do a sneak attack or at least until you could get free.

“You’ve been the green goblin this whole time? Why? why would you hurt those people? You almost killed a child.” Dana shrugs. “I honestly just wanted to get to you. Those people? That child? Were just casualties. This is something you need to understand when it comes to Spider-people lore. They will always have a green goblin in their story because the goblin is their demon they have to kill. I became the green goblin just to haunt Miguel. But I didn’t want to stop there. No, no, I wanted to seep into the back of your mind and make you hate your own existence.”

As she monologues Miguel makes eye contact with you and nods.

“And how were you going to do that?” You ask as she goes to turn but she stops and faces you completely. “By taking your heroes away. Your parents, they died in a car crash back on I-97. You were hmm thirteen at the time…”

How the fuck did she-

“You’re thinking how does this bitch know that? I know because I was there. I won’t get into the complicated details just know that your parents are far too trusting to young girls on the side of the road. They didn’t see it coming. Honestly I was quite impressed with the fight your mother had. Your dad? Oooh one stab to the back of the head and he was gone. And the way they crashed in that shitty car was beautiful. All your mother did was scream. She even screamed your nam-”

You had no clue you had such super human strength, but you dislocated your own wrist and you punched her clean in the nose, causing a huge crunch on contact. From your knuckle or her nose? You don’t know.

But what you did know was you saw red.

“You son of a fucking bitch! I’ll kill you!” You yell as you tackle her to the ground. Dana was laughing as you swung on her. You feel someone rip you away from her.

Everything seemed to be moving fast. One second you’re being ripped away from Dana and the next you’re being pushed out the way. When you blink you see what happened.

Dana had somehow launched a hovering device with spikes in the front and it was aimed for you. However Miguel pushed you out of the way and he was pierced in his shoulder, pinning him to the wall.

“No!” You get up to help him but you get yanked back. Dana was holding you from behind and she was laughing. “Don’t you just love a man in uniform?”

“Get off of her, Dana! I should’ve known you were the green goblin the whole time.” Miguel said as he rips his mask off. “Awe but Miguel I wasn’t don’t playing with her. But now that you’re here, I can show her what you’ve been hiding. Tommie take a deep breathe for me.”

The next second she had thrown a strange black powder in your face. Your reaction was to inhale and as the powder enters your air ways you heard Miguel scream.

Dana lets you and you sway on your feet until your knees give out. You fall on your side and the powder causes a foaming reaction in your throat.

You try to spit it up but your body feels weak. You lay on the ground and you see Miguel had ripped himself away from the wall and he had punched Dana in her face.

You then look up into the sky and that is when you see a strange glowing light…

••••

Earth-957

The lights in the building were oddly bright as you ran to your office. “I’m late, I am so late. Out of all the days for my car to break down.” You mutter as you turn the corner.

You almost collide into Erica and she holds her hands up. “Whoa T, if you run any faster there’s gonna be a collision.” She jokes as you catch your breath. “Sorry! My dad had to give me a ride over. My car had broke down, but he said he would fix it.”

“I could’ve gave you a ride you know.” Erica says as the two of you walk down the hall. “I know but I didn’t want to bother you since you just came back from maternity leave. How is DJ anyways?”

“She is doing great. She’s finally sleeping through the night. Dennis is already scheduling her first dental appointment.” She says rolling her eyes. “I need to come by and see her. I’ll bring a gift. Maybe a stuffed animal?” You suggest. “That would be great. I’m sur…”

You glance at the main room where a few of the scientists are and someone had caught your eye. You didn’t even notice that you had stopped walking and you were just staring.

“E, who is that?” You whisper to her. She turns around and walks back over looking at who you were staring at without shame. “Oh the brooding guy in the corner? That’s Miguel O’Hara. He just started working here a while ago. I hear he keeps to himself though.”

You see by his profile how handsome he is. “He’s cute.” You say as you keep staring. “Alright enough ogling him. If he catches you staring he might get a restraining order on you.” Erica says as she tugs you away from the glass.

Miguel suddenly looks over and you duck down. “Look at you. Get up!” Erica grabs you and pulls you away. But as you do you look back and Miguel was staring back at you…

It was after work and you were on the phone with your mom at the bus stop. It was pouring rain and your mother was trying to come and get you but she was stuck in traffic. “Mom, it’s okay I can wait for the bus it should be here in a few minutes.” You look down the street and see a silver car drive past you.

You had accidentally bumped into your water bottle that you had sitting on the bench beside you. “Mom I’ll call you back.” You slide your phone in your pocket and you go to reach for the bottle but it rolls into the street.

The silver car drives past and you step back. The person inside gets out of the car and picks up the water bottle, handing it to you. When you look up you’re met with a pair of hazel eyes.

“Would you like a ride?” Miguel had asked. You were about to decline but stop yourself. “Sure.” He takes his jacket and puts it over you so you don’t get wet and he leads you into his car. He walks around and gets in as well.

“Thank you. I normally have my car but my dad is fixing it. Hopefully not now because then he would get hurt, you know from the rain and the car parts being exposed. Oh um I hope you don’t think I get into cars with strangers all the time. But I feel like I can trust you.”

“I’m just happy to give you a ride, Tommie.” Your face lights up. “You know my name?” You can see his cheeks redden. “Sí. pero solo porque-I mean.” You stop him. “It’s okay I know Spanish, Miguel. And I know your name because the women in this company talk about you. Nothing bad I promise.”

“Ah, well I know your name because I had seen you in the building and asked a colleague.” You feel your cheeks warm and turn to him, putting your hand out. “Well let me formally introduce myself, my name is Tommie Valentine.” You thought he wasn’t going to shake your hand at first but he gave a firm handshake and smiled.

His smile looked genuine.

“I am Miguel O’Hara. It is nice to formally meet you Tommie Valentine. And now I’m curious. Qué se dijo de mí?”

“Just that you’re broody, and you’re new. Oh and you might be single.” You throw that last part in there but then you notice he’s still holding your hand.

“I wouldn’t say I’m new, I just dropped down in positions.”

I’d like to drop a few positions on him. You think to yourself.

You then give a scoff. “There’s no way you’ve been working at Columbia Tech. I definitely would’ve noticed those pretty hazel eyes sooner. Wait oh no.” You cover your face and Miguel gives a hearty laugh.

“You’re funny, I needed a laugh it’s been a while. Gracias, amor.” When he called you that the blood in your ears just roared. “Happy to put a smile on your face and a laugh in your heart.” You smile at him and he stops laughing. He stares for a moment and you feel as if you did something wrong.

He leans over towards you and you glance at his lips. Is he going to kiss you? Do you want him to kiss you?

You had leaned in as well, closing your eyes waiting for the kiss but he clears his throat. “That seatbelt sticks, so I’d figured I would help you out.” Your eyes open and Miguel was close. But he was also reaching for your seatbelt.

You shrink back from embarrassment and just shut your mouth.

Of course he wasn’t going to kiss you Tommie. You just met this man. He is going to give you a ride home and hopefully you’ll forget about this.

“Thank you.” You mutter as you look out at the rain. After he clicked the seatbelt you notice his scent. You squeeze your thighs together because his scent made you wet. You then inhale deeply. Trying to figure out what he smells like. Cinnamon and sage.

Yeah that’s what he smelled like. You started to wonder then what did he taste like.

You bite your bottom lip and turn to him and he was still close. Which took you by surprise. You go to speak but your mouth felt like it had peanut butter stuck at the roof of it. Instead Miguel reached up and moved one of your wet curls out of your eyes.

“Me gusta tu pelo. Do you always have it up like that?” He asks as he moves back just an inch back. “Yeah, I think I look pretty with my hair up.”

“Se ve hermosa. With it up and down.” He moves back and he puts his car in drive. You can’t help but watch Miguel as he drives. There’s something about him that’s very comforting. Like you’ve been around him all your life.

“So, you’re in the science department. Do you like it?” You ask just to have some small talk. “I do. It helps me with my…after work activities. You’re in tech engineering?”

“Yup, I honestly should thank my best friend, Erica. She told me about the job. I just love to be hands one with the projects there. And if you ever need help…I’m available.” You flirt. “Oh I will take you up on that offer…to help me in the lab I mean.” You can see Miguel’s lip curl into a smile and you two continue with the conversation as you tell him where to go.

When he gets to your place you sit there not wanting to leave and you feel as though he feels the same. “Well this is my stop…” Miguel looks past you and nods. “That’s a nice place you got there.”

“It is, well I should get going.” You say as you continue to sit. “I could walk you inside, you know just to be sure it’s safe.” Miguel offers making your face light up. “Yeah, I would love that. Oh, I wouldn’t suppose I could interest you in coming inside? I made a pretty big tres leches cake, and it’s only going to go to waste.”

“Funny, I actually love tres leches cake.”

“Would you look at that. I can pay you back for the ride with my goodies.” You wince because that sounded terrible out loud. He simply laughs and he leans over unbuckling your seatbelt. “No me importaría probar tus golosinas.”

Oh you couldn’t wait for this man to taste you-your goodies.

You two get out of the car and as you walk up your steps you catch Miguel looking at your ass in the reflection of the door. You smile wide and turn to him. “Now when you eat this cake don’t ask for the recipe, it’s a family secret.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it’s been in my family for years. So if you want the recipe you’re going to have to marry me.” You joke. But Miguel wasn’t laughing, instead he was just staring at you. “I’ll stop talking now, sorry.” You go to open the door but he stops you. “No, amor. Please keep talking. I like your voice it…feels like home.” You smile at him and let him inside of your house…

••

FOUR YEARS LATER…

“I will be home in fifteen minutes, mi corazón.” You were on the phone with your husband and you were feeding your three year old son, Xavier. “Miguel O’Hara, you better not be web slinging while talking on the phone with me.” You scold as you wipe Xavier’s face clean from his dinner. He was laughing as he did an up motion with his hands.

“Qué? I don’t know what you’re talking about, amor. I am walking like a normal person.” You switch your phone to your other ear as you pick up your son from his high chair. “Miguel O’Hara, no me mientas. You and I both know you are not a normal person.” You hear keys jiggling at the door and Xavier points. “Mama mama!”

Miguel opens the door and Xavier claps his hands reaching for his father. “Hola papa. Come here.” Miguel picks him up and gives you a kiss. “You said you’d be home in fifteen minutes, baby. What did you do? Fly?”

“I power walked.” You rolled your eyes at Miguel and he gives Xavier kisses all over his face causing him to laugh. “Mama! No!” Miguel places him down but Xavier clings to his leg. “Mama up!”

“Say papa.” Miguel has been trying to get Xavier to call him papa but so far Xavier just keeps calling everyone mama since you were his first words. “Mama.” Miguel sighs but picks him up. “Un día dirás papá.” Miguel says as he looks at Xavier. Xavier just smiles and looks over at you.

“Mama.” He holds his little hand out to you and you take him from his father. “Let’s get you ready for bed, while papa gets some work done.” You kiss Miguel on the lips and he makes you linger as he plants several more kisses across against your full lips.

“I’ll be in the study doing some reading, amor.” He tells you as he gentle caresses your face. “I’ll check on your later then.”

After Xavier had his bath and was put him to bed, you peek in on your husband and see he was reading. You give a gentle knock and he looks up. “Mind if I interrupt?” You as as you walk into the study. “Nunca podrías interponerme, amor.” You stand behind him and peek at what he’s reading.

“Black holes and other phenomenons?” You question. “It’s just some light reading for when I go to my other job.” Miguel answers as he pulls you over onto his lap. “That’s interesting, other husbands read comics, or mysteries. Mine reads scientific fiction for leisure.” You joke as he snuggles his nose against the back of your neck. He inhaled before answering your joking comment. “You know I’m not like most husbands, amor. Mmm you smell good.”

“That I do know, baby. And thank you, I got a new lotion and body wash set, it’s banana milk with a hint of honey.”

“Bueno, hueles delicioso, solo quiero comerte.” Your lower lips throb as you feel his fangs trace one of the veins in your neck. “Then what’s stopping you, Miguel?” You challenge as you slip your night gown up past your thick thighs.

“Goodness…” Miguel whispered out as he see your pussy between your parted legs. “I really should finish this book…”

“But?” You ask as you feel your husband cup your still clothed breasts. “But I want to satisfy my beautiful wife. Mmm stand up for me, amor.” You do as you’re told and you hear Miguel unzip and shuffle out of his pants. You feel a smirk on your face as he positions you and he whispers for you to sit.

You let out a whimper as you slide down on his dick and you grip the desk in front of you. Once you’re settled down he grips the nape of your hair and he kisses your neck.

“Now I can finish the last chapter while you fuck your self. Doesn’t that sound fun?” Your eyes roll back as you nod and you feel him smirk against your neck. “Go ahead…have fun. I’ll get back to you in a mo…moment.” Miguel moans as he picks his book back up.

You bite your bottom lip and you rock your hips in circles as you feel his dick throb inside of you. “That’s my girl, just like that.” Miguel moans out as you hear him turn a page. You rock your hips a bit faster as you grip the desk with a more firm grasp.

You look back at Miguel and he was no longer reading. He was looking down at your ass and when his gaze met yours, his eyes were blood red.

You see him place the book down and he licks his thumb. You feel as he takes that very thumb and he rubs your perky asshole, causing you to bite your bottom lip. “Should I play with you hear…or here?” He takes his other hand and he placed his index and middle finger on your slick clit.

You go to speak but he leans forward and captures your lips with his fangs. “Mmm, don’t answer that, amor. You know your husband loves to please his little wife.” He plays with your asshole and clit while your rock your hips and you lean your head back, feeling the build up.

“Baby, don’t stop, don’t stop.” You moan out. “Shh, shh, princesa. If you’re too loud you’ll wake up our son. And I’m sorry but I won’t be able to stop at that point. Now take it just like I know you can.” He moves his hand from your asshole and he grabs the small fat connecting your hip and thigh and he pulls you down harder. “Shit.” You say through your teeth as you feel yourself about to come quickly.

Miguel then grabs you fully but placed your legs up, so you’re in a full Nelson position. “Rub that pussy for me while I fuck another baby into you, amor.” Miguel says as he bucks up inside of you.

You give soft moans as you do as you’re told and Miguel fucks you hard, causing the chair to squeak. “Me encanta ver a mi niña bonita ser follada mientras juega consigo misma. Es tan sexy.” He moans as you feel his dick twitch inside of you.

You clench and soon after you both are coming together. You feel several ropes spurt inside of you and you two kiss passionately. “Baby, I want more.” You coo as he lets your legs down. “If you want more I’ll give you more.” Miguel kisses your neck but then you two get interrupted.

Just then Lyla materializes. “Miguel, Tommie I’m sorry to interrupt alone time but you need to turn on the tv.” You both straighten up and Miguel grabs the remote and flick on the tv and across the screen was a this just in banner playing on the bottom of the screen.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been reported that there are strange portals opening in random spots and sucking people in. This is a strange phenom-” A portal opens behind the news anchor and sucks them clean through.

Miguel and you made eye contact. Both of you had a panicked look in your eyes. “Amor, I’ll be back. You go grab Xavier and go to the lab. Please stay there.” He helps you up and you quickly go towards your sons room to go and get him. Before your husband leaves you stop him. “Miguel, be careful.” He gives a fake smile.

“I’ll be careful, mi amor for you and for him.” Miguel kisses Xavier on his head and he kisses you on your lips. “Baby, if…if this doesn’t work. I just want you home with us. I just want you home.” You tell him as you grab his hand. “Amor, I will fix this. Don’t worry. I always save the day.”

He lets your hand go and Lyla tells him that the threat of this situation just spiked. “Come on, papa. Let’s go to the lab so papa can save the day.” Xavier just leans his head on your chest and points to Miguel saying mama in a sleepy tone.

You grab a bag for your son just in case and you head down the hall, and towards a door that lead to the lab Miguel had built the second year after you two had gotten married.

You look back one more time at your husband and he touches his wrist causing his Spider suit to form to his body. He tells Lyla to open a portal to the main source and you close the door behind you…

It wasn’t suppose to be this way. It wasn’t suppose to end up like this. You made sure to keep calm for your son but you were scared.

You watched on the news that the portals were getting more frequent. You look down at your son and he was sleeping in your arms. “I don’t know what to do, but I know that if…if anything happens I will make sure you are safe, that you are loved. I will make sure we stay together because you are my world, Xavier C O’Hara. And I know your father? Your father will find us. Because he is Spider-man, and he had beat the impossible before.” You sniffle back the tears and you tap your wrist.

“Yes Tommie?” You had called up Lyla and you wipe your face. “Lyla, how is he?” Lyla gives a head shake. “He is doing his best, he’s found that the portal source came from Earth-199999. He’s trying to shut it down but it’s with some difficulty.” You look down at your sleeping son and then back at Lyla.

“Lyla, I don’t know when a portal will come for us, but when it does and I know it will. Make sure Miguel finds us.”

“Tommie don’t talk like that. Miguel is going to stop this.” Lyla says in a slight panic. You smile sadly at her. “Miguel said it was unnecessary to create you with feelings but I think that’s your best feature because you care. Now I know my husband has faced the impossible and he’s beat it time after time but I’m not him. I’m not a super being. I’m just a wife and a mother and the best I can do is prepare him. These portals are other dimensions that are spreading across this earth. Make sure…make sure he doesn’t forget us. Make sure he finds us and make sure when he does that he lets me figure it out. I don’t want my other self to freak out and regret him. Because Miguel is the best thing that’s happened in my life and I want him happy.” You smile through the tears and you feel the vibration in the air.

“No! I’ll go get him! I’ll get him here now!” Lyla dematerializes and you look up. You can feel the portal coming for you. Maybe if you’re lucky you can start over with Miguel. You can have a reset and have those happy moments with the man you’ve loved since you seen him brooding in the corner at work all those years ago.

“God I’m so proud of the man he’s become.” You say as you hear Miguel calling you. You stand up and he ran into the lab. As he reached for you you, you feel your molecules vibrating. His hand had passed through you and Xavier.

“You’ve done a good job, I want you to know that, Miguel.” You hold back the tears as your husband keeps trying to reach for you. “No, no, no. I can fix this amor I can fix this.” The panic in his voice was heartbreaking.

“Baby, I know you’ll fix this. But remember what I told you, when you came home covered in blood? That you some times you won’t be able to do it all. You’ll have those days where you’ll have to choose. I want you to save the world.”

“The world means nothing if you and Xavier aren’t in it. Por favor, no te vayas, mi amor. Just stay. I can fix this, everything will be back to normal.” If you could hug your husband you would but a flicker happens above you and you feel the portal about to take you.

“Miguel, I’m still proud of you, you’ve done great things. That angry person you thought you’d be forever? He’s not here in front of me. You make me so proud to be your wife. Now stand up and save the world. When you’re done, my love…come find me. I’ll be waiting in the universe for you.”

And just like that, you and your son were taken by the portal, leaving your husband behind..

••••

(Present Earth-928)

You seen it all. You see every multiverse of yourself meeting Miguel, being together, falling in love and having happiness. You two are cannon lovers in the universe.

But one, one universe, Earth 616, he was with Dana. They were together, they were happy. He was going to marry her until you ran after a baby bottle that belonged to a baby. It fell into the street and a car had almost hit you. Miguel was wearing his Spider Suit when he saved you.

The moment your eyes had locked, it was set in motion that you two were meant to be.

Miguel left her for you and you two were going to be happy. But Dana, because she had a brilliant and dangerous mind she had came up with an idea that would make her life better. And that included having Miguel.

With her inheritance, she had hired the best scientist in Alchemax to create a device that would open up a portal where you didn’t exist. Where she could be happy. But you existed, every single earth, every single dimension you existed and that had twisted Dana’s mind to the point where it snapped.

With the Super Collider, she had decided she was going to ruin your life just like how you ruined hers. She picked a world where you didn’t have anything established yet. That mattered to her. She sent her consciousness to that world where she would became the villain of the story all because you took the life she had.

She figured if you didn’t have the loving parents, the tech engineering career, and Miguel she could easily drive you insanity, just to the point where you would end yourself.

Every bad thing that happened in your youth up to your adult life was planned out for her to hurt you.

Those nightmares? She caused them. Those moments you felt as if you were being watched? She did that. Those nights in your youth where you contemplated on ending it all, she was the reason behind that all because she had a glimpse of happiness and it was snatched away from her.

You lay there on the ground processing everything you know, and you felt bad for Dana but you felt anger because she just took and took from you just to benefit herself.

You turn to the side and you throw up what was in your mouth. You sit up carefully and you see Miguel had Dana pinned to the wall, her mouth bleeding but a smile still in her face.

“…I know you want to do it, Miguel. I know you want to kill me so what are you waiting for? Don’t be the hero, be the man who got his happy ending!” She yells in his face. Miguel had raised his claws to her throat. You can see in his blood red eyes he wanted nothing more than to rip her throat open and watch her bleed out.

“If you think you’re going to get away with what you’ve done to not just me but to her? Then you are mistaken, Dana. Death is too good for you, but I know the perfect place for you to go.” Miguel webs her up tight and drops her on the ground.

“You’re making a mistake! Any chance I get Miguel I will make her life a living hell! You were mine! And you will be mine if you allow me to live. I will never give you a moments rest. I will keep coming and coming until I have snapped that bitches neck! I will hurt your future, I will hurt your children! I will cause you misters because you are mine!” Her eyes were so green they almost looked white.

As Miguel turned his back to her he went to you and you stand on wobbly legs. He reaches out towards you and that’s when you see Dana kicking the pumpkin she had sat down earlier.

A strange smell was coming from it and you knew that smell. You’ve mixed those chemicals by accident in high school and it caused the lab equipment to explode. “Miguel watch out!” You get up, using the last bit of the adrenaline you had left and you launched yourself over the soon to be exploding pumpkin.

“No! Don’t stop! This is the best part!” Dana and flung her self onto you and you both tussle until you both go flying off the roof.

You never known you could see your life flash before your eyes like that. Let alone every single one of them. You see Dana laughing as she falls to her untimely demise. And you look up to see the love of your life launch himself after you.

You reach your hand out, praying to God that he will catch you. You were begging for time to stop so this man would get to you. But as you stare in horror you feel your life slipping from his grasp.

Miguel shoots his web at you and just when you feel as if you’re safe…

You hear a snap…

Previously, Next

#miguel o'hara #watsittoyah #along came a spider #along came a spider 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x tommie valentine #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x black reader #tommie valentine #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #spiderman smut #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 x female reader #marvel #across the spiderverse #oscar issac hernandez estrada #oscar isaac smut

[witchthewriter]

𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: knife flirting, a bit nsfw but not much

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISTP

Hufflepuff

Neutral Good or Lawful Good

Capricorn Sun, Cancer Moon, Libra Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・I'm going to be completely honest. He hated the thought of you going into battle, or going near any sort of danger.

・He was your protector, he was the one to make sure you were okay, that you were safe.

・But you wanted to be able to keep yourself safe, as well as anyone else that needed your help

・Uhtred was enamored by you; not only did you have the attitude of a warrior, but you could pull almost anything off.

"If you don't marry her Leofric, I definitely will."

・That earned a slap on the back of the head to the Dane/Saxon

・But that did bring on a whole lot of insecurities for Leofric. He definitely thought he wasn't good enough for you. That he wasn't good looking enough. Didn't have the right social standing for you.

・For a long time you thought he didn't like you

・However, you were used to it, with being a warrior woman

・Men felt emasculated by you. Even by looking at you. You didn't wear skirts.

・This, this, this , this and this were/are your daily attire. Depending on your day and what is going on etc.

・Leofric is a very sweet man. Well, he is to you. There's nothing he will deny you.

・Honestly, this man goes along with whatever you say (mostly to keep you out of trouble).

・He smiles a lot more when he's around you. Uhtred brought it up once; it was that moment that Leofric realised he was truly in love with you.

・Uhtred is your best friend. You bicker with each other every time you're together.

・Leofric kept himself from you for a long time because he thought you were with Uhtred. That you were 'his woman.'

・When you heard that you choked on your ale.

"The hell I am! I'd rather pluck out my eye balls then be his woman."

・You knew Uhtred's arrogance, and saw him like a brother. A purely platonic relationship.

・When Leofric found out that you liked him. He instantly denied it.

"No, no, she doesn't feel that way. No."

・Uhtred was like cupid trying to get you two together

・And when he was successful; Leofric and you, became inseparable. Whenever you were pulled away to do your duties, it felt like a piece of you was missing.

・When Leofric didn't have you in his company, he felt lost. He felt sad. You were the light in his life. The only thing he truly cared about.

・Some people rose their eyebrows at you; some even going as far to say something. But you both shut that shit down immediately.

・Just a girl and her bodyguard.

・A woman and her large shadow.

・Leofric wanted to marry you as soon as possible. To tie himself to you in the eyes of his Lord and country.

・He wanted everyone to know you two were together.

・The proposal was very sweet, romantic - just the two of you.

・The ring was his mother's, nothing too flashy. But an heirloom all the same.

・You jumped into his arms before he even finished his sentence.

"Yes! Yes you fool! Of course I'll marry you-"

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Gomez & Morticia Adams

"Think they'll try us?" (You) x "Fuck I hope so." (Leofric)

"What did I do?" (You) x "Today or in general? Either way it's bad." (Leofric)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

He Doesn't Think He's Good Enough For Her

Sacrifice and Devotion

Challenging Social Conventions

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Too Sweet by Hozier

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞

・Leofric has had some ... experience in this area. He's a man, in his thirties - so of course he has.

・The first time you two had sex together was very rushed. It didn't start off that way though.

・The kiss had started off slow and steady.

・The second you pulled back, thinking it was a mistake, he pulled you back in. A hand on the back of your head and the other gripping the back of your shirt.

・Making sure you were completely pressed against him. Reminding himself that you were in his arms. That you felt the same way.

・Normal sex with Leofric is slow and sensual. He likes to take his time with foreplay; touching you everywhere he can. Sucking on your neck, massaging your breasts, sucking, flicking and biting on your nipples

・He doesn't want you to be quiet, Leofric wants to hear you moan. He needs to hear it.

・The thing that has become an obsession in his mind is the thought of fucking you. Making love to you. Eating you out. Ploughing into you for hours, making you a sweaty mess.

"You had enough? Aye?" He'd say in between thrusts. Making you mewl beneath him. Grabbing whatever you could to ground yourself.

"Mmmm," was all you could come out with. The ability to talk had been fucked out of you long ago.

He chuckled, low and gutteral, "one more round love, you can go one more round."

#witchthewriter #headcanons #leofric #leofric x reader #the last kingdom #tlk headcanons #the last kingdom headcanons #leofric x female reader #uhtred #best friend uhtred #warrior woman #female knight #uhtred of bebbanburg #saxons #danes #vikings #witch the writer's headcanons #headcanon #wife #wife x husband headcanons #leofric fanfic #leofric x you

[moongothic]

You remember how in Ms Goldenweek's cover story, we get to see how the former Baroque Works agents have all beated up the other cellmates they had (not just in the mens' cells but also womens')

The way Daz is sitting on top of one of the prisoners, as if he was sitting on a throne or something, it definitely makes it look like he at least participated in the fight that took place, right

It just makes me wonder, did Crocodile himself participate in the cell fight, or did Daz handle it all on his own?

Like even with the Seastone cuffs Crocodile's hook alone should give him the most unfair advantage in a prison fight imaginable, so you'd think he'd be more than capable of defending himself if he felt like it. But also, considdering he didn't feel like even escaping prison... was he even in the mood for a fight? Like I don't think Crocodile would just allow some random, weak-ass pirates to beat his ass without a fight, but also... I can't help but to wonder... (Look you tell me what kind of a mental state Crocodile was in after his 4 year long plan to take over a country was foiled by a kid in flip flops)

Is it possible Daz took out all those other prisoners by himself (without Crocodile nor Mr 4 assisting him), either to make sure his boss didn't have to waste his strenght on them, or... did he maybe deal with the other prisoners to... protect Crocodile? Like the former would be straight forward manly man anime loyalty, nothing worth making a deepdive for, this is One Piece we get the trope. But isn't the latter option also plausible? 'Cause. Like. Daz was loyal enough to Crocodile to willingly go to Impel Fucking Down with his former boss whom he had only known for like a day or two at this point (I mean IDK how long it took for the BW members to get shipped to this Marine Base from Alabasta but you know what I mean). If some random criminals wanted to pick a fight with Crocodile in prison and he just seemed like he didn't feel like dealing with it, if Daz's was down to go to Impel Down with Croc, then would he not be willing to defend the man too??

Regardless, it just raises the question of... why? Why did Daz choose stay with Crocodile, despite Baroque Works failing so hard? Why did he choose to become loyal to such a cruel, horrible man?

Sad thing is, because we don't really know much about Daz, there isn't actually that much to go off-of to properly speculate here. But we do know Daz once dreamt of becoming a superhero! The irony of course being that not only he became a terrifying murder man, but also that he seems to lack that "superhero quality" of being... easily approachable, friendly, warm? Like he is a man of steel, but he's not The Man of Steel, you get me? But Daz's dream does tell us something interesting though; that deep inside, even if he doesn't show it at all, he might like the idea of being a hero? Like the concept of being a hero and saving people may have appealed to him, right? Because that's what being a hero is about, the heroic ideals of upholding peace and justice (and looking cool while doing it)

And arguably that idea still appeals to Daz. Even if he's frowning, deep inside he was enjoying the superhero costume Ms Goldenweek created, even if he can't admit it.

But in One Piece, the idea of being a "hero of justice" has quite different connotations than in our world. After all, the Marines are meant to embody that very idea, just in a far less cool, romantic way. We know the World Government is extremely corrupt, we know of the atrocities the Marines have and are willing to commit in the name of their so-called "justice".

So while it's entirely plausible Daz might've fallen "out of love" with his dream simply because his life just... lead him down a different path, and he didn't seem to have the right personality for it anyways... Knowing the WG, isn't it also possible Daz could have become kind of... jaded, knowing the "real life heroes" of his world aren't that cool, and don't actually stand for the ideals he may have looked up to?

And then he finds himself working for a man who seemingly wants to overthrow that very same corrupt Government?

#Moon posting #OP Meta #Daz Bones #Sir Crocodile #I know I threw out a potential explanation to why Daz could've chosen to follow Crow #But the real answer is that the Daz x Crocodile shippers are RIGHT #IT'S THE ONLY LOGICAL EXPLANATION #Daz is A Fellow Simp and he is SO VALID for it. He is A Man of Good Taste #No for real though-- Daz maybe somehow seeing through Crocodile a little bit and finding a goal he would work in him is just #Oh it sparks joy #Kindred sprits etc

[triviallytrue]

Korean War just seems so…unmythologizable? like obviously people do. Pro-American liberals and capitalists see it as the defense of an anticommunist free republic, mls see it as the defence of a proletariat state against the encroachment of empire. but really it was just senseless bloodshed. sad, broken hopes of democracy; soldiers fed on the dream of unbridled freedom after a horrendous occupation used as nothing more than cannon fodder by heroes turned rivalling petty despots. i dunno, i’m sorry for drunk ask-ing in ur in box. but like. history sucks. not the academic study. just the knowledge that all these people just like me. and i think my life so big so beautiful. but their lives were too. and they ended, unimportant, unmythologizable. in the cold uncaring mud. and for what? for dfucking what???

Yeah, I think the mythologizing on both sides hits a wall when you dig deeper into the historical realities of the time, which has left me in the somewhat unenviable position of disagreeing with what feels like basically everyone on this

The pro-American liberal idea of the Korean War as a just war in defense of a sovereign nation falls apart pretty easily - the split between North and South Korea was recent and done by imperial powers (the US and USSR) as a means of demarcating their respective zones of control, not a true split in any sense. The US went out of its way to sabotage any attempt at reconciliation in the years following the split, and the guy they put in charge arguably had a lot less popular legitimacy than his communist counterpart (and embarked on a campaign of right wing political violence to shore up his incredibly weak position)

So if you squint and ignore the context, you can say that the US was defending a sovereign nation, but it's one they created with no popular legitimacy at all, with a leader that brutalized his people. And none of it was necessary! The thing about the overwhelming power of the United States and its massive fucking military is that the whole "we need a right wing dictator to shore up this country against communism" routine is so transparently because the US wanted to support right wing dictators, not because it was in any sense necessary to ensure that the country wasn't communist. If anything, doing the whole sham democracy thing where you force everyone to vote for the asshole you put in charge massively benefits the communists! No wonder there was a massive insurgency going on

This is without even getting into the horrifying details of how exactly the war was prosecuted

And then there's the ML narrative, which correctly identifies the mass of popular support behind Kim Il-sung due to his time fighting against the Japanese occupation and conveniently elides historical details like "which side actually invaded the other, starting the full blown war" and other such unimportant details, like the subsequent structure of the North Korean government making it virtually impossible for anything resembling democratic influence on the political process to occur

If there's something to be said for Syngman Rhee, it's that his grandson is not currently ruling SK. He was deposed in 1960, and then after decades of political turmoil and various deeply shitty leaders (again, much of which probably could've been avoided if the US hadn't insisted on Rhee as their man in the 1940s) SK eventually became a place where you could vote and were a lot less likely to be the victim of political violence.

As for Democratic People's Republic of Korea, well. If your take on the Korean War is "I wish that instead of just the people of North Korea, everyone in Korea would have to live under the current North Korean government" I don't really know what to say about that. North Korea is repressive and isolated in the extreme - if you think that is the result of "people's committees" and the North Korean population's natural devotion to the Kim family spanning three generations now, you are at best a mark.

So yeah, it's a tragedy - the Japanese occupation of Korea was fucking horrifying, then the US and USSR arrived to artificially split the country with no serious attempt at reunification while putting two real bastards in charge, and then it escalated into a shooting war where millions of people died just for the 38th parallel to still be the dividing line.

So who benefited? Everyone but the Koreans, I suppose. The US gained a client state, managed to use the UN to do whatever it wanted, and demonstrated its commitment to suppressing communism via military force. The USSR gained a client state and saw the US spend a bunch of its military capacity on a war that cost the USSR very little and wasn't even won by the US. China got a buffer zone between it and the US empire and solidified their victory over the KMT, albeit at tremendous cost.

Hopefully someday the Korean War will end.