#two characters that hit the nail on the head with emotions

[dragon-of-timeless-blue]

Hey! For the blorbo bingo ask game: How about Gou or maybe Ikuya?

Why not both? (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

I find it funny how different feelings i have for both of them, but I would squish them both with all my might!!

GOU IS LITERALLY BEST GIRL OF THE SHOW I always say it, but the show itself would not have been possible without her WE OWE EVERYTHING TO GOU, shes also such a caring sister and a funny character (plus shes so so pretty), However, obviously my soul hurts every time I remember how little we really have of her on screen and how left out she is that she doesn't even appear in most of the official art of the anime (I know why she doesn't, but STILL , GOSHHHH) everything she says about what she plans to do in the future at TFS also makes me very very sad, my girl's potential, the dreams she could have had and found with a deeper character arc (or rather a character arc at all) like, PLS KYOANI JUST GIVE ME GOU CONTENT IN WHICH I TALK ABOUT SOMETHING OTHER THAN MUSCLES (even tho thats part of why shes so cool) Gou Is such a precious being and i need more content of her ,

(i would like to take this moment to thank @ninacchis for always bringing Gou (and isugou) content that fills my soul with my beautiful girl )

OK OK OK, the feelings that Ikuya awakens in me are complex, on the one hand I love many scenes and things that we can explore with his character and on the other I am fed up with how emo he acts in DTF (like, his attitude makes sense but it doesn't seem completely justified to me, I don't know, I've always felt it strange)

The poor boy has been abandoned and has a little mermaid complex, I really, really love his relationship with Asahi and I don't like the supposed friendship that happens between him and Toono at all, i find the the scene in the pool with the shooting stars so beautiful and charming as much as I find it a little unnecessary, I find myself thinking about him constantly and I love jamming to "Never Alone" (his character song) and at the same time I hardly watch DTF because of the entire arc that includes it (half of the series). Ikuya, I think, is a hate/love blorbo aksjk

[osachiyo]

❥ ҉ ༄ PRETTIEST WHEN YOU CRY !

﹙ ✿ ﹚── includes : dazai, chuuya, akutagawa, fyodor, nikolai x fem!reader ♡

﹙ ✿ ﹚── content warnings : nsfw content, dacryphilia, rough sex, unprotected sex, choking, bondage (rashomon I'm so sorry girl), sadism, petnames, degradation, spanking, edging, mentions of murder in nikolai's etc ♡

﹙ ✿ ﹚── synopsis : you're a crybaby and they love it ♡

﹙ ✿ ﹚── author's note : this one won the poll so here it is! I might do a bimbo reader one so keep an eye out for that 👀 ♡

DAZAI ☆⌒(>。<;)

This guy basically read you like a book the first time you two met. He knew that you were a very emotional person, and he liked that about you. It was very different from himself, considering he hides his emotions most, if not all of the time. So it was a nice and much needed change.

When he first learned that you were very emotional in bed aswell, he definitely used that against you. I mean, how could he not? Watching the fat tear drops running down your pretty eyes made his cock throb in a sick, twisted way and he loved it. He would make you sob his name out until your voice is hoarse, then cradle you like a baby in his arms and mutter soft words of praise to you. Telling you how good you are for him, taking his cock so nicely.

"don't tell me you're tapping out already, sweet girl?" Dazai hummed, tracing little shapes on your hip as you lay there, face buried into the pillows as they dampen with your tears. He had you in a prone bone, hips laying flush against your ass. "can't t-take it!" You hiccuped, body jolting when he grinds his hips into yours, "yes, you can, baby. I've barely started, you can definitely take more," he chuckled, laying soft kisses on your shoulder blades to help you ease up a bit. You moaned out when he thrusted into you a bit harder, hips smacking against your plush ass. Your pretty painted nails were scratching his linen sheets, almost ripping the fabric. Dazai's hand curled around your figure, reaching to play with your swollen clit. You gasped when he bit down on your shoulder, now moving his hips erratically while he chased his impending orgasm. You could feel his hot breath against your ear when he moaned lowly next to your ear, "god─ you feel amazing, 'donna," he bit your lobe playfully, fingers working wonders on your clit as his cock hits your sweet spot repeatedly. He needed to make you cum, needed to see his pretty girl gush on his cock. He slightly angled his hips and oh. You let out an almost guttural moan, head laying limp on the pillow as your back arches for him, tears still falling freely from your eyes. Looks like he finally found it, found the spot that make you go stupid and he wasn't gonna stop anytime soon.

CHUUYA ☆⌒(>。<;)

That one time you went on a first date with Chuuya was..interesting. Well, more embarrassing on your part but that's okay. He had taken you to see a movie. A character had died in the movie, it was definitely sad but Chuuya wasn't that affected. He heard little sniffles from his side, so when he turned to you and saw a fountain of tears dripping down your face and you struggling to stiffle your whimpers, he was a bit concerned. He asked if you were okay— but then you started bawling out. He took you to a fancy ice cream parlour later to make you feel better <3

Chuuya always treats you like you're made out of glass, thinking even the slightest pressure will shatter you, and that's applies to your bedroom activities with him aswell. He'd caress your body with the most gentle touch, shushing your cries and kissing your tears away.

Your legs were propped up on Chuuya's strong shoulders, hair splayed out on the sheets and some of it sticking to your forehead, framing your face beautifully. You were like an angel to him, downright heavenly. An angel in the grasp of a devil? He huffed out a laugh at that, the noise vibrating against your sopping cunt. His gloved hands gripped your thighs like a vice, fingers sinking in the soft flesh. His swollen lips kiss your clit gently, tongue poking out to taste you and fuck, he could do this for hours. His tongue breached past your gooey hole, nose bumping against your clit as you clutch the dark red sheets in your hands, tears stinging your glossy eyes while you shudder from the pleasure of your boyfriend feasting on you. "mmh— taste so good, doll," he muttered, eyes flicking up to make contact with your tear-soaked ones, groaning into your cunt when he sees the cute pout you wore. "f-feels good, 'chuu," you gasped, head thrown back in ecstasy when he wrapped his lipstick stained lips around your clit, encircling a finger against your hole. When did he take his gloves off? Your vision was hazy, stomach clenching and unclenching when he pushed two fingers into you, curling them just right to make you see stars. His lips leave your clit to leave bite marks on your inner thighs, pinning them down firmly when you try to close them. "nuh-uh, baby. you're gonna take everything I give you, okay?" You could only nod in response, sniffling as the tears drip down your chin. He couldn't help but hump the bed at the sight of your tears flowing freely, snot running down your nose as you try your best to stay still and more importantly, be a good girl for him. You were just too fucking adorable.

AKUTAGAWA☆⌒(>。<;)

He was genuinely so confused when you started crying because he was going to leave on a mission for 4 days. He actually thought you were possessed or something at first but you had to explain to him that no, you were not in fact possessed but just a very sensitive person. He thought you were stupid for crying like that, it's not like he's leaving forever. Actually had the audacity to tell you to get over it and stop being a baby....typical Akutagawa...

Made up to you later because gin smacked the shit outta him.

Akutagawa came home late that night, the aura around him seemed...wrong. It felt like he was angry or upset at something. You poked your head out slightly from the ajar door of your shared bedroom, watching him mutter random curses and mentioning a name you had heard many times before, 'weretiger'. You quietly walked towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso from behind, resting your back against his back. He stayed still for a few moments before you felt something whip out from under his coat, wrapping around your limbs and slamming you against the wall. He turned around, finally facing you. His eyes were darkened with lust and..something you couldn't really understand. That's the last coherent thought you had before—

You thrashed around, trying to break free of the bounding but it's no use, it's grip was tight, and firm. A fragile thing like you couldn't even land a scratch on it. All you could do was stay still and endure Akutagawa pounding your cunt, a lewd mix of your slick and his precum formed a puddle on the carpeted floor. A tendril of the cloth had been draped around your eyes, turning you blind for the moment, making you all the more sensitive to your lover's rough touch. His cock continuously brushed against the spongy spot inside your velvety walls, rendering you a mess at his mercy. His rough hands were pinching and pulling at your nipples, coaxing broken moans out of you. You could feel your voice getting hoarse from screaming his name out so much. His hip bones were jabbing against your own, little curses and grunts slipping out of his pale lips, which were swollen and slightly red from him biting them so much. His hand reached everywhere he could, desperate to force more moans and tears of pleasure out of you. How he loved seeing you cry because of him, your glassy eyes swollen and red from crying so much, bottom lip jutted out into a pout as you wail from the painful pleasure he's enforcing upon you. "shut up and take it," he'd growl, feeling you clench on his cock. He loved you, he really did, but he loved your tears just as much.

FYODOR ☆⌒(>。<;)

'Easy manipulation'. That's what Fyodor thought to himself when he first met you. He liked how easy to control you were. He barely even had to pull a few strings to make you fall head over heels for him. He was thinking of just using you for his own benefit, but alas, he had caught himself falling for you. He was a bit annoyed at first, but quickly realized he could just keep you forever and you wouldn't even mind.

Like Dazai, he'd also use your tears against you in bed. Of course, you were his lovely angel and he adored you, but it wasn't his fault you looked so pretty when you cried, was it? He was a man, after all, he couldn't ignore the urges clawing at the back of his mind.

That's why you were splayed out on his bed, legs wrapped around his hips as he fucks into your sopping heat. His hair was tied in a loose ponytail, that you did on him earlier. His bangs were brushing against your sweaty forehead. He leaned back to admire the addicting view of tears flowing out of your pretty eyes like a river, the droplets looking like shiny jewels. The area around your eyes were slightly red and puffy from crying, but he didn't relent. "does it feel good, milaya?" His lips curved into a smirk, placing gentle kisses on your ankles as he grinds his hips into you. "please— fedya! 'wanna cum so bad!—ngh—" you sobbed, nails digging into his pristine sheets while you buck your hips up, trying to reach your orasgm. Fyodor only tutted, completely stopping his hips as he feigns a disappointed look, "you can do better than that, darling," his hand reaches down to thumb at your clit, forcing a moan out of you. "please! 't hurts! please make me cum, 'wanna cum on your cock so bad, plea—" he cut you off with a thrust of his hips, seemingly satisfied with your pathetic begging. You sobbed out his name repeatedly, eyes shut as he wraps a slender hand around your throat, fucking into you with much vigour than before. If you weren't so cockdrunk, you'd hear how hard the headboard was slamming against the wall, bed creaking with each brutal thrust. Your eyes rolled back when your orgasm approached closer, the coil in your stomach about to snap when— you wailed when he stopped thrusting again, cutting off the path to your sweet, sweet orgasm. He only laughed at your whining, a low moan rumbling in his chest when your cunt tightened around him. Unfortunately for you, torturing you was way too fun for him.

NIKOLAI ☆⌒(>。<;)

This man is a fucking menace. He'd do anything and everything to see you cry, and you make it so easy for him that he does it all the time. But only he's allowed to make you cry. If anyone else dares to make you shed your pretty tears, he'd rip their head off, put it in a pretty little present box and send it on your doorstep. He'd relish in the horrified face you make after opening the box, tears gathering in your bottom lashline at the terrifying sight. He'd take you out later as an apology though <33

He thinks you are absolutely adorable, his precious little dove. Corrupting someone like you is definitely his fortè, he loves it. One of the things he loves to do the most is punishing you. Be it overstimulation, edging, spanking or all of them, he enjoys every single one. Even if you haven't done anything wrong, he'd randomly pull you onto his lap and tell you to count before spanking you until your ass is red and sore, you'd cry your eyes out form the pain but it felt so good at the same time.

You guess thats how you ended up in this predicament, face down and ass up as Nikolai fucks you into the mattress. His hand was buried in your hair, shoving your head further down on the pillow beneath you as he slammed into you over and over again at a borderline inhuman pace. His other hand was gripping your hip tightly, occasionally slapping the soft fat of your ass. He snickered at your dumb babbles of pure ecstasy, drooling on the pillow as he fucked you raw. He's been at this for hours, fucking orgasm after orgasm out of you and all you could do was lay there and take it like the good little doll you were. Sobs wracked through your entire body when his hand came down to the sore flesh of your ass again, and fuck did it sting like a bitch. He kneaded the plush fat in his large hand as an apology but it only made it hurt more and he knew that. You felt like passing out from the sheer exhaustion settling in your bones, a hand making its way to press against Kolya's abdomen, trying to get him to stop or atleast slow down, "kolya— 'm gonna pass out!" you sobbed, clinging onto the pillow with one hand for dear life. He smacked your hand away from his abdomen, only thrusting into you harder, "aww~ you're gonna pass out?" He cooed, reaching his hand out to grip your chin, turning your head to face him. You nodded, sniffling as he kissed your tears away, "then pass out~♡"

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

TAGS 𖤐 @zaiisamu @mellieellie @reyanne @anastaxiah @crystalzxv0 @shiopi @dazaiserectnips @r-e-m-i @jjflipflop12 @jay--feather @deepstrawberrycreator @simp4bsdcharacters @dazaisimpletmereadfanficspls @tojiscardboardboxx @kemis-world @stygianoir @vrivl1 @rei-pearl @lovleyyz

[chaoticace2005]

Top Hazbin Hotel Songs so far: (order not super relevant because I jump a lot between my favorites so it’s hard to have a definitive ranking.)

(Note: ALL the songs were bops. There wasn’t a single one I disliked. I’m just going off which ones hit me the hardest and are now living in my head.)

1. Stayed Gone- this song is just so fucking catchy. The quick talking of Vox at the beginning is great- displaying confidence while also clearly overcompensating. The music is pretty repetitive at first but in a comforting way, being simple in terms of number of instruments. And then Al comes in and changes it up. I love the way these two argue- Al just roasting the hell out of Vox was great. The rivalry between these two is great and so entertaining to watch.

2. Loser Baby- so cute. Keith David’s voice was amazing. Loved Angel and Husk’s chemistry. Angel’s shock/annoyance at Husk at first is hilarious. Also songs like that and Crooked (from Helluva Boss) really are saying something’s we really don’t hear often enough: that things are a mess sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you’re alone. Both songs acknowledge the messy parts of the characters and both say “I see that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you.” Plus it being in the same episode as Poison? Their messages complimented each other well and kind of closed the story for it.

3. Poison- Blake Roman is just- wow. No words. When this song came out a couple weeks ago I had it on repeat obsessively. We get to see Angel’s internal thoughts- his self-blaming for all the shit that’s happening, and how hopeless he feels. The emotion poured into this is astounding. It was amazing as a stand-alone song, and then the way the show integrated it in episode 4 made it hit even harder. It’s definitely A LOT- but sometimes that’s what makes such hard hitting songs, being so personal.

4. Hell is Forever- Alex Brightman killed it as always. I listened to this one on repeat dozens of times. It’s so insanely catchy. The rock(?) music that comes in to cut Charlie off? Also this song nails in the fact even more than Adam SUCKS. And while this is happening we are delivered the logic behind the angel’s choices- explicitly saying “yeah we don’t care. Murder is fun :)” AND are given the information about major conflict of season- that the extermination day for moved up.

5. Respectless- got brain worms from this. The way Velvette dropped in and changed the whole genre of the song was A W E S O M E. Her and Carmilla both SLAPPED. Also the line “I’m the backbone of the Vees” was just- I just loved the energy of the song. Major Six vibes. I’d love Lilli Cooper to sing more in the show!

[circyexistforcontent]

SAGAU: WHEN YOUR FRIEND JOINS YOUR WORLD

❀ synopsis: the characters are forced to watch as you and your friend frolic around Teyvat unaware of the storm brewing inside of them.

❀ notes: So recently I raised my adventure rank to 16 (I'm at 17 now) and people can now join my world. After my friend discovered this she keeps pestering me to log in to my genshin account so we can fight enemies together. I main Aether while she mains Venti so most of the time we're in Monstadt we would chill together at good hunter which looked like a dinner date. The brain rot immediately hit my head on how the sagau characters would be like with this so here I am writing about it.

❀ pronouns: none specified.

VENTI/BARBATOS:

Envy. That was all he felt as he watches the impostor skipping beside you as you possess Aether. The worst part is he couldn't do anything, no matter what he did the arrows would never be able to hit the other Venti. It was like the winds were obeying the other Venti's orders, making sure it never hit the impostor which infuriated him even more. And he can't just run toward the other and strangle them either because his body would suddenly freeze up and force him to stand in a singular place when the both of you are close. When you and the other Venti are not in his peripheral vision he would be able to move again.

His knuckles turn white as he clenches his bow with strength that is enough to snap it into two. You and the impostor are currently in good hunter sitting across each other on a table, the impostor's voice sounded different from his (which was expected since it wasn't the original anyway) but you didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't care about its voice. He hid behind one of the houses as he stalked on the both of you, his pupils dilating as he watches the other Venti feed you radish stew.

'It should've been me' his breathing became more shallow 'it should've been me' his bow snapped into two before disintegrating into dust and manifesting on his back in pristine condition. His nails dig into the flesh of his palm causing it to bleed, his blood starts to form a puddle next to his foot as he continues to watch the two of you laughing and smiling together. While it shows it was Aether smiling and laughing he knows that Aether is under the influence of your emotions. Meaning if Aether is happy, so are you.

He wishes he could just run up to the impostor and rip off its vocal cords so it may never be able to laugh alongside you. He wanted to pummel its face until it was unrecognizable to anyone seeing its corpse. Its face was never it's own anyway, from what he remembers he was the one who made the promise to take the form of his friend. Not that thing.

DILUC RAGNVINDR

When he saw you and "Venti" walking together while talking he was in shock. How was Venti able to talk to you so normally without him being stuck in one place? Did he find a way to break the code? How? He was going to rush towards the both of you before he found himself slowly freezing and shifting to his idle stance. "Damn it" he thought, Venti better tell him how he broke through the code or he's gonna riot-

What he discovered next shocked him before he felt an inkling of fear inside of him. He saw another Venti, but this one seem to be in a trance of anger and jealousy. The blood on his palms stained his fingers and created a puddle below the ground, but he didn't seem to mind as all of his attention was on the Venti spending time with your host Aether. If Venti was over there then....who is the one talking to you?

When the two of you passed by Diluc he stalked from afar to observe you and "Venti" fighting slimes and exterminating hilichurl camps. While observing he imagines the one fighting beside you was him, slashing any enemy going too close to you and saving you when your health bar goes low. Sadly, dreams are just dreams, and somehow this thing was the one doing what he wants. He freezes when "Venti" suddenly shifted to Kaeya when a pyro slime was approaching the both of you.

The sight of his brother fighting alongside you...he feels his scowl deepen. Was it mocking him? It must have known he was stalking the both of you, why else would it shift to Kaeya conveniently after Diluc was done daydreaming of fighting with you? He couldn't stand the sight of Kaeya being with you and quietly left back to Monstadt. He seems to be more focused on serving the visitors of Angels Share because he was ignoring anything and everything that wasn't related to his work. he didn't even bat an eye at Venti who was sobbing about an impostor stealing you away, chugging a bottle of wine while slurring out words of heartbreak and woe.

[sweaterweatherever]

If you are taking request, could you write an enemies to lovers with ajax? Like, expand on what you wrote in his post?

Do me a favour (Ajax Petropolus x Reader)

Pairing: Ajax Petropolus x Fem reader

Warnings: SMUT, sub Ajax, making out, mentions of getting high, thigh riding. Reader is judgy and bitchy. I wanted to hit her halfway. Reader is a vampire, but it’s mentioned like two times. Kind of an enemies to lovers, except Ajax refuses to get into it. And yes, I stand by thinking this boy has got to have somewhat initiative because did you see the date he got to the Rave’n? AGED UP CHARACTERS.

A/N: I really wanted to subvert the trope of enemies to lovers when it comes to smut. We usually get angry sex and the character domming the reader hard, and it’s cool, I like it, but I thought combining these two requests could be nice. Man, drunk me is wordy.

Requested: Yes, expansion in headcanons and Subby Ajax. I tried my best with the second.

“Oh, my god! Ajax is like! So cute, you guys! He is so tall and dreamy, and the way he puts his arms around me…!” Enid blabbered. You gave Wednesday a look, rolling your eyes. Wednesday glowered, which, considering she had like three facial expressions (Murderous rage, homicidal maniac and neutral serial killer, as you had affectionately named them) was just about an agreement.

“I don’t get what you see in him.” You said, laying back on her bed and doing some pretty hard gymnastics to keep painting your nails without messing up the covers. “He is just so…” It was not your intention to offend your friend by saying the guy she was dating was lame, but that was what came to mind.

Ajax was pretty normal, the only thing he had going on was the fact he was a stoner and tall. You didn’t approve of the first, and there were plenty of guys with the second on Nevermore. The bar was too low, really. He had a bland personality and wasn’t a great student either. It wasn’t like there was anything to dislike because he was the most boring boy on earth. Ugh, it was always the prettiest girls like Enid with the most dull boys.

“Me either. He’s just so…” Wednesday said, clearly trying to find a word that described her feelings. Then, with a shudder of disgust, she said the word. “Normal.”

You couldn’t agree more, but didn’t say anything, so Enid didn’t get upset. Besides, your dislike of Ajax was totally baseless because he treated Enid like a goddess. You kept quiet. Until Wednesday came to get you in the middle of the night because Ajax and her had broken up.

“She is… Emotional.” Wednesday explained to you. Her facial expression was definitely bordering dangerous levels of murderous rage. “I don’t know how to help, I already offered to bring her his head on a platter, the old Perseus style.”

“That's racist.” You said to her, frowning. “I’m in.”

“Go see her, please.” And so, that meant you made your way to the dorm, with a cup of hot chocolate in hand, Wednesday fretting uncomfortably around you. You held Enid until she fell asleep, her body wrecking with sobs.

“We are killing this asshole.” You muttered to her, adjusting your sunglasses as you exited the room.

“I’ll get the sword, you go for the mirror.” And that’s how it got started. Every time you found yourself near Ajax, you sniffled in disgust. Wednesday glowered in a menacing fashion, both of you shielding Enid from him. You couldn’t help it. Your reaction was visceral. When you saw the face Enid made when she looked at him, eyes lowering to her shoes, something tugged in your stomach. This mediocre guy had crushed your friend’s heart, and Enid was too kind to say anything to him, even going so far as telling you to stop glowering at him.

The breakup took a toll on her. Before, she was practically glowing, but now even her bright-colored clothes and makeup seemed to lose their shimmer. The first weeks were hard, but after a month she seemed to be over it. You remembered, though. Your opinion of Ajax had hit a new low, and so, you avoided him like the plague. It wasn’t really notorious because you weren’t his biggest fan before.

Two whole months after the fact, you sat down to lunch with the girls and your smile froze on your face. In the table in front of yours, Ajax was sitting down with Xavier, eyes glued to Enid’s back. You could only tell because you were sitting in front of her. Maybe it was a fluke? You waited a bit, but he wasn’t stopping. He even made eye contact with you, giving a tiny smile. The nerve of this guy!

“Oh my god, the guy can’t stop staring.” You whispered to Wednesday, when Enid was distracted with her phone. “Maybe he wants to get back with her?”

“We’ll nip that in the bud.” She turned to face him and gave him her most homicidal grin. Ajax quickly averted his gaze, looking properly cowered.

“Wednesday! Y/N!” Enid snapped her fingers playfully. “What are you two looking at?”

“Nothing.” You quickly said, but it was too late, she was already turning around.

“You guys have to stop with the whole hating Ajax thing. We have been texting and decided we want to be friends!” Enid chastised, clapping happily. Wednesday blinked. You knew her well enough to know that when Enid talked, she listened. And so, having lost your biggest ally, you had to let it go.

“Fine.” You grumbled. “As long as I don’t have to talk to him that much…” Oh, Ajax might have won this battle, but you would win the war. You lifted your head, catching him staring once again. You waited until he met your eyes, just so you could give him a smile and a cheeky wave, popping your fangs a little and almost making him spit out the water he was drinking.

You had to give it to him, the little shit was always one step ahead of you. That’s what you realized when you got called into the principal’s office just so they could tell you got a new job. Apparently you were to tutor Ajax in Botanic, a class in which you were surpassed both by Bianca and Wednesday in terms of skill. The excuse had been that Wednesday didn’t have the people skills necessary and Bianca refused, citing schedule conflicts. Besides, Ajax had asked Bianca before, and when she said no, he prompted your name to the principal.

You walked straight to him when you got out of the meeting, face so hot from your fit of temper, you could feel smoke coming out of your ears. You had tried saying no, but the principal wasn’t having it. They had explained one tutor had already refused, and you didn’t have schedule conflicts like her. You weren’t getting out of it.

“What game do you think you are playing?” You asked him, and he had the nerve to look confused. Xavier gave you a weird look. You ignored him too, eyes attached to Ajax. “You asked the principal for me to tutor you. Why?”

“Umm… because I suck at Botanic and you don’t?” Ajax peered at you, a small smile on his lips. Xavier snickered. You paid him no mind.

“Fine.” You eyed him, distrust clear in your face. "Meet me tomorrow in the library. We’ll go over the material for this week. Three o’clock.” You walked away, looking over your shoulder as you did so. Might be showing weakness, but you trusted him only as far as you could throw him.

“That went over well.” Xavier whistled, looking at your retreating form.

“Oh, I will win her over, you just watch.” Ajax punched him in the arm. “Maybe then she will smile at me.”

“Keep dreaming, Ajax. Girl has it out for you since you and Enid…” Xavier started saying, quickly trailing off when Ajax got a dopey look in his eyes.

“Yeah, but that only shows she is loyal. I like it.” Ajax defended you.

“You are delusional.”

The next day found you sitting in the library with some diagrams you had printed and a copy of your notes, ordered by date. You had two different practice tests because you were the kind of person who went all out. You took your education very seriously.

Ajax was right on time, looking for you in the different tables until you waved him over. He was holding two coffee cups, looking a little awkward out of uniform. He was in a hoodie and a nice pair of jeans. Not like you were paying attention or anything.

“Here. I got you a latte.” He said, sliding it over to you. You kept your expression closed off, not wanting to betray your real thoughts.

“Thank you. It was nice of you.” You deadpanned.

“Oh, tough crowd, aren’t you?” Ajax didn’t seem deterred in the very least. You grabbed the latte, eyes going wide when you sipped it and realized it was just the way you usually took it.

“Oh, so you are a talker. I don’t like it.” You slid a pen and one of the tests towards him. You were taking your questions to the grave. “Solve this, just to know where we are.”

He kept quiet, slowly filling out the test. Ajax’s brows were furrowed in concentration, lips pursed, a hint of teeth appearing sometimes when he bit his pencil. Without anything else to do, you kept watch of him. You noted with interest the way he didn’t seem to hesitate on filling up the diagrams, easily identifying the parts of plants you had picked on purpose because they were the hardest to do.

You went to grab the sheet at the same time Ajax was going to hand it to you, quickly, too quickly. Your hand ended up brushing his, and a confused, sinking feeling took place on your stomach. Were you imagining it, or there had been a spark? You pulled the sheet out of his grasp, desperate to stop this strange feeling, and wincing when the sudden move made it so you cut yourself with the paper.

You lifted your index finger to your mouth, sucking the blood from it. Your fangs went down automatically at the smell of blood, uncaring it was your own.

“Fuck.”

“Are you okay?” Ajax eyes darted from your finger, to your mouth, to your eyes. In that specific order. When you met them, unafraid, he scratched his neck, cheeks going red and quickly averted his gaze. You smirked. Was he afraid of you? Good.

“I’m fine. Give me five to check this, and we will talk about weak areas.” You stated. The test was pretty good for someone who claimed to need tutoring. Ajax was passing, even with a good grade. That made you tilt your head a little. The few errors you could see were pretty easy to fix, and weird compared to his level of compression of the rest of the subject.

You felt watched, weirdly enough. But every time you lifted your eyes, Ajax was staring at his phone or at the table, eyes never stopping on you. It was unsettling. What did he want?

You made up your mind when you got to the end of the practice test. You would call him bluff.

The tutoring session kept going, with you on your best behavior. You gave him the second practice test for homework and decided to meet again on Friday.

“Okay, I can work with this. You see the first question here, you got this one wrong. Not only that, but you said Nightshades’s properties included being poisonous, when it’s actually the contrary.” You blatantly lied. The lie was so evident, Ajax should jump to correct you with the level of knowledge he had displayed. But interesting enough, he didn’t. He kept his eyes politely trained on the first question, right where you were underlining with your pen. You were going to get to the bottom of this, you decided then. What could he possibly be gaining with this? “Oh, sorry, it was a slip of the tongue, I meant to circle the fifth question, forget what I said. You were right.”

To that tutoring session, Ajax showed up with a box of your favorite candy, munching on them and offering you one casually.

“Oh, I love these!” You smiled at him, in a truly involuntary way. You quickly cleared your throat, focusing on the homework. “So, page six…”

Ajax smiled at you, looking far too happy for someone who was about to be assigned additional homework on top of what he already had.

“Here.” He pressed the bag of candy against your hand. “Have them, I don’t like them much.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Why did you get them, then?”

“They were on sale.” Ajax quickly answered.

“At the vending machine?” You perched yourself on the chair, searching his face for any sign of deceit. As usual, he avoided your eyes. But you were unable to tell if it was from his nervousness about his powers or because he was lying.

“Does it matter?”

“Why are you giving me things?” You asked, rubbing at the bridge of your nose. A headache was starting, you could tell. “First the coffee, now the candy…”

“Umm, maybe because you are doing me a huge favor by cutting your study hours to help me pass?” Ajax offered, looking sheepish.

“You don’t need me for that.” You muttered, but humored him and started going over the errors on his homework, getting more sure with each one that this guy was smarter than he looked.

You didn't understand why you didn’t put a stop to it right then. You kept repeating to yourself you weren’t sure Ajax was faking his weakness in the subject, you needed more evidence. But thing was, you could just ask Wednesday to get you the evidence and call it a day anytime. And yet, you kept going back to him. You tried to rationalize it, saying it had been a while since a boy showed interest in you, that you liked the attention. You also said that the principal was making you do this, that it wasn’t like you went back to him every week out of your own accord. But you had also started to look for him out of tutoring, smiling at him in the hallways, making small talk when he was near. Something was wrong with you.

Why did your heart flutter every time he pressed a tiny trinket in your hand? Why didn’t you pull away, why did you smile at him?

You were unable to keep denying the truth when, under the pretense of fixing his tie in the middle of a tutoring session, you placed your hand on his chest. Ajax always wore his uniform messily, and it drove you up the wall. This time, something about the way his tie was messily knotted called to you, something told you to fix it for him.

Ajax didn’t pull away, transfixed by the way your fingers grabbed at the item. You unknotted it, going on your tip toes to take it off, lacing it over your neck and tied a Windsor, before placing it over his head and adjusting it. Your hands lingered, adjusting the knot, once, twice times too many.

You looked up, lips parted. For the first time in a while, you made eye contact. But this time, you were the one who blushed and looked away.

“I… I… I got to go.” You grabbed at your backpack, almost running out of the library.

“Y/N, wait…” Ajax called out. You didn’t listen. You were too preoccupied with your newly discovered feelings. You had a crush on Ajax. No. That didn't sound right. This wasn’t a crush. It was something worse. You were in love with Ajax. The plainest, most undeserving of Enid, boy in the school.

Your feet took you to your friend's room, without needing to think about it. You knew the school like the back of your hand, and right now, you needed something only Wednesday could give you. Cold, hard truth.

You knocked on the door, frantic, hoping Enid was somewhere else. She could never find out about this, it would mean destroying your friendship. God, why? Under this new light, your conduct looked terrible. Enid would think you had been trying to break them up from the start. No, she could never find out. You needed to fix this.

“Y/N.” Wednesday said, from her place in front of the writing machine. “What do you want? You sounded pretty desperate.” You looked for Thing, assuming he must have been the one to open you the door, giving him a little wave. He responded to it, and you smiled a little, before starting to pick at your nail beds.

“I might need some cognitive recalibration, Wednesday. Could you slap me, please?” You asked, and Wednesday rolled her eyes.

“What has brought on this fit of dramatics? Surely, Enid is better prepared than me to deal with it?” Wednesday rose, all elegance.

“I fucked up. I’m in love with Ajax.” Wednesday raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Plainest boy on earth? Turns out he can really turn on the charm offensive, it was really insidious, he got inside my head, with his stupid jokes, and stupid smile and perfect eyes…” You groaned in frustration. “Ugh, see? Please, slap me, and let’s see if it goes away because I won’t fuck up my friendship with Enid over a boy, especially if he is plainest that white bread, untoasted.”

“I think it is a bit late for that.” Wednesday said, looking behind you. You turned, heart beating wildly.

“Enid!” You screeched. The werewolf looked impassible, expression blank. This girl had been the first friend you had made at Nevermore, in your orientation on freshman year, when you had been terrified by strangers and jumpy at every sudden move, overwhelmed by your recently awakened senses. Enid had approached you then, kind and gentle, making sure of not scaring you, and befriended you swiftly. She had helped you grow into your powers, and become more confident in yourself. You owed her everything you had. If you had to choose, your heart would break, but you would force yourself to forget Ajax. You would rather be heartbroken than without her. You loved her like a sister, and so, if she asked you to help her get back with him, you would.

“Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean to, I swear I won’t ever look at him again, hell, if you want me to stop tutoring him I will, I never wanted this, you have to believe me, when you guys were together I was trying to break you up, but not from why you think it is! I didn’t want him then, I don’t want him now!” You begged, tears prickling at your eyes, not noticing how a tiny smile started to make its way on the other girl’s face. You would have kept blabbering, totally uncontrolled, if not for the interruption.

“Y/N.” Enid said, and your jaw clicked with how fast your mouth shut itself. “I was the one who broke up with him.”

You opened and closed your mouth, looking at Wednesday, who looked as dumbfounded as you were.

“But… But… You cried so much… And we gave him so much shit!”

“Don’t be mad at me, okay?” Enid raised her hands in surrender, looking between Wednesday and you. “I felt terrible because I had a crush on someone else! That’s why we broke up! I was just too scared to tell you guys.”

“Oh.” You sat down on one of the beds. “Oh.”

“Ajax has already forgiven me.” Enid sat next to you, passing an arm over your shoulders. “You can have him if you like, I know you genuinely weren’t trying to break us up, so you could steal him from me, you know? You were looking out for me.” Then, she turned to look at Wednesday, eyes full of love. “You both were.”

It was too much. You promptly started bawling your eyes out, relieved. Enid hugged you and Wednesday placed a hesitant hand on your shoulder. You cried even harder.

“Oh, stop it.” She said, pinching you hard on the arm and making you yelp. “There, a reality check. If you want that plain boy, even if I can fathom why, you can have him. Enid already authorized it, and he trails after you like a lovesick puppy. That must be enough to put an end to your dramatics.”

“Wednesday!” Enid exclaimed. “That was rude.”

You started laughing uncontrollably. Everything was going to be fine. You just had to deal with Ajax, but that could wait until tomorrow.

The next day, you woke up with a pep in your step. You did your hair and make up, putting on your nicest outfit. After breakfast, you sought Ajax out. He was sitting with Xavier on the grass near the woods, headphones on. Xavier was drawing something and leveled you with an unimpressed glance. You ignored him.

“Ajax.” You smiled. “Walk with me?” He looked adorable this morning, in a light blue hoodie with a matching beanie. The butterflies in your stomach started making their appearance once more. Ajax quickly found his feet, and started following you.

Once you got far enough so that Xavier wasn’t in hearing distance, you turned.

“You wanted my attention, didn't you?” Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, and you couldn’t help but wring your hands in front of you. Remembering that was the signature gesture of the house elves in the Harry Potter franchise, you quickly dropped it, hands coming nervously to brush at the sides of your jeans. You didn’t want to look like a house elf, you wanted Ajax to think you were cool.

“What?” Ajax asked, blinking at you. “What are you talking about?”

You kept walking, this time by his side.

“You didn’t have a need for a tutor in Botanic, Ajax. Your grades are almost as good as mine.” This piece of information had come from Wednesday, who, for someone who hated gossip, knew her fair amount of it. Maybe Enid was rubbing on her.

“Where are we going?” Ajax deflected, looking away from you.

“My room.” You answered, even when you could feel the blush that was starting to form on your cheeks. “You wanted my attention.”

“I did.” He admitted, blushing. Then, looking like he was about to faint, he made eye contact with you. “What are we…?”

“We are going to have a talk about valuing people’s time and then, if you are good, we might make out.” You could feel your blush go darker, and you closed your eyes, remembering Enid’s advice. Be bold. Be blunt. Ajax wouldn’t know subtlety even if it hit him in the face. She should know what she was talking about because she had dated him. Hesitantly, your hand went to grab his. Ajax’s fingers opened, accepting yours, sliding in between them. His hand was warm, and a little sweaty. You found it so endearing, you wanted to kiss him. Ugh, was love supposed to feel like this? You trusted Wednesday, you did, and so, you were pretty sure Ajax liked you back. But still, you were nervous.

“Wait, so you like me? You are not…mad?” Ajax turns to face you, hesitantly grabbing your other hand.

“Would you prefer I was mad?” You ask him, carefully schooling your expression.

“I just wanted you to smile at me.” Ajax nervously ran his thumb across your wrist. “You smiled at everyone, but never me. You didn’t like me. ”

“Oh, I didn't want to like you, you infuriating, clueless, handsome, stupid boy.” Ajax looks confused, and you can’t stand his kicked puppy look anymore. So, you press a kiss to his lips, just so he gets it. Ajax parts his lips a bit, allowing you entry, and his hands drop yours, choosing instead to go and circle your waist. You let him pull you closer, so you are flush along his body. You have kissed some people before, from clumsy first kisses to passionate making out just for the sake of it. But this, this has to be the best kiss you have ever had.

“Come on, dorm” You say, unable to stop kissing him. It’s a miracle you managed without a teacher catching you, unable to keep your hands off each other. At first, it's only you, Ajax much more hesitant. But then, when he catches on you want him and that he is allowed to touch you back, his hands are everywhere.

This is what you will say after. You have no clue how things escalated, how one kiss turned into a dozen, how you ended up with that hickey in your neck. How you end up on your back, Ajax’s hip bones digging into your upper thigh, with the way he is kissing and sucking your neck like he was the vampire out of the two of you.

No clue how, or why, he lifts his head, pretty blush on his face and says, “Umm, sorry, can you…?” Ajax wets his lips, suddenly self-conscious. “Umm, maybe, move your leg, sorry. It will go away.”

You don’t get it at first, until you zero exactly into what the weight against your thigh is.

“Can I?” You tease, unable to not do it. Ajax looks too damn good with that blush on, you want it to stay as long as possible. He is sweet, too, leaving all choices in your hands. You had been the one setting the pace, begging him to kiss you everywhere. You like it. It’s a heady feeling, having all this power at your fingertips, but also a responsibility. Ajax is trusting you with his body. “Which direction?” You ask, suddenly serious.

“Excuse me?” Ajax is getting redder by the minute. You can’t help but smile. You want him to feel good, he worked so hard at winning you over, waiting patiently for you to met him halfway. Ajax deserves something nice.

“Away or forward?” You say, pressing your thigh more against his erection, just so he knows what you mean. “I’m cool with whatever.”

“Oh. Forward, maybe? If you want?” He asks, eyes closing. You pass your arms beneath his armpits, locking them behind his back and pulling him back to you. You press a kiss to his jaw, open-mouthed. It’s cute he is into hickeys so much, you think, hearing his whimper. His heart beats wildly, pulse fluttering in your grasp. He smells good, and your gums itch with the urge to bite him, to own him, to make him yours.

“What do you want, Ajax?” You kiss his neck next, dragging your teeth along the carotid. He shivers, but you don’t receive any kind of response. “You just have to say the word.”

“Forward, please.” And you aren’t so cruel as to make him beg, head over heels as you are for him, so you press your thigh lightly against his erection. You intend to take him apart with light touches, playing the long game. But Ajax doesn’t agree. His hips rut against your thigh, harshly, hungrily.

“Greedy.” You mutter, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Come on, rub yourself on my thigh, baby boy.” You encourage him, one of your hands dropping to his hips to help him settle into a rhythm and not only desperate, jerky movements.

Ajax shakes, whimpers once again, face going to hide in the crook of your neck. You scratch at his nape, surprised when something cold touches the tips of your finger. A tiny, bifid tongue. His snakes.

You keep your cool, closing your eyes just in case. You will mention it after when Ajax settles down. Determined, you press your thigh a little harder, pulling his face out of your neck, blindly searching for his mouth, pressing kisses all over his face.

When you finally find it, you bite on his lower lip, lightly. Not enough to draw blood, but you have caught him staring at your fangs once or twice when he thought you weren’t looking, when he thought you hated him. Maybe he would like it, you have a hunch about it. And you weren’t wrong because Ajax gives a little shout, hips pushing once, twice, thrice and freezes. His body goes taut, you can feel it against yours and so, you are careful as to not press too much. You don't intend to hurt him, after all. Not yet. You would love to see the face he makes when he comes, but you would rather not end up stoned.

“Shit. Sorry. How embarrassing…” Ajax sounds disappointed in himself, and you don’t want that. Never. In your mind’s eye, you can see his kicked puppy look, how the blush on his cheeks would make its way down his neck. You don’t want his eyes to go all sad, you know your heart would break at his face. It’s for purely selfish reasons, you think to yourself, and smile blindingly.

“That was the hottest thing ever. “ You say, eyes still closed, looking for his cheek, so you can press a kiss there. “Got, like, dozens of fantasy material.”

“Why do you have your eyes closed?” He asks, hand stroking your cheek lightly and steering you back to his mouth. You press a kiss there, too. You can tell Ajax is worried, but he seems unable to contain himself, and he smiles into the kiss. “Did my snakes do…”

“One of them licked me, by your neck. Just in case, I’m not scared or anything, but it would have been hard to explain to the nurse how this happened.” You say, and Ajax laughs. You two would be busted, totally. Your dorm mom would have your head, and probably you would have to speak to the principal. You hear him shuffle around, likely adjusting the beanie.

“You can look now.” His eyes are full of regret, and you want to get rid of the sadness there by any means necessary. “Sorry again.”

“Was cute, you know? Maybe they were curious.” You smile at him, lightly scratching his back. Just like a puppy, Ajax melts against you, offering more of his back to scratch. You don’t know what drug you took, but you smile, again. You just can’t help yourself.

“Aren’t you scared of them?” He hesitates, pulling his face out of your shoulder.

“Ajax, I bit your neck and lips, and I am a vampire. Were you scared?” You ask back, biting your lip a little. You were pretty sure he liked it, judging by his reactions, but you knew having a vampire’s teeth against your throat might be off-putting for some more rational people.

“No, but…” You shush him, placing your index finger against his lips. Ajax playfully bites it, but his eyes are on yours the whole time.

“Unlike dying out of blood loss, stoning is temporary. It’s cool.” You say.

“Cool.” He mutters, but he doesn’t go back to his place near your shoulder. “So…I am… We are…” Ajax can’t find the words, but you know what he is asking.

“Yes, now come here, I wanna cuddle.” You pull him on top of you once more, wrapping your legs around his waist. Ajax just slumps and you sigh happily. This was precisely what you wanted.

[humanpurposes]

Hysteria

(1950s AU) A housewife reaches breaking point and seeks medical advice at her husband's request // Main Masterlist

Aemond x nameless female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, period typical sexism, dub-con,

Words: 5400

A/n: inspired by this ask on @lightningandfireinmybones 's blog, shout out to @b-vvitched for the prompt, I couldn't stop thinking about it :) Also available to read on AO3.

She reads over the gold painted letters on the door to make sure she has the right room.

Dr A. Targaryen

General Practitioner

She brings her hand up to the door, hesitating for a moment before she softly taps her knuckles against the wood, thrice.

She holds her breath, unsure if a moment passes or a minute.

His voice comes soft and distant from the other side. “Enter.”

The room is simply four white walls, a dark wood desk and cabinets and an examination table with black leather upholstery. The harsh afternoon sun and a slight breeze bleed in from the open windows, floating through thin, white curtains. It’s surprisingly serene but still plain and inoffensive.

Dr Targaryen– Aemond as he insists as he shakes her hand– has harsh blue eyes, the left framed by a long scar slicing down his face, a pointed nose, curved lips, a sharp jaw and pale blond hair, stylishly gelled like some movie star. Something about him is unsettling despite the small smile and the impeccable manners as he offers her a seat in the green leather chair on the other side of his desk.

She contracts her hand slightly once he lets go of her. His grip had been rather firm.

He opens a brown leather notebook and flicks through a clipboard on the desk, frowning and tapping a pen against it as he goes over some paperwork and basic information she had given the nurse, as instructed.

She holds her hands together in her lap and winces at how damp her palms are. She’s sure it’s just the weather, and smooths them over her pale blue, rayon skirt. She checks her nails while she’s at it too. She had painted them red the night before, but they are already starting to chip from where she’d started her day with washing the dishes and doing a deep clean of the kitchen.

“You said your husband recommended you seek medical advice, is that right?” he asks, his head tilted down and his eyes meeting hers, expecting a prompt answer, she realises.

She swallows through the scratchy feeling in her throat, wishing she had accepted the receptionist’s offer of water. “Yes, that’s right.”

His eyes move over the page again and he gives a cryptic “hmm.”

The specifics often change but lately she’s realised that each day of her life feels the same. Wake up before her husband, make his coffee and his breakfast, make sure he wants for nothing and see him off to work. Help the mother-in-law with her shopping and her laundry. Bake a cake for the village fundraiser and drop it off at the the Church. Make polite conversation with the vicar and the other women helping out, compliment their babies, ask about the older children. Try not to cry when she’s bombarded with the dreaded question. “How soon can we expect little ones from you?”

Two weeks ago her husband had come home from work and found her on the sofa, staring into space, too tired to even reach for a book or a magazine. Everything had seemed to be going wrong for her that day, evidenced by the broken washing machine, the broken heel on her shoe, the cuts and blisters on her feet, the shopping left unceremoniously on the kitchen counter. She was absolutely exhausted, but when his dinner wasn't ready and waiting for him, her husband hit the roof.

Something snapped. Before she knew it, she was screaming, eyes hot and streaming with tears as she choked on her own sobs. She had never been so loud in her life. She can hardly even remember what she said.

Her husband’s voice screams inside her head. “Emotional… irrational… hysterical…”

“And you went to the nurse first?” Aemond asks. 

“Yes.”

He looks back at the notes. “What did she tell you?”

She shifts in her chair. It should all be right there in front of him, why does she have to say it?

She takes a deep breath, as subtly as she can. “She suggested it could be a hormonal imbalance, or a symptom of…”

Aemond raises a brow, expectantly.

She feels a warmth rushing to her cheeks “... monthly courses,” she says quietly.

“And have you had issues with those?” he asks.

“They can be irregular.”

He hums again and writes something in his notebook.

She clenches her fist around her skirt and notices the soft ticking of the clock on the wall over the desk. It’s not too obtrusive, and the rhythm gives her something to focus on while neither of them are speaking.

Aemond shifts back in his chair, crossing a leg over the other, absentmindedly pressing the lid of his pen to his lips like he’s trying to solve a crossword in the morning paper. “What exactly was your husband’s main concern?”

There comes a familiar feeling, an emptiness in her chest like her body might concave, and a swelling in her eyes. She bites down on her lip to dispel the urge to cry.

Everyone around her loves to comment on how happy she is, how blessed she is to have such a happy marriage and a loving husband.

“He says I’ve been too emotional.”

“Emotional in what way?”

She tells him about the outburst two weeks ago, expecting him to tut and shake his head and chide her for her behaviour. Instead he watches her and listens.

“He says he doesn’t know what else to do with me. He says he does everything he can to make me happy, but that it’ll never be enough for me,” she says.

“And does he make you happy?” he asks.

Her answer hitches in her throat. The obvious response would be of course. He does what any good husband does, works, brings home a salary, sweet talks her mother and smokes cigars with her father when they visit every other Sunday. 

Happiness seems to be an external factor, something people comment on and praise her. When other people say she is happy she wears it with pride, like a medal or a precious piece of jewellery.

She loves her husband, as well as any self respecting woman does. She reminds herself that’s the whole reason why she’s here.

At her silence Aemond smiles to himself and begins to write. She follows how his fingertips grip the pen and how the tendons in his hands flex.

“Wait!” she says, shuffling forward in her seat.

He pauses and looks at her like he did before, with his chin tilted down.

“No– I meant to say yes. Yes, he makes me happy.”

His eyes move around her face and briefly down, over the pearl charm hanging from her neck, her white blouse and her hands bunched in her blue skirt. She releases them when she realises he’s looking and rests them on the arms of the chair instead.

This feels like a test, one in which every word and gesture will be put to scrutiny, earning either a curious “hmm” or a scratching of the pen against the paper. She wonders which is worse.

“How long have you been married?” he asks.

“A year in July.”

“No children?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

His question leaves a tight feeling in her chest and in her gut. 

Aemond sets the pen down on the desk without making a sound. “Sorry, I know these questions can be obtrusive. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but it would be useful to know what I’m working with.”

That’s an odd way to phrase it, she thinks.

“No it’s alright,” she says, her fingers moving anxiously over each other. “It’s not for lack of trying. We… try a few times a week. Usually on the weekends or when he’s not tired– he’s often tired after work.”

“And how is it?”

“Oh, um–” without thinking her hands move back into her lap and she starts to pick at the red nail polish. “He says there’s something wrong with me.”

Aemond tilts his head. “Wrong with you?”

She squeezes her thighs together at the familiar memory of her husband’s downright painful attempts to make love to her. He practically has to force his way inside of her and she can never stand it for more than a few thrusts before she pushes him off. 

He was understanding for the first few months, but she can tell it’s starting to irritate him now. She doesn’t understand why it doesn’t work, what she could possibly be doing wrong.

“Does he prepare you?” 

She looks up with a knitted brow. “Prepare me?”

He tuts and mutters something that sounds like “poor thing,” before scrawling another quick note. 

Then he stands, rolling up the sleeves of his white coat and the black shirt underneath. “I want to check a few things,” he says, cocking his head towards the examination table on the other side of the room.

She follows dutifully, propping her hands against the leather upholstery and pushing herself up to sit on it. Her black heels don’t reach the floor. She crosses them at the ankle and lets them swing a little. 

Once Aemond has washed his hands he approaches her. He’s tall, she realises as he stands before her. His hips are level with her knees and the edge of the table and while he’s not quite close enough to touch her, her legs twitch at the proximity.

She tries to avert her gaze from the somewhat intense expression in his eyes as he simply looks at her. Her eyes don’t stop moving, looking past his shoulder or down at her sides, but there’s not anything interesting to look at.

She focuses on the steady ticking of the clock, counting ten long seconds before she realises she’s holding her breath.

When she finally releases she finds herself focusing instead on the gentle sounds of Aemond’s breath through his nose, the smell of his hair gel, musky aftershave and the lingering scent of smoke. 

Warm fingertips brush against her jaw as he brings her to look at him. She can feel the slight roughness of the pads of his fingers, but he’s gentle when he touches her, almost cautious. 

He leans in a little closer until he’s touching her knees. She doesn’t let herself react but her heart is drumming furiously, more so when his thumb strokes over her cheek. He moves back and forth, grazing the corner of her mouth, before he swipes it over her lower lip. 

She relaxes her mouth as he presses and tugs on the soft flesh. It’s somehow both terrifying and oddly reassuring.

And then he settles, pressing both of her lips into a slight pout while his fingertips rest against her jaw and the top of her neck.

“Open your mouth for me,” he says.

She stares back at him with wide eyes. Had she heard that correctly?

The corners of his mouth curl politely, waiting for her compliance.

So she does as he asks.

With his fingers holding her chin, Aemond inches his thumb into her mouth, settling on her tongue. His skin tastes clean and faintly medicinal from the amber soap.

“You can close your mouth,” he says.

She keeps her eyes on his as she closes her lips around him, careful not to touch him with her teeth.

He hums again, low and contentedly. “Good girl.”

She shudders at the sudden weightlessness in her belly.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

She gives him a small nod.

"Good," he utters, "just breathe."

She loses count of the seconds on the clock as he simply settles inside of her. She does as he says, breathing deeply through her nose, looking up at him through her eyelashes, trying to read if he's pleased or not.

When he starts to withdraw and she instinctively drags her tongue along his thumb. She looks down at his hand, the imprint of her mauve lipstick on his skin, the glistening digit and the small line of spit that trails from her mouth, which he wipes away with his fingers.

“How did that feel?” he asks.

She thinks for a moment. “Good.”

He glances down and her eyes follow, to the fabric of her skirt. When she stands it falls to her shin, but seated, the hem rides up to just below her knees. He places a wide hand on her left knee, their skin separated only by a thin layer of nylon stockings.

“These outbursts of yours,” he mutters, “are they a regular occurrence?”

“Not really,” she says.

“What do you think caused it?”

She presses her teeth together and looks away from him to think. “Lots of things I suppose. It all piles up.”

“How did it feel, to shout at your husband?”

She huffs a laugh at the instinct that appears in her head, it’s not something she should ever admit, but there’s something about Aemond’s eyes and the feeling of his hands that make her want to tell him the truth,

“I liked it, I was just so…” she shakes her head looking for the right word, but she supposes there’s a simpler explanation. “I was so angry, angrier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“What were you angry at?” Aemond asks, his thumb starting to stroke against her thigh. 

Would it be too much to list every aspect of her life that irritates her?

She hates a lot of things. She hates tidying the house just for it to get messy again. She hates it when her new shoes dig into her skin and make her bleed. She hates that she seems incapable of interacting with another person without suffering their scrutiny. She hates it when people tell her that her life is perfect.

Everything races around in her head, screaming and shouting at her until the noise becomes silent, just a throbbing pain in her head.

“Just… everything,” she groans, rubbing her fingertips against her temple. “I don’t understand it, everyone says our life together is so perfect, but I don’t feel perfect.”

His hand moves away from her and she looks up at the absence.

Aemond takes a slow breath. “Are you familiar with hysteria?”

Her heart sinks and he seems to see it in her face.

He purses his lips for a moment before he explains, “it’s essentially an excess of ill-managed emotions. It can lead to irrational behaviour and quite severe distress.”

She’s heard of the condition before, sparse stories here and there of men who had no choice but to seek proper treatment for their wives when they are too emotional… irrational… hysterical.

She’s not like those women, surely, and her husband knows that, right?

“Is that what's wrong with me?” she asks.

His mouth quirks. “Quite possibly.”

“But I’ve heard of women with this condition before. I’ve heard what their husbands do to them, I—” she can feel her eyes beginning to well with hot, stinging tears. “That’s not going to happen to me, is it?”

She hangs her head, dread pooling in her belly, until his hands cup the sides of her face. Aemond brings her gaze up into his eyes.

“Don’t send me away,” she whispers, blinking the tears from her eyes so they roll down her cheeks. “Please, there must be something you can do–”

“There there, pet,” he says, tracing his thumbs along her teartracks, “everything is going to be alright, hmm? We can sort you out.”

She nods at his reassurance and the feeling of his hands against her skin. It must be entirely improper to be so close to another man, even more so when she starts to realise just how much she likes it, a sweet sort of unease. Perhaps that’s just his nature, perhaps he’s just good at this part of his job.

For a moment he presses his lips together in a strange way, like he’s holding something back. “There is one treatment I’m keen to suggest,” he says.

“What treatment?” she asks.

He tilts his head slightly. “Hysteria is an instability of emotion. You need a release.”

“Like when I shouted at my husband?”

He smiles at that. “It felt good, didn’t it?”

She nods.

“We can undergo controlled releases,” he says, “you’ll be much happier for it.”

She takes a sharp breath when one of his hands moves down from her cheek to rest casually at her waist.

“I can start the treatment today, if you’d like?”

His face is close to hers now, She feels every flutter of his breath, the heat of his body separated by inches of empty space.

“Yes please,” she says quietly, like she might disturb the peacefulness in the room if she speaks any louder. “If it’s not too much trouble?”

“Don’t worry, pet, we’ve still got plenty of time left,” he says, stepping away. “Take your skirt off, and lie back.”

Suddenly her skin feels tight. “My skirt?”

“If you don’t mind?” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards his desk. “It just makes things a little easier, maybe the blouse too.”

She hops down from the table, heels clicking against the floor.  While Aemond’s pen scratches against paper, she turns her back and starts to pick at the buttons on the top of her blouse. She pulls it over her head and folds it, setting it down on the table, where her head will go. Then she pulls down the zip on her skirt and lets it fall around her. For the slightly mortifying prospect of standing there in her stockings and undergarments, the breeze from the window washes over the bare skin of her arms and torso. It’s quite nice, a welcome relief.

She waits with her heels close together and her hands clasped in front of her. Aemond has his back to her and she watches the way the sunlight catches in the silvery streaks of his hair. He tears a sheet from the pad of prescription papers and leaves it on his desk before he moves to the sink to wash his hands. It’s methodical, like before, well rehearsed and memorised for efficiency. Does he even have to think about what he’s doing, she wonders?

Once his hands are dried he reaches into a drawer under his desk. He keeps his eyes on the small object in his hands as he walks towards her.

She straightens her back and puts her hands on the table behind her, testing her weight so she can shuffle on top of it. 

Aemond looks up and she pauses.

His eyes dart up and down her body. “Shoes and stockings off too.”

Blood rushes to her cheeks but she complies, reaching down to undo the small buckles on each shoe. Once they’re under the table she stands straight and curls her thumbs around her stockings.

She looks up to Aemond. He gives her a small nod.

She starts to pull the thin material down her legs, so thin it should hardly make a difference. She shivers as the breeze meets a new part of her body. She straightens again, dutifully awaiting her next instruction. 

The corners of Aemond’s mouth curl. “Perfect,” he mutters. 

He steps closer to her, until she can make out the object in his hands. It’s a coppery colour, gleaming like metal, and no smaller than a tube of lipstick. He slips it into his coat pocket.

She follows Aemond’s hand as he reaches out and runs a slender finger under the strap of her brassiere. “I think we’ll keep this on,” he says.

She nods, though she doesn’t really know why.

A hum sounds in his throat and his eyes look over her face. “Lie back.”

She does as he says and fiddles with her hands, unsure of where to put them until she decides to keep them by her sides. Anticipation sets her nerves alight. She listens to every breath, each taunting footstep as Aemond comes to stand at the foot of the bed.

He moves slowly so as not to agitate her, but her whole body tenses when his hands clasp around her ankles. It’s obvious he’s trying to be gentle, but even when softly spoken his voice leaves a restless feeling in her gut. “Shh, try to relax, and just let me…” he lifts her legs up along her body until her knees are by her hips. His hands go to her thighs next and she lets out a short whimper of surprise when he pulls her closer to him.

“There we go,” he muses to himself, one hand on her thigh while he gently rests the other on her navel, over the hem of her panties.

Her hands are restless, fists clenching and nails digging into her palms.

Aemond looks down at her with a hint of concern. “You can tell me if you want to stop, at any point.”

“No it’s alright,” she breathes, suppressing the urge to arch her back.

His brows raise as he looks down, grazing his fingertips over her skin. Each movement has her breath hitching or her body squirming, no matter how hard she tries to relax, just as he’d instructed.

He brings both hands to her knees, closing them together before he reaches for her panties and slides them from her legs. She doesn’t see where he drops them. Her hands come into fists again as he gradually spreads her legs. 

She’s not sure what to expect or how this is supposed to help her control her emotions, but she tries to concentrate on staying still, keeping whatever dignity she has left.

“Look at that,” Aemond hums, circling his thumbs against her inner thighs, “you’re already getting wet.”

She can feel it, the warmth pooling between her legs. No one has ever told her it’s bad, but it’s one of those things she wonders if she should be ashamed of. She tries to shift but there’s nowhere for her body to go, nowhere she can hide from him.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, “it’s not bad, is it?”

Aemond frowns. “You mean you don’t…” he trails off as his face melts into an amused sort of sympathy, like he’s piecing together a puzzle. “Bad news for your husband maybe. It means you’re aroused.”

Aroused. She repeats the word to herself a few times. 

Surely it is a bad thing to find herself in such a state, only she finds herself turning her attention to Aemond. Her gaze trails shamelessly over the veins and tendons of his hands and forearms as he kneads at her thighs, the curve of his upper lip and the tip of his tongue swiping between his teeth. If only she could read his mind, figure out what he’s thinking behind those pretty blue eyes, what hypothesis he’s playing around with inside his head. 

And then he reaches into his pocket. She lifts her head to try and get a better look. The coppery object looks more like an oversized bullet, with a slightly pointed head and a black button at its base. When Aemond presses the button it starts to hum. Even the noise of it sparks a reaction from her. She feels something strange, like a shockwave flashing through her body.

“Relax,” Aemond says, bringing his other hand to her hip. “I don’t want to have to tie you down.”

“No,” she utters, “sorry.” She lets her head fall against the upholstery and stares up at the ceiling, determined not to react.

Until something presses to her centre, humming against her. Pleasure pulses through her, unfamiliar but hot and bright. Her eyes snap shut and her hips try to buck but Aemond’s hand holds her down. 

“How does it feel?” he says.

Her first attempt to speak comes out as a broken whimper. “Good,” she manages, stilling her hips from trying to rock against the bullet. “Fuck…”

Something inside of her feels tight, tensing and tensing until she’s sure she can’t take any more. But he keeps it against her, making small, rhythmic movements through her folds, edging her closer to that rising feeling only to relieve her of it.

Her nails start to drag along the leather, clawing at it for purchase. She tries to stay still, to keep her hips steady but something has to give. She turns her head to the side, whimpering and groaning into her shoulder.

“There you go,” Aemond hums, as he finds a truly torturous pattern, slowly swiping upwards from her entrance to the sweet spot of her pearl, only to start over. 

“Please,” she whimpers as he tears her away from that feeling again. Blissful tears blur her vision and she feels utterly weightless. “I can’t stand it…”

He lingers the bullet just below her pearl. She’s so close to something. She can feel it. 

“Do you want to stop?” Aemond asks.

“No!” she cries.

He starts to move in small circles now and her body feels like it’s burning. “Just take it,” he says, “you can take it, just be a good girl for me, hmm?”

“Yes… yes…” she utters like a dreamy chant. 

The button clicks and the vibrations increase. She hardly registers the wanton noises she makes, but she’s all too aware of wet sounds of her arousal and Aemond’s short hums when her hips start to buck again.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Aemond says. “Come on, pet, you can do it, you’re almost there…”

She feels the hum of her throat as she groans his name and suddenly the tight feeling snaps. Her whole body releases, just as Aemond promised, and she feels herself come undone. He guides her through it, the bullet whirring against her and his hand steady on her hip.

When he finally withdraws, her limbs don’t feel like her own. She listens to her own breath and feels the rise and fall of her chest as she wills herself into a state of awareness. She props herself onto her elbows and her eyes meet Aemond’s.

He smirks, and looks down again, gently drawing a thumb through her folds. 

Her back arches and her breath hitches, though not as intensely as before. She can feel how slick she is now, how easily he moves against her. She eases under his touch and just lets it feel good.

“You did so well,” he says, “fuck, the way your cunt twitches when you come…”

She gazes at him with a bewildered kind of awe, at his parted lips, the golden glow of sunlight trailing down his jaw and his neck, and now the dark, almost hungry look in his eyes. She can already feel the desire rising again, the wanting for more.

“There’s something else I want to try,” he says. His thumb slips further down, teasing her entrance. “If you’ll let me?”

She holds her bottom lip between her teeth and nods.

“Good girl,” he hums.

That alone has her trying to roll her hips against him, but then he’s gone. She wants to groan in protest but keeps her mouth shut as she watches him remove his white coat and black shirt, both of which he drapes over his chair. For his seemingly slender frame, he’s surprisingly muscular. 

With his back still turned to her she watches his hands move to his trousers. She hears the clinking of his belt buckle and the sound of his fly coming undone. He reaches back into the same drawer, tears something between his teeth and discards a small, white packet on the desk. 

As he comes to stand before her once more she can’t help the small smile that graces her lips, unashamedly appreciating the muscles of his torso, his pectorals and the lines of his abdominals, and his now freed cock, already hard, and certainly larger than her husband’s.

He stands before her once again, bringing her knees down so he can slot himself between her legs.

She can already feel herself twitching and her heart racing. 

He doesn’t waste much time on preamble. “You’re fucking soaked,” he mutters, lining the his cock to her entrance and taking a hold of her thigh, “be a shame to waste it.”

She expects it to hurt when he pushes inside of her, and for a moment it does. She feels the way he stretches her out with just the tip. He moves slowly, dragging in and out of her, each time pushing in a little more. She can take the pain, at least until it starts to melt away. After a few strokes it feels effortless.

Aemond lets out a sharp grunt as he comes close to bottoming out. “How does it feel?” he asks with a small amount of strain.

It’s a different kind of pleasure, it’s duller and deeper, less frantic but it still burns in the best way.

“Good,” she breathes.

Aemond’s hands take hold of her waist as he increases his pace, dragging her into him to match his thrusts.

The air feels hot and thick now, the ticking of the clock drowned out by laboured panting, breathless moans and the soft sounds of skin meeting skin.

“Fuck you’re tight,” he hisses, sinking his fingertips deeper into her flesh.

“I don’t suppose that’s a medical term?” she says with a dazed grin.

Aemond huffs a laugh but it seems to spur him on, his jaw slack and his brow furrowed in determination. 

She wraps her legs around his hips and reaches up for him, but all she manages is to graze her fingertips over his torso. He snatches her wrists, leaning over to pin them on either side of her head as he brutally starts to snap her hips into hers. Like this he fucks her deeper and harder against the leather.

She feels her release building slowly, his cock brushing against a spot that has her eyes watering again.

“Going to come for me?” Aemond grits out, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“I want to,” she whimpers, arching her back to get closer to him, “fuck–”

He releases one of her wrists and slips his hand between them, circling her pearl with the pads of his fingers. 

He brings his lips to the shell of her ear. “You’re squeezing me so good,” he whispers harshly, “nearly there, nearly there sweetheart…”

Her legs start to shake as her pleasure peaks and her climax washes over her. Every part of her body tenses and moulds itself into him. Aemond doesn’t relent, he keeps fucking her until she’s whining and squirming, until finally he lets out a guttural groan into her neck. His hips still and she feels him throbbing inside of her, spilling himself into the condom.

For a moment she’s content to lie there, no matter how uncomfortable the surface of the bed is. She likes Aemond’s weight on top of her, his breath on her neck, the scent of him, the sweat from his brow against her skin. But they don’t stay like that for long. He pulls away from her and makes quick work of disposing of the condom and tucking himself back into his trousers.

“Nothing wrong in that regard,” he says, reaching for her hand to help her sit up. “If you’re having trouble it’s the fault of your husband. He needs to prepare you before he tries to fuck you.”

She flicks her hair from her neck to relieve some of the heat. “Oh, right.” She can feel herself trembling, but she feels light, like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. 

“How are you feeling now?” he asks, placing a reassuring hold to her arm.

“Good,” she says.

Aemond carefully helps her back into her panties, stockings, shoes, blouse and skirt. He rights her necklace, wipes the dried tears from her cheeks, drags his thumb around her mouth where her lipstick has smudged and helps her down from the bed, keeping a firm hand on her until she nods to let him know she’s alright. 

He tears off a prescription paper and hands it to her. She quickly skims over it. He’s not prescribed any medication or recommended a lobotomy, thank God. 

“Contraction therapy?” she reads, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“I want to see you twice weekly,” he says, buttoning up his shirt. “Maybe we can go for three times a week, if you feel it would be beneficial.”

She tries her best to hide her smile. “Well I’m sure you know best, doctor.”

General Taglist (comment if you wanna be added): @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

[namfinessed]

on repeat - m.yg.

genre: major angst, a bit of fluff at the end (timeloop! character death!) (7.2k)

summary: yoongi gets stuck in a vicious cycle where he can't seem to propose to you, nor save you from dying in his arms.

masterpost

he was going to propose to you.

that was the plan, the night was supposed to end with you in his arms, a dazzling smile on your face and his heart bursting at the seams with his love for you.

but yoongi is mute, rigid, a velvet box pressed against his thigh uncomfortably, a future with the ring inside it seemed impossible.

you sat, some distance away, a country away it seemed like to yoongi, you too were mute, and rigid but you were restless with anger that frankly, scared him.

the cab rumbled beneath his feet and his throat bobbed constantly, zayn malik’s ‘cruel’ buzzed over the air but it did nothing to ease the tension between you two.

‘back where we left off,

help you take your dress off,

i’ve been by myself, remembering you.’

he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know if he could say anything.

he sees his hand which lay next to yours, he could reach out, touch it, apologize, pull you in, let you yell at him but instead, he retracts it into his lap and folds it in defeat.

your nails dig into the leather of the car seat, so intensely, so painfully, and your jaw stays tight.

“can we-“

“don’t.” your warning hits him in a wave, you never speak to him like that, and you never look at him as if you could walk away from everything you’ve built together but you do now, you do now and yoongi feels like he’s falling into an abyss of failure.

yoongi slumps into his seat, eyeing the seconds ticking by on his watch, anxiety building so largely in his chest that he has to sit up, to let it dissipate physically.

“this isn’t fair,” he utters finally and you scoff, chin trembling, “tough luck, yoongi.”

he shakes his head, “how are we going to sort this out if you’re being like this?”

“we? there’s no ‘we’ here, yoongi, you have to sort this out,” you spit it out, body lurching forward in defense and yoongi drowns once again, in shame, in guilt, in a vicious cocktail of emotions that only you make him feel.

“okay fine, how am i supposed to sort this out?” he turns to face you, just as the cab pulls to a stop at the curb, the tires screeching under him irritates yoongi, but he keeps looking at you.

and he notices something he didn’t before.

a single tear falls out of your eyes and travels down your jaw, so slowly that yoongi feels he could draw it as it moves.

you never cry, not at movies, not at songs, not at anniversaries, yoongi had hoped he would make you cry today but not this way; he was hoping to see you so overjoyed that tears leaked without your permission.

but not this, not this strange, broken, lost tear that gets quickly wiped away by you.

“figure it out.” you declare and step out of the car, slamming it shut in the process and yoongi falls back on his seat, stunned and mournful as the weeds of grief sow into his heart.

you never cry.

-

yoongi buttons his suit, a cold expression on his face as he follows you into the rousing club, the rousing club he owned, the rousing club where you performed as a singer, this was where you met, this was where your love grew, this was where yoongi knew would be perfect for proposing to you.

but as you stomped in your tallest heels in front of him, your dress flowing behind you in an ethereal way, yoongi felt like he’d gone back to the day when he saw your audition, you had looked out of this world, so out of his league, so painfully beautiful but his heart tugged him towards you, in a way that was out of his control.

and you had taken his heart in, caged it in your palms, and never set it free, yoongi had never wanted to be set free, but you were leaving the cage open now, and he didn’t know where to go.

he didn’t where he belonged, if it wasn’t next to you.

“sir, ma’m,” the bouncers greeted you two, you smiled so sweetly at them, asking them about their day and their meals, then as they all turned to him, your face went back to the grim, dangerous fury that yoongi could feel burning into him.

as yoongi made small talk, you disappeared into the club, into the crowd of people, and yoongi, once again, tracked you down and followed you.

today was a big day for his club, “midas and tunes”, it was the grand re-opening after a successful year, and some huge renovations, he had been running around for months like a madman to prepare for this night, both the proposal and the re-opening, and a lot of yoongi’s stress was supposed to alleviate at the end of today.

but watching you, two feet away, not being able to touch you, or talk to you, just spiked his anxiety to the highest it’s ever been.

yoongi pushes through the people, half-heartedly greeting everyone on his way to you and you don’t look back, you march over to the side of the stage and he rushes to catch your wrist.

and as subtly as you could, you ripped it from his grip, throwing him a glare and say, “i’m going up there in one minute, i don’t want to hear a word from you.”

he’s had enough.

he lets out a groan of frustration, he wasn’t a saint, he wasn’t made of endless patience and god, he was trying but you were just, “you’re being so fucking difficult right now.” and your anger flares in your eyes, yoongi feels stupid for saying anything at all, the box in his pocket shakes its head at him.

“not another word, min yoongi.” you warn with your finger pointed at him to further punctuate your point, “go, be a good host and don’t you dare come back home tonight.”

with that, you change your face from a glare to the dazzling smile that yoongi loves, you walk onto the stage and wave at the group of people shining in the crowd.

yoongi purses his lips and works his way through the club, greeting, smiling, and exchanging niceties even as his feet wobble and his heart feels dry.

he watches you from the corner of his eyes, you glow on stage, your smile is perfect, your eyes are perfect, you are perfect, and you make it look so easy, going up in front of a couple of hundred people and talking to them with a confidence that no one could wreck with.

you were always this enigmatic, and yoongi had always felt he was less than you.

but he would never do anything to stand in the way of you and your light, he would always take the shadows so you could shine, which is why it makes it that much more difficult for him to hold onto you right at this moment.

he watched, proud eyes, sinking heart as you sang, each word so raw and rich that yoongi tunes out everything else around him.

your eyes flutter to him, he thinks it’ll be a vicious glare again, a snarl, anything to indicate your anger, but instead, your eyes soften around their edges, you lend him a ghost of a smile, a delicate moment passes between you two and yoongi smiles back at you.

you two would be okay, of course, you would be and if you kept smiling this way, yoongi would be on one knee by the end of tonight, and it would end exactly how he had dreamt it to.

but just as a bigger smile starts to grace your face, a loud bang from the back of the club startles yoongi, several loud bangs and clangs fill the air, people start screaming around him, pushing him in every direction to find the source of the noise and yoongi’s eyes rush to find you.

he starts pushing too, the air around him grows sparse, and his body keeps pulling him into the crowd when he’s trying to push against it.

his body grows cold when he hears the bang of a gun, the clutter of a bullet, the falling of a table, and screams.

so.

many.

screams.

they echo and bounce off his ears, some creep into his soul and stop his steps in fear.

but he pushes through, hurriedly, more frantically, because for fucks’ sake, he can’t see you, he can’t see your pretty eyes, your flowing dress, your tall heels, he can’t see you anywhere around him.

then, he stops.

yoongi falls.

to his knees.

the pain of the ground hitting his bones, shoots through him but his heart aches much more, it squeezes and squeezes at the sight in front of him.

a single bullet in the middle of your forehead.

your body on the ground.

no breathing, no movement, no sound.

just a single tear dripping at the tip of your nose.

yoongi crawls forward, eyes wide, skin riddled with terror, fresh terror that grabbed him by his throat, he gathers your body into his lap and taps your cheeks, taps your arms, taps your eyes, holds his ear to your nose, he calls out to you, he says your name once, twice, a billion times.

and he cries.

he holds your head to his chest and he cries so loudly, he can hear himself over the chaos, the banging, the clutter, his cries resonate and punctuate the air.

yoongi fiddles for the box in his pockets and blindly throws it across the room, it had no place in his world from today.

he had no place in his world from today.

-

‘back where we left off,

help you take your dress off,

i’ve been by myself, remembering you.’

yoongi stirred, his entire body hurt, his head was pounding and he winced as he tried to open his heavy eyes but when he managed somehow to peel them open, he is greeted with the sight of a window.

a window in a cab.

he jolts awake, his body screams in protest as he whips his head around.

you.

you.

you.

you got shot, you bled out in his arms, yoongi cried to the heavens.

but you are here.

your dress is flowing around you.

yesterday’s dress.

there’s no blood on it, not even a wrinkle, it’s pristine, and it’s as ethereal as he remembers, yoongi’s eyes reach your face, you are looking at him tensely but today, you have a concerned frown along with your anger.

what was happening?

“you good?” you ask, tone reluctant and stiff and yoongi feels himself go pale, it feels strange to hear your voice after your blood washed him away, “what happened?” he gasps, so desperately, so lost, his hands curl on the leather as they try to reach you, but you only scoff at him.

“we just hit a speed bump, yoongi, don’t be such a drama queen.”

no.

he had every right to freak out.

he saw you die.

“ho-how are you?” he feels stupid as he asks, he feels even more stupid when you glance at him with an arched eyebrow, “i’m trying not to kill you, what about you?”

yoongi drops his head against his seat, you are speaking to him, you are here, you are alive and yoongi can now feel the same velvet box pressing against his thigh.

he had thrown it away; he had held your skin as it turned blue.

but the cab was the same as yesterday, same zayn song, same tinted windows, same driver, same everything.

even your anger was the same.

yoongi felt like he could explode.

maybe it was a bad dream, maybe yoongi had somehow conjured the worst of worst-case scenarios in the tense moments that followed up to this day.

and he sighs in relief, you’re alive, you’re all right, it was a bad dream and he still could fix things.

but he still felt uneasy, something in the pit of his stomach kept curling and unfurling, a forewarning or a simple case of nerves on a huge day, yoongi wasn’t sure, he didn’t feel brave enough to question it for too long.

he wordlessly followed you into the club and watched you take your place on the stage, he watched your flowing dress and long heels and laughed to himself about how differently things went in his dream.

you would probably kill him before you ever died.

“i’d like to welcome you all, with a full heart, for our grand re-opening,” you spoke so smoothly, your words echoing off yoongi’s dreams and he tried to shrug off the way his stomach kept churning.

just nerves.

he told himself again and again, he was going to propose for fucks’ sake, of course, he was going to feel a bit queasy.

but failing to ignore the spikes growing on his spine, he turned around to survey the crowd, to convince himself that this was all completely normal, and when he saw smiling faces, glasses of alcohol, and glittering lights, he turned back to you, shaking his head at himself.

he was overthinking it all, he just had to make things right by you and then get down on one knee, and sleep it off.

the lights descend on you and a tune fills the air.

you started singing, his senses get consumed by you in the same second your voice travels to him.

yoongi feels himself relax.

his shoulders fall away from his ears, his chest expands to take in more air and he straightens his posture, he sips his drink and pours all his attention to the light that makes you glow.

your eyes meet his.

his shoulders pick back up.

he knows this scene.

yoongi’s heart thundered in his chest.

wasn’t this how you looked at him before you died in his arms?

he rushes forward, mumbling apologies to the people he pushes as unease crawls through his every sense. yoongi’s hands thrust in front of him, an urgent fever almost turns him blind.

if something happens, he will never forgive himself.

he reaches where you stand, hands and palms towards you, heart beating in his ears and your eyes light up at his stance, your anger melts at his open arms and as you sing, your hand reaches out for his, and yoongi feels his heart slip at the adoration that coated your glistening eyes.

oh.

you have mistaken his intentions but yoongi will take just about anything from you right now.

he places his hands in yours, “i’ve got you,” he whispers to you, he doesn’t know why, and your eyes round in surprise, then soften again, and you mouth back, “i’ve got you too.”

if you think his behavior is strange, especially because yoongi is never affectionate publicly, you don’t say anything and yoongi feels all the more grateful for it.

after sticking around until the song almost finished, yoongi meekly finds his way back into the crowd, but his brow glistened with sweat and his hands felt clammy.

but the worst was over, you finished your song and you were still alive, nothing bad had happened.

he needed help.

“hey, you” your voice breaks him out of his head, he looks up to see your eyes filled with subdued anger, “wanna dance to this, big boy?”

zayn’s ‘cruel’ fills his ears once again, he used to love the song but now, it fills him with vicious deja-vu, nevertheless, yoongi lets you whisk him away and he tries to move with you, tries to match your steps, tries to match your smile but the song seems to mock him.

‘who do you love, who do you love?’

“i know i was being really mean to you,” you speak under the neon lights, he sees your lips move, and he feels the weight of your words but yoongi doesn’t listen, “we’ll sort this out, okay? we’ve been through worse, you just have to promise me that you will never invite them again.”

right.

the actual reason you were fighting.

yoongi feels his fear melt, and he lets it melt completely, “i know we will, besides, i have so much planned for us, you can’t leave me hanging in all that.” he rests his forehead on you as you let out a giggle and curl into him.

“what does that mean?”

the box in his trousers begged to be let out, yoongi smiled, he had nothing to be worried about, “it means that i have a question to ask you-“

bang!

he feels his world spin on his feet when the crash comes, the same crash from his dreams, the same crash that killed you, yoongi’s arms fall from you and his breath comes short, he turns to the source of the noise, eyes darting wildly in the air.

“yoongi!” your screams come from beside him, your hands grip his arms, and he winces as your nails dig into his shirt, but he’s panicked, he’s scared, and he needs to take down the people doing it.

he can’t let them get to you.

“yo-“

a ringing noise travels in his ear, he swears he heard a bullet before it, and as his eyes drag over to you, achingly, as slowly as he can because he fears he knows what he will see.

and yoongi falls to his knees again.

he wipes the single tear off your face before crumbling next to you.

-

yoongi could still feel the warmth of your blood seeping through his fingers, as he stirred from slumber, he felt his clothes stretch against leather and his eyes shot open.

the cab window stared back at him.

the neon lights of the city mocked him.

‘back where we left off,

help you take your dress off,

i’ve been by myself, remembering you.’

the song pressed itself into his brain.

“no, no, no,” he gripped his hair in his hands as he leaned forward, this couldn’t be happening, not again.

“seriously, yoongi? i’m the one who is hurt and you want to act like the baby?” your razor-sharp eyes ground him, and he lurches forward to grab your hand.

you were real.

you were here.

but this time, yoongi knew it couldn’t have been a dream. it had felt too real, his pain had been too real and coincidence didn’t seem like a strong enough explanation.

“what are you doing, yoongi?” you hiss and bat his hand away, looking out the window with a stone-cold expression.

but yoongi had his own problems.

he had to ignore the sting in his heart to figure out what the fuck was happening with his life.

why was it this cab?

why was it this song?

and why did you always die at the end?

yoongi could only think of one explanation, a burglary gone wrong, because everyone else was a respected guest, thoroughly vetted and yoongi knew all of them personally, none of them would want to hurt you.

but yoongi thinks back to how acutely he felt the box in his pocket, how it pressed into him more whenever you…well, whenever you died.

“i have to do this here,” he whispers to himself, hands already reaching out to rip the box out of his pocket, he faces you and yoongi tries not to feel hurt over the anger still flashing in your eyes.

“i know this isn’t a good time, but i need to do this, please look at me,” yoongi begs you, and he never begged anyone for anything, which is what makes you turn to look at him.

a gasp leaves your lips the second you notice the box in his palm, “yoongi, oh my god,” you say, breathlessly, in adoration and fear, and yoongi wishes he could’ve done this differently, “i know we’re fighting and i know you’re upset with me but even if you are, even if we aren’t always good, i want to be with you and no one else, for the rest of my life.”

yoongi’s throat feels dry, his heart doesn’t sing even if he means his words, he desperately wishes he was doing this differently but he knows no way out, he didn’t want to wake up to your angry face, he didn’t want to see you die anymore, he didn’t want to be in this cab anymore.

“aw, yoongi,” at least, it seems that you find it sentimental, your eyes glisten with unshed tears, any anger is dissipated from your face, and yoongi’s heart cheers.

he did it.

“i want to spend the rest of my life with you too,” you hum happily, a single tear escapes your eyes as you watch him and his fingers reach out for your hand, he is finally feeling the buzz and excitement that comes with proposing.

yoongi was going to spend the rest of his life with you.

bang!

yoongi’s heart sinks, the ring dangles and falls off from his grip, and the cab swerves unnaturally to the divider in the road.

it was the tire, yoongi knew it was from the way the cab lost control.

“yoongi!” your scream reaches him and yoongi only watches as blinding lights fall from behind you and he can only watch as they crash into your side of the cab, throwing the vehicle into the middle of the street.

and he closes his eyes, he doesn’t turn your way, he refuses to look at your hand that falls on his lap, he ignores the blood dripping on his trousers.

he lets the ring fall onto the floor of the cab.

-

leather.

box.

‘back where we left off,

help you take your dress off,

i’ve been by myself, remembering you.’

that damn song.

this time, yoongi didn’t bother being surprised or confused, he opened his eyes, and the window came into his view, he sighed, he looked to his side, he saw your simmering eyes settled in a scowl, he sighed, he felt the box in his pocket, he sighed.

if he was going to do this a million times, he figured that he might as well get somewhere with you.

“i’m sorry for inviting your family,” he starts and you scoff at him, but he continues, he was going to live this day again and again until the universe was done playing with him apparently, yoongi had nothing to lose. “i shouldn’t have tried to act like some hero, reuniting you guys, i should’ve understood why you hated them so much and stayed out of your way.”

your posture visibly relaxes, your shoulders drop, your scowl melts by a little, and you turn to him with tears in your eyes, “i just don’t understand why you thought it was a good idea, they are people who have betrayed me so many times yoongi, i didn’t want to see their faces ever.”

yoongi had thought that, as much as you fought with your family, you would still want them around for his proposal, he had spent weeks meticulously planning things with them, but he should’ve known you better, he should’ve tried to understand that he couldn’t do things just because he thought it would turn out well for you.

and yoongi feels terrible, “let’s just say, i had something big planned for today.” his palms fold on his lap and his head drops to the seat, he feels exhausted, he feels so far and close to how he wanted tonight to end.

he doesn’t answer you when you ask him what it was, he doesn’t say anything at all even when his club comes into view, he walks straight into it and grabs a glass of whiskey for himself.

god knows that he’s earned it.

“yoongi, i’m up in two minutes,” you approach him at the bar, eyes wide with concern, “good luck, you’re going to kill it.” he taps your shoulder, then winces at his choice of words and your eyebrows twist in confusion.

“are you still angry?” yoongi turns away at your question, he was acting like an asshole but if you were going to die again, yoongi didn’t want to see another second of it, he couldn’t see another second of it without going completely insane, “i’m not, just nerves, don’t worry about it.” he knows you can sense how half-hearted his tone is but you only eye him warily once before leaving his side.

yoongi lets his head fall onto the cool glass of the bar countertop, he hears your delicate voice swimming in the air and he buries himself further into the glass.

“oh, hyung!” yoongi frowns, no one calls him that.

he slowly looks up to see your brother, steve, the one he invited, the one you hated, “oh hey man, how’s it going?” yoongi gives him a one-arm hug and proceeds to nurse his drink again.

“all good, the club’s beautiful, no wonder you picked this for the proposal,” steve looks fine, yoongi wonders why you hate him, “well, don’t get too excited about the proposal.”

“if your sister stops dying for two minutes, i would have a chance at that,” his tone is bitter but yoongi’s chest aches, is this how it’s going to be? is he going to watch you die a million more times before he ever gets to call you, his wife?

“huh?”

“don’t worry about it, rough day.” he waves your brother off, hoping that he will leave yoongi alone but steve lingers, “so hyung,” yoongi didn’t have the energy to correct him that he in fact, wasn’t his hyung.

“i’m between jobs right now, the club looks terrific, you think you can hook me with something?” steve says so casually, that yoongi has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at his soon-to-be brother-in-law.

his brother-in-law had no skills in subtlety and suddenly, yoongi started seeing why you might hate your family.

yoongi’s met this guy for two minutes and he’s already asking for a job, and he’s heard you complain about how your family keeps asking you for everything, he feels even more terrible for inviting them.

“i’ll look into it.” his words hold no promise but your brother brightens up immediately, taking a seat next to yoongi and beaming at him, yoongi politely smiles and focuses on his drink.

“but seriously hyung, why her?”

“i’m sorry?”

“oh come on hyung, you know as much as i do, that you can do way better than my sister,” yoongi looks at steve in disbelief, why was your brother talking shit about his own sister, especially on the night of her proposal?

“she’s heartless hyung, she will chew you up and leave you with nothing, trust me our entire family has experienced it.” yoongi’s grip around his glass tightens, and he hears the cracks that threaten to break it, he wished it was steve’s neck instead.

“get out.”

“what?”

“i said, get the fuck out of my club before i get you kicked out.”

“hyung, i’m only trying to protect you from her, she’s insane,” and yoongi loses it completely, “why are you still standing and speaking to me? i told you to get out.”

“what’s going on?” you step into the bar with your arms across your chest, you already look tired, “your brother was just leaving, the exit’s that way.” yoongi pointed out for steve and sat back down.

steve goes red in the face, his breaths leave him rushed and he is visibly angry.

yoongi wished he gave a singular fuck about him.

“you’re going to let this man be your husband, after how he talked to your brother?” steve turns to you and you quirked an eyebrow at him, “what husband are you talking about, steve?”

wow.

there went yoongi’s plan of a surprise proposal.

“ask him,” steve was doing this intentionally, yoongi knew the second he saw the glint pass his eyes, he was enjoying ruining your proposal, “he’s speaking bullshit, which is why i asked him to leave, and he still hasn’t left for some reason.” yoongi shrugs, trying to play it cool, trying to act as if a box wasn’t pressing into his thighs.

“no, ask him what it is in his pocket. ask him!” steve points wildly at yoongi, his anger flaring even more and yoongi’s eyebrows line with sweat, you look at him in confusion, he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“stop it right now, steve.” yoongi tries to maintain his cool.

“just because i asked you for a job, doesn’t already make you the boss of me, i hope you and her rot together,” he hisses out at yoongi.

“you asked yoongi for a job?”

shit.

yoongi tenses up once again, because you sound scalded, he turns immediately, abandoning his drink and peace.

you are holding back tears as you stare pointedly at your brother.

steve goes red again, “well, my useless sister wasn’t doing anything for me, so i thought i’d at least try with her husband.” he scoffs and yoongi’s never wanted to punch someone so badly.

your face flashes with hurt and your lips turn down, you turn to stare at yoongi with venom dripping from your eyes, as if to tell him, ‘see, this is why i hate them.’

you didn’t have to signal that twice, yoongi’s understood how terrible your family is, based on the very short interaction with your brother.

“okay, play time’s over, follow me quietly or my bouncers will carry you out,” yoongi sinks from his seat and glares at steve until his shoulders fall and his feet line up with yoongi’s.

“you’re the most selfish person i know, you don’t deserve any of this,” steve growls at you, and yoongi grabs the jacket of his suit, pulling him away from you, “shut up, if you know what’s good for you, you won’t speak another word.”

“i’m selfish? after everything i’ve done for you, i’m the selfish one?” you half-scream at steve, with trembling hands and a single tear falling out of your eyes.

yoongi’s seen this scene before, a hurtle of recognition tumbles over him as he finally notices what exactly happens whenever a tear falls from your eyes.

you die and he fails to save you, every single time that a tear touches your chin.

“without your husband, you would be nothing,” steve points his finger at you, and your face twists in annoyance, “why does he keep saying husband?”

“yeah hyung, why do i keep saying husband?” steve turns to yoongi with his arms crossed, a smug smile dancing on his lips and yoongi’s mind goes blank.

he doesn’t say a word.

he doesn’t look up to see you.

he just wanted to do this one night right, and it was all falling on him again.

“yoongi?” you look at him expectantly, he looks away, he swallows the lump in his throat and he wants to run away.

“let me help you, hyung,” steve steps forward and yoongi doesn’t know why he’s saying that, he doesn’t process a word until steve shoves his hand into yoongi’s pocket and pulls out the velvet box that hasn’t left him alone.

your mouth falls open as the action catches the attention of everyone in the room, collective gasps, squeals, and whispers cloud yoongi’s mind as he tries to look for your reaction in all this.

there’s no joy on your face, no excitement, just a wide eye and dropped jaw staring back at him.

he feels several knives twist themselves into his chest and it takes everything in him to not fall on the floor and curl himself up.

he never wanted this, he never wanted to live through a night where you would reject him.

as people started crowding, yoongi’s throat tightened, his entire heart was dangling from steve’s fingers and he couldn’t do a thing about it.

but he looked at you, with some faded hope that you would wake yourself up and give him your heart too.

“come here,” your whisper barely registers to him, your touch barely dawns on him as you drag him away from the crowd.

it’s only when a gust of cold wind breaks on his face that he looks up to see that you have dragged him to the patio.

“yoongi, please look at me.”

he swallows another sob down his throat.

“it’s okay, i understand why you would say no, i fucked the whole thing up,” he runs a hand through his hair, his head refused to pick itself up, and your whispers of ‘no, no, no’ reach him slowly.

“it’s not like that,” your hands come into his view before they cup his jaw and force him to look at you, yoongi barely holds himself together as your fingers run circles on his cheeks, “i just wish,” you sigh, hands coming around his neck and resting your forehead on his chest.

yoongi’s hands twitch beside his body, “what do you wish for?” and he almost doesn’t recognize his voice, he sounds so weak, so desperate, but yoongi couldn’t hide it, it was exactly how he felt.

“i just wish it was us,” you start, yoongi holds his breath, “and no one else.”

“that’s all?”

“that’s all, yoongi” you let out a small laugh into his chest before picking yourself up and staring at him with all the love in the world.

he feels his worries run away like steam from a hot plate of food.

bang!

yoongi’s arms lurch out to you, pulling you to him as his breath quickens.

that fucking noise.

you both watched with wide eyes as people tumbled out of the club, screaming, falling, running, and looking back in fear. yoongi grabs your hand and runs, he runs with heavy steps and pulls you with him, he desperately looks back every two seconds as more and more people file out.

“yoongi!” your nails barely hold onto his jacket and he feels your grip loosen.

then, he doesn’t feel it at all.

yoongi stops running, he rushes back as people push him out of the way, as people shove his shoulder, step on his feet, and elbow him in the stomach, he winces and groans but he doesn’t stop looking for you in the crowd.

he screams your name, searches for your dress, searches for your heels, searches for your nails but nothing comes into view.

yoongi feels the acid rush into his mouth, he feels the choking that suffocates his chest and throat, and he feels his knees weaken at the thought of his nightmare repeating again.

and he realizes he can’t do anything at all to stop it.

the night ends when the crowd ends, when the police cars show up, when they find your body on the floor and put it into a body bag, and when they explain to yoongi that it was because of a stampede and it couldn’t have been in his control.

yoongi laughs at them.

nothing had ever been in his control.

-

‘back where we left off,

help you take your dress off,

i’ve been by myself, remembering you.’

yoongi didn’t open his eyes.

he knew what came next.

“i just wish it was us, and no one else.”

his eyes scrunch in pain as your voice floats in his head, he remembers the promise in your eyes, the tremble of your fingers as they snaked around his neck and he was so close this time, so fucking close but he was here again, and you were here too.

again.

the tires under the car screech and pull over.

“yoongi, we need to go.” your stern voice pulls him back in, and he opens his eyes, dazed, he stares at the cab window with the weight of a thousand boulders on his shoulders.

he doesn’t know how to fix this; he doesn’t know how to save you and yoongi is so close to just letting the nights blend into each other until he dies with you.

“i just wish it was us, and no one else.”

but you.

you deserved more than a resigned fate, you deserved more than a man who didn’t know how to save you, hell you deserved a man who knew what you wanted.

“yoongi, are you listening to me? we’re here,” you say once again and yoongi stares at his club, which shines so brightly in the night and he doesn’t make a single move to get out, even as you huff in annoyance.

here.

here lay so many nights.

here lay so many of your bodies.

then yoongi straightens up.

here.

here lay so many of your bodies.

here was the problem.

“we need to go back,” he whispers to no one, his nerves catch fire as the craziest or maybe not-crazy-at-all plan he’s ever come up with starts burning in his mind, he looks at you, your angry eyes, and scrunched-up fists, and reaches out for them.

“do you trust me?” he asks hastily, fingers gripping your fists and you frown at him, “what are you going on about?”

“do you trust me? please tell me,” maybe it was the tears gathering in his eyes, or his hands that begged you to understand but you eventually gave him a hesitant nod.

with your confirmation, yoongi leans over his seat and speaks quickly “driver, please take us back to our place, we will pay you extra,” and your frown grows deeper as the cab hits a u-turn.

“yoongi, our guests will be arriving, what the fuck are you doing?”

“please, just trust me.”

and again, his voice shakes your anger, your stance, you sink back into the seat without a word.

yoongi feels his heart race as your home comes into view, his fingers instinctively reach out for the box in his pocket, but it doesn’t terrify him anymore, he feels the texture of it, he imagines the future in it and he hopes to all the powers in the world that this works out.

he pays the driver, waits for you to step out, and gently tugs you along with him to your home, your safe place, a space that was always for you two.

and yoongi’s lips twitch, they threaten to break out a large smile, one that would give him away, one that would ruin his plans but they’ve been ruined so many times already, what’s one more time?

he removes his hand from yours as you reach your living room and paces forward, bringing out a candle, shutting down some lights and you watch with your arms crossed, your lower lip caught between your teeth in an anxious action and you grow more confused by the minute.

he switches the last remaining light off and you see nothing.

“yoongi, what is going on?” you whine into the darkness, trying to place his figure with his footsteps, your foot taps repeatedly as you zero into the sounds around you.

then, light falls through, a soft, warm light from the candle you bought for yoongi.

and yoongi comes into the light, just as soft, just as warm, on one knee, a nervous twitch in his eyebrows as his hands shake in front of him.

there’s a ring in his hands, a shine that dims all the other light in the room except yoongi who remains the most radiant.

your jaw starts to tremble as you slowly take in yoongi’s smile, which is nervous but so present.

“love, i should’ve known you,” he starts, and you’re stepping forward, “i should’ve known that you wouldn’t want anyone else to see this, to witness us at this moment,” his voice scratches with emotion and you’re stepping forward again, “but now i do, and i only have one thing to say,” he takes in a shaky breath and the toe of your heels grazes his leather shoes, “i love you, and there’s not a person, not a disaster, not enough warnings, nothing can ever stop me from trying to get to you.”

you frown a bit; you assume he means everything you’ve been through together in your relationship and your heart drowns in itself.

“i love you and i’ll never stop loving you, i promise to spend the rest of my life being yours,” your chin shakes furiously as you try to hold your tears back, “as long as you are mine.”

“what do you say, do you want to make me the happiest man alive?” yoongi’s eyes glisten, and his mind flashes with images of your body laying still through the many nights he tried to save you but he pushes them away, you’re here right now, you’re here and he has one more chance to keep you safe.

“oh, yoongi,” you sigh and fall into his arms, onto the ground, and grip his body so tightly, that fresh tears gather in his eyes, you’re here, and yoongi’s here, and somehow, the night has taken a better turn than he ever expected.

as he looks around the house you’ve built together, your candle burning away and leaving the sweetest scent in the air, and there are no neon lights, there are no shitty family members, there is no one and nothing at all, it’s just you and him and yoongi hopes that he will never have to go back to those nights again.

“i’ll always be yours,” you sniff and rub your nose into his cheek, “darling i love you too but let me get this ring on you,” you laugh and nod, pushing away to let him slip the delicate, shiny band onto your finger.

“there you go,” he holds onto your finger and pulls you back into his arms, nuzzling his nose into your neck and you hum in pure happiness.

and both of you melt onto the floor, the warm light falls on you and yoongi’s heartbeat is in your ears when he asks, “do you like it?”

“i love it.” a single tear slips from your eyes.

yoongi’s smile falls.

-

a hand on his chest stirs him awake, yoongi’s eyes shoot open, his head twisting from side to side to see his surroundings.

his hands touch and feel the soft sheets covering his body and he looks to his right, it covers your body too and yoongi shakes his head at himself, a low laugh escaping him.

he stands up, groaning as he stretches his body and looks at your peaceful face.

yoongi lets his smile grow exponentially, walking over to push the curtains away and open into his balcony. he takes a deep breath as he leans over the railing and the scent of everything hits him, dulling his senses into a mild buzz.

“hey, handsome” hands sneak up on his torso and a shimmer blinks back from your fingers as they wrap around him, “good morning, my wife,” yoongi reaches for your hands and gives each of your fingers a kiss, making you giggle and push your head into his back.

“technically, it’s fiancé.”

“i think i prefer wife already.” and you hum contently, “me too.”

it was a new day.

his endless nights had finally come to an end and he never felt more grateful, he doesn’t think he will ever be able to explain how it happened, he doesn’t think anyone will understand the turmoil and anguish he felt in the past few hours, he doesn’t even think there’s an explanation but yoongi likes to brush it away, he has you and he doesn’t need an explanation, he just wants to keep you safe forever.

but he still had one problem.

“darling, don’t take this the wrong way, but can i block steve?”

[wisteriagoesvroom]

📚 10 f1 fics i've loved lately 🏎️

been thinking a lot about how to organise fic recs into some sort of sensible post, 'cus there are so many (great!) pairings and (delicious!) driver combinations, not to mention so many varying styles of fic and SUPER TALENTED WRITERS!!111!!

just gonna list a bunch in no particular order, with accompanying pics, so you can get a sense of the vibes.

'cus what is f1 rpf but all about the ✨ vibes?! 🏁

p.s. people are in this community making amazing stuff for freeee!! if you liked these please leave a kudos or a comment, it makes a writer's day 🫡 

let's gooooo--

objects in the mirror by linearity (@drivestraight) charles/max. 87k words (series), rated t then e

listen. LISTEN! charles to rbr is one of the best premises ever and i will read it in like a thousand iterations. but this fic. this fic series in particular cleared my skin, made me want to cut my hair into a bob out of sheer emotion. i would be remiss not to start with this one because its impact on my f1 rpf trajectory should be studied by science. you know when a story just jumps off the page and it's so real that it becomes your canon. a kind of meteoric inevitability. plus, i almost never cry at fics. but by the time the third act of this one hit, i just went -- damn, am i rly about to tear up at a f1 rpf fanfiction rn? (yes.)

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sawtooth by nottonyharrison (@nottonyharrison) charles/max. 40k words, rated e

max as a f1 engineer? for CARLOS at FERRARI? sign me the fuckkk up. first off, awesome premise. there's always going to be something so heartwrenching about "what ifs", especially in any universe where max isn't a racer. despite the change of circumstances, just... the sheer poetry of two characters who just inexplicably find their way to each other in any universe... 🤧 also this story nails racing scenes in a way that's so visceral, i feel like a fly on the damn halo with them. and, aside from the gourmet lestappen, carlos's whole thing in this fic is joyous! spicy! he's so unapologetic and vaguely annoying! hilarious! + the swimming pool scene lives rent-free in my head.

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salt skin by peachbellini (@strawberry-daiquiris) oscar/lando. 12k words, rated e

this fic is magic. literally and figuratively. (MERMAID LANDO???? MERMAID LANDO.) the kind of story that makes you gasp and melt a little bit. and made me want to throw my phone at the writer, 'cause it's really that good. the yearning, the metaphor for all that's monstrous, a boy who is lost (and the boy who he finds, is equally so). this is just beautifully written and a little quirky and so well executed. i think i put it in my bookmarks as "what if lando was a mermaid and it was filmed by a24" or something. pearl of a story.

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hockey!! shrimp colors :) by leafmeal0ne (@ocontraire) oscar/lando. 13k words, rated t

leaf meal one. i have only known you a week but if anything were to happen to you i would wreck everyone in the room including myself. in all seriousness, anything that leaf writes is brilliant. they're one of these writers who could do a throwaway line on the label of a ketchup bottle and i will probably scream about it. the precision, the way they switch up sentence structures, the freaking darcy-level regency yearning transposed onto a contemporary sports setting. i'd rec all of leaf's sports AUs and i'll probably talk about more in a future fic rec post. BUT. the hockeyyy one my GOD. the barely restrained violence, their mutual desire, the theme of finding your place... *wails uncontrollably*

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you almost unearthly thing by anonymous max/daniel, 3.7k words, rated g

max is a governess(govern..lad?) and daniel is the mystery man at the manor. this was a response to a request i made in the kinkmeme! (if you haven't read those fics go check 'em out, there are so many great ones, and not necessarily all rated e). this is a criminally underrated little story that has my favourite repressed feelings + people dancing around each other + gothic vibes + "what the hell is wrong with y'all in this tale" combo that i really adore. it's really well written and captures the atmosphere so well.

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the so-called narrative by antimonyandthyme (@antimonyandthyme) oscar/carlos, 10k words, rated e

i'm once again asking why there are only 7 carlos/oscar works in the tag. I'M ONCE AGAIN ASKING-- *is sedated*. *jolts awake* okay but for real this is a great story. hot, fake-friendship-to-situationship which so happens is one of my favourite places to be. also hello miscommunication/they're so weird about it/they both want each other but can't express themselves for shit/insane racer boys energy.

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and silver, and samarium by pink_mink (@on-softs) george/toto, 5.2k words, rated e

i profess i am not usually the biggest fan of A/B/O (altho!! this fandom has made me go BUT ACTUALLY HM at least a few times). and this fic freaking nails it, along with the twisted power dynamics between TPs and drivers, as seen through the lens of omegaverse. this story rattles around my head like a stubborn ghoul just from the style and prose and sheer audacity alone. george kneeling at toto's knees while he's working..... ohhhhhhhhh i was this close to calling my lawyers.

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algorithm by anney (@badboy-george) charles/max, 16k words, rated e

i LOVE, LOOOOVE a sci fi concept alright. love that shit, will inhale it like moon dust with zero regrets. and what a fantastic one this one is!! the premise is that the FIA can now statistically show the compatibility of drivers on the grid and it's very pacific rim-y drift compatible, mixed with the surreal vibes of eternal sunshine or HER or some such. it should be outrageous, but it really works. that's the beauty of a great fic right there.

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trajectory of trojan asteroids by redpaint (@redpaint) nico/lewis, 3.3k words, rated g

also one of the fics i first read when i hopped on board the f1 rpf train. the pain and poignancy just gets worse the more i learn about brocedes. you know when you're like "there's no way this was reallll" and then you're like "fuck, it was so real". then you get a fic like this that just encapsulates all that rage and loss and grief and upset, set against the starry vista of endless space. *clutches tablecloth* god.

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p.s please bear in mind that these recs are entirely subjective! i enjoy loads of f1 stories but these are the ones that have especially stuck with me for some inexplicable reason.

p.p.s if your fic is on here and you want it taken off for whatever reason, i'm happy to, no questions asked 💛

BYE for now / until part 2. (i also love talking to ppl about fics so pls feel free to send an ask or hit me up in DMs or whatever.)

xoxo, -- wizz

[tired-teacher-blog]

Is it too late for us?

Characters : Aizawa/ Fem reader

Warnings and Genre : NSFW/ 18+/ Sexual intercourse/ Angst/ Ex boyfriend!Aizawa/ One Shot

Summary : You've never expected to run into your ex after an ugly breakup and months of being apart, but there you were, back in his bed and reliving every painful emotion you struggled to bury within you.

Notes : Banner and divider by @/saradika

Masterlist|Second Masterlist

You couldn't wrap your head around it at first, not even when you locked eyes with him for the first time in months, not even when he followed you to the restroom where you fled in hopes of collecting yourself.

You couldn't fathom the unusual aggressiveness he showed you while dragging you behind him through the restaurant's back door, ignoring all the questioning looks you two received from the clueless workers you passed on your way out.

You were in a haze, your mind a blur, not yet comprehending that you two had just ditched your dates and drove off to his apartment.

Only when your back hit the mattress, did you finally understand that you were in the presence of a beast who took over this man's whole being.

_ "Slow down a bit, please." your whiney protests were muffled by his hungry kisses, he was like a mad man, possessed and blind to everything that wasn't you.

Your new dress— picked out specifically to impress your date, was torn apart in the blink of an eye.

_ "You did all of this to sway that loser? Come on, you can do much better than him." he rasped bitterly, discarding the shredded garment to the floor and biting hard on the soft skin of your breasts.

_ "Don't patronize me you jerk! What I do is none of your business anymore." tears threatened to spill from your eyes, his words hurt you more than you expected them to do.

How dare he lecture you after heartlessly ending your relationship and walking away like it was nothing?

_ "Right, none of my business.." he repeated monotonically, emerging from his position to stare daggers into your soul.

His lips twitched, as if he wasn't done speaking, but you didn't want to hear it, nothing he had to say would make up for the countless nights you cried yourself to sleep wondering what went wrong.

You pulled him down forcefully, smashing your lips together in a bruising kiss, all tongues and teeth and desperate grunts, nothing sweet or romantic about it. Perfect..

It was exactly what you needed at that moment, to quench an insufferable thirst without looking back or raising your hopes up.

It meant nothing, it couldn't possibly mean anything..

Your fingers tugged at his dress shirt, fumbling with the damned buttons that refused to cooperate, "fuck, take it off, hurry." you demanded between sloppy kisses and he hummed against you before complying, his lips never leaving yours as he ripped it open.

Your hands roamed his lean chest eagerly, digging your nails into his flesh to leave bloody scratches behind.

His growls turned louder as his lips left your abused ones, "who is he?"

What?..

_ "How did you two meet?"

Seriously?..

_ "I can't let you go back to him."

A joke, it was a joke right? He was the one who left you behind without offering any kind of explanation, he was the one who pushed you into another man's arms, and he was the one who started dating around as soon as he threw you away, so why would he bother asking after all that happened?

You owed him nothing.

_ "Stop talking." you didn't want to deal with his nonsense, not anymore.

His clenched jaw peeked through the dark stubble on his cheeks, he clearly had more things to say, but the look you gave him spoke louder than any words he could utter.

His coarse hands traveled the expanse of your delicate skin, arousing goosebumps in their path and moving further down until they reached the soft fabric of your panties.

Your eyes rolled back in anticipation, and your spine arched off the bed when he roughly tore out the flimsy garment separating you, wasting no time to fondle your slick covered clit before pushing two fingers into your warmth at once.

He was harsh, uncaring, unbothered by the inevitable sting of the first intrusion as he pumped his digits fast and deep within you.

He was never like that, if only he would be gentler..

No, it was perfect that way, you didn't need the perplexity, the reminder of a past which could never return.

You grabbed onto the bedsheets underneath and tilted your head to the side as you refused to meet his piercing gaze any longer, your eyes burnt and the tears you struggled to keep at bay came rolling down your cheeks.

_ "Don't look away." his breath fanned over your neck as he demanded huskily but you chose to ignore him, sinking your teeth into your lower lip and bracing yourself for what was coming as you heard him unzip his pants.

Your legs trembled involuntary when he retrieved his long, slick-coated fingers and positioned himself at your entrance.

Usually he would ask if you were ready for him, if you were feeling well, if you wanted him to carry on or to give you more time, but that was in the past, you were no more than strangers now..

_ "Wait, too deep.." broken whines erupted as he eased himself into your core, stretching you around his thickness and sheathing it within your heat.

_ "I can't let you go back to him," he withdrew his hips slowly before plunging against you once more, "I should've never let you go," his tongue darted out to lick a wet stripe over the protruding vein on the side of your neck, "I will make you forget about him," his lips brushed against your quivering jaw, trailing soft kisses along your skin before sucking a perfect red mark where everyone can see.

You wanted to fire back, to curse at him, to ask him to shut up. What gave him the right to decide for you after everything he's done? Wasn't he out with yet another girl? Oh the hypocrisy..

_ "You.." was all you could articulate, whimpering the rest unintelligibly as his thrusts suddenly quickened.

His bruising clutches squeezed your waist tighter, and his eager mouth abused every inch of you he could reach, "mine, you'll always be mine.."

You clawed at his shoulders as warmth started polling in the pit of your stomach, you weren't going to last much longer and neither was he.

_ "keep going.. Shouta.." your voice betrayed you as it finally spoke his name, and it was like feeding a starved dog as his hips started slamming mercilessly against your own.

_ "Again, say my name again." it was more of a plea than an instruction. He sounded desperate, cradling your tear-streaked cheek and tilting your head to face him, he was on the verge of tears himself and you fought the urge to comfort him.

_ "I'm sorry I ruined everything between us," his soft locks fell around his face to tickle your skin as he spoke, and you no longer had the strength to hold back.

You pulled him down for a kiss— unlike the ones you shared earlier, a kiss that reminded you of the happy moments you once had.

Longing moans invaded his mouth as they left your throat, and shaky hands grabbed onto his raven strands as his throbbing cock grazed your insides heavenly.

His hips moved erratically announcing his approaching release, and your lips molded sloppily with his own as your sopping walls squeezed him hard.

_ "Shouta! I'm.." you threw your head back as your body tensed up beneath him, digging your nails into his back while shockwaves of pleasure shook you to the core.

_ "Fuck.." his eyes were on you as he kept moving, guiding you throughout your orgasm until you relaxed at last, and pulling out of your sensitive cunt before ropes of pearly seeds erupted from his raging tip to coat your tummy and mix with the sheen of sweat adorning your skin.

_ "I love you." and it was the first time you hear him say it.

Never in the course of your perished relationship had he ever spoken those words to you, funny how life works, a few months ago you would have given an arm for him to say them, but now that he did, those same words were stabbing mercilessly at your heart.

_ "No! Don't!" you pushed him weakly as you sobbed, wishing to escape his presence, "you can't do this to me!"

He showed no resistance as he moved out of your way, though his trickling tears were too heavy to conceal, still, you chose to ignore them as you wobblily left his bed, picking up the shreds of your soul as well as your dress's, "this was a mistake Shouta, let's not meet again."

You wondered how to get home in your messed up state, but nothing seemed worse than this, and so, you walked out on him, repressing the urge to look back because you knew all too well that doing so, would weaken your resolve.

There he was, alone again, reaping the unbearable pain of his own mistake.

If only he was honest with himself from the beginning, if only he was brave enough to accept his feelings for you instead of running away, if only he could turn back time, if only he hadn't missed his chance..

Was it too late? Was it really over?

[coldresolve]

How to Write a Schizoid Character

Schizoid Personality Disorder (SzPD) affects an estimated 1% of the population, similar to rates of autism, but is widely overlooked both in real life and in fiction - to the point where it is often colloquially labelled "the silent disorder". This is a somewhat comprehensive guide in how to write a character with SzPD, from someone who has it.

Quick research guide

I'm writing this guide with the underlying assumption that you've already done some cursory reading into the basics of SzPD. At this point, you need to understand two things: One is that this disorder is incredibly poorly researched, due to schizoids often not seeking treatment for the disorder itself (they sometimes seek treatment for comorbidities like depression or anxiety); and two, as a result of this, there is a lot of over-simplified misinformation out there about SzPD. This disorder often gets boiled down, even by mental health professionals, to the DSM-V or IDC-10 diagnostic criteria, which are criticised widely in the schizoid community for being incredibly superficial descriptions of overt SzPD. This is the kind of case where you need to seek out the SzPD specialists or the schizoids themselves for information about the disorder.

Akhtar's profile is a good overview. Psychologist Elinor Greenberg has a quora where she answers all sorts of questions about SzPD, and she typically hits the nail on the head. Other resources include Schizoid Angst, a youtube channel run by a man who has SzPD (this convo in particular is really good). If you're interested in a deep dive, I recommend reading The Divided Self by R.D. Laing for a deeper understanding of the inner workings of schizoids, as well as the relationship between SzPD and the rest of the schizophrenia spectrum.

Understand the "root" of SzPD

SzPD typically forms as the result abuse, neglect or abandonment in childhood. Schizoids have learned through trauma that emotional intimacy, vulnerability, and dependence on other people all have the potential to harm them badly, and as a result, they tend to avoid those things. In that sense, schizoids don't have a problem with other people, per se. Understanding this fact can help you write your schizoid character with more realism and nuance.

For example, it's a common misconception that all schizoids are averse to having sex. Many schizoids are, to be fair - but plenty of schizoids also frequently engage in hook-up culture, or form other sexual relationships. Physical intimacy can be entirely seperate from emotional intimacy, and thus pose no real risk to a person with SzPD. It's also possible for schizoids to form good relationships with other people, if those relationships are based on non-emotional grounds, such as recreational interests, work, religion, etc.

You can show this in your schizoid character by thinking about which of your other characters your schizoid might gravitate towards. In general, they will feel safest with characters who place few (or no) emotional demands on them, don't place high value on phatic gestures, don't pry into their emotional state or background, respect their need for independence and agency, and so on.

Overt or Covert?

Once you've researched the disorder a bit, you need to decide whether your schizoid character is overt or covert. The overt/covert split is about 50%/50%, so neither is more likely than the other.

Overt schizoids tend to be a lot more blunt about their indifference, visibly detached and aloof, and are typically way less likely to engage in social settings (or be in social settings at all). These are the characters who have blunt affect, ie. won't have much of an emotional reaction to their surroundings, even if it directly involves them (ex. getting praised/criticised). They may have odd speaking patterns, such as stilted or vague speech, and can sometimes come across as cold and uncaring. Overt schizoids are noticably reluctant to reveal what's going on in their internal world, so they might also come across as enigmatic, secretive, or mistrustful.

If your character is an overt schizoid, think about how their behavior and personality are percieved by other characters, what kind of reactions might arise. Think about how your schizoid character might navigate these reactions - after all, they're probably used to getting comments. How do they react if someone comments on how disinterested/moody they seem? Do they tell the person to fuck off? Do they raise an eyebrow, and that's that?

Covert schizoids, or "secret" schizoids, experience the exact same symptoms as overt SzPD, but they hide it behind what's called a false-self system. You can think of it as a form of compulsive masking. Apart from perhaps vaguely eccentric behavior, you typically won't be able to tell that a secret schizoid has SzPD unless you know what you're looking for. If your character is a secret schizoid, they will behave in a way that seems socially engaged and interested, maybe even extroverted, but they will be emotionally withdrawn and safe within an internal world.

If your character is a covert schizoid, your other characters might not notice that anything is out of the ordinary with them at all - until they learn more about your character's lifestyle. Secret schizoids are not as used to being confronted about their odd behavior as overt schizoids are, and, depending on the character overall, might respond to these confrontations with awkwardness, defensiveness or confusion. Many secret schizoids are also unaware that they have SzPD, but are instead just vaguely aware that their behavior and preferences seem strange and different to other people.

Figure out the internals

An intricate internal fantasy life makes for a well-thought-out, sharply self-aware character. Schizoids spend most of their time in their own heads, so you need to have a good understanding of your character's internal world, fantasies and reflections, and how these things affect their behavior, priorities and decisions.

For many schizoids, their fantasy life is rooted in their own lives, either their past, present, or future - what-ifs, what-if-nots and could've-beens. They'll have internal "interactions" with other people they know, play out entire conversations and scenarios, and respond and react much more vividly than they tend to in real life. For other schizoids, their fantasies exist in a world entirely seperate to our own, with its own rules and structure, which they can explore to their own liking. For others yet, they think up fictional stories, sometimes inspired by real life, sometimes not.

Themes in the internal world often reflect the schizoid's own struggle with independence and intimacy. A lot of schizoids use their fantasies as a safe and sufficient way to feel "connected" to others. Others have violent, vengeful fantasies, which often juxtapose the indifferent demeanor - these fantasies tie in to the need for independence and emotional control, sometimes referred to as schizoid omnipotence.

Beyond the intricate fantasies, consider your character's moral beliefs. Schizoids tend toward idiosyncasy - we're in the "odd and eccentric" cluster for a reason. Akhtar described this quality as "occasionally strikingly amoral, at other times altruistically self-sacrificing." Take some time to figure out how this might express itself in your character, and how it is percieved by the characters around them.

Schizoids and relationships

You know how borderlines have their favorite person, and narcissists have their chosen person? A schizoid might just stumble upon someone who will become their interest person, or IP.

An IP is someone outside their immediate close family who the schizoid feels safe enough to be vulnerable with, are genuinely interested in, and who the schizoid forms an honest-to-god emotional connection to. This relationship can be either romantic or platonic in nature. If you choose to give your schizoid character an IP, make sure to emphasize how much this relationship stands out as uniquely meaningful to the schizoid - this is the one person they are even capable of having a genuine bond with, and that bond alone can keep them grounded against feelings of cosmic isolation. Your schizoid isn't likely to take this for granted.

An interesting tidbit of information is that schizoids paradoxically tend to gravitate towards relationships with highly extroverted, emotional people, to the point where the schizoid-hysteric relationships are an entire category of psychological research. Here's a really good snippet that describes how that dynamic tends to play out.

(Also keep in mind that just because a schizoid doesn't have an IP does not necessarily mean they are miserable. A lot of schizoids are capable of finding their own peace with whatever tools they have available.)

Another notable term for schizoid relationships is the controversial stock friend. A stock friend is a person who considers themself friends with the (typically covert) schizoid, and who thinks they have an emotional connection with them, but who the schizoid feels no emotional connection to, has no real interest in, and only interacts with out of convenience or happenstance. Is this immoral? Are schizoids leading people on, or are we justified in masking to avoid a constant stream of awkward confrontations, that have the potential to hurt other people's feelings? Who knows.

Splitting

You might have heard of idealization/devaluation-splitting as it pertains to borderline PD (bad/good) or narcissistic PD (worthy/unworthy). Splitting happens in SzPD as well, along the axis of safe/unsafe.

Schizoids will occasionally cut other people out of their lives, and this usually happens when they get overwhelmed with another person's attempts at emotional intimacy, or their boundaries have been deliberately or repeatedly crossed. They will often view the person as relentlessly prying, controlling, demanding, or dangerous, and will desperately seperate themself from that person as a way to avoid being consumed, or "smothered". At this point, if the other person doesn't let the schizoid get away, the schizoid might become overtly hostile. This is a fear response.

If you want to write a schizoid splitting, be aware that a split with a schizoid usually marks the end of the relationship altogether - especially if the relationship hasn't lasted for very long, and double especially if the person isn't the schizoid's IP. Once a schizoid has lost trust in someone, that trust is very, very difficult to build back up, even if both parties agree to try. Your schizoid character is going to be incredibly wary of the other person, and the relationship is probably never going to feel like it did before.

Beware of stereotypes

Every once in a while I'll encounter a story that features a character who has very obvious schizoid traits, and almost every single time, their arc leaves me disappointed and frustrated. Here are some tropes I would personally avoid writing for a schizoid character.

"He just needed love all along." Kill this trope, no exceptions. Strong emotional intimacy can erode or overpower a schizoid's sense of self, and usually leads to feelings of smothering, being trapped/crushed by the other, and losing autonomy and independence. A schizoid is capable of love on their own specific terms, but if it's on the terms of other people, they will strongly feel like it's something being forced on them against their will. They might still outwardly "accept it" as a form submission or compliance, but it will not be out of love. This trope gives me psychic damage.

"He sacrificed his life for others, which proves that he cared all along." This trope isn't necessarily bad, it just always leaves me with this impression that neurotypicals can only interpret caring when it happens in the extremes. And while it's true that schizoids can sometimes be altruistically self-sacrificing, it's kinda depressing to see schizoid-like characters die all the time. There are other ways you could show schizoid altruism that would also leave the door open for more closure for the character themself.

"He turned evil and violent." While this trope isn't quite as common as it is with other disorders, notably those from cluster B, it does still exist. So here's your friendly reminder that mentally ill and neurodivergent people are more likely to be the victims of violence than to be perpetrators, by far. I'm not saying you should never write a schizoid bad guy, you certainly can - I'm just telling you to be very careful about how you go about it, so you don't end up sending the wrong kind of message.

Conclusion

Schizoid characters are cool, and I wish there were more well-written canonically schizoid characters out there. But I'm also clearly biased, so what do I know

[tiredmagicalwarrior]

I think one of the things I appreciated the most about Nocturne was the protagonism on the Haitian Revolution.

This was a revolution that didn't just change Haiti, it changed the world. This was the revolution that would make the first black state. The first slaveless state. That would make every slave nation tremble with fear, from Europe To America to Asia to Oceania to Africa. It was what was never meant to happen, but did.

It's the nation that would defeat Napoleon and the British marine. Nobody could take down Haiti. You know why Napoleon went to colonize Europe? Haiti. That's why. He couldn't take down Haiti. Couldn't make it french territory again. So, he turned towards Europe.

We are talking about an undefeated nation.

AND! AND! A largely Vodu nation!

I was SO happy to see Vodu be portrayed as the wonderful religion it is, sacred and divinely intertwined with the Haitian revolution. The revolution was noted to start with Vodu chants and ritual.

White people refused to understand the link between the two worlds that could bring ancestors to meet their descendants. They created zombies as a horror trope. They made vodu dolls as a horror gimmick. They took a sacred religion and reduced it and vilanized it.

And I'm so happy to see it being positively portrayed in such a famous media. Vodu practicioners have already made media of the like. But I was positively surprised with what Nocturne had to present to us.

Of course, the knowledge that the french revolution was incomplete, that it was NOT FOR EVERYONE, is then again, something I really appreciate as a history student and a person. The french revolution killed mostly peasent and established the bourgeoisie, but did it end the Noir Code? No. Did it establish women's and black people's suffrage? No. Did it make a agrarian reform? No. Was it for the people? It had it's importance. But it was, at the very least, not for all the people.

And let's not forget that the french revolution's main intellectual current would birth biological racism, an unscientific current that claimed evidence of "different sized skulls" for example to prove humans possessed different races based on phenotypes.

Last, but certainly not least: it is absurd to see people claim that "all indigenous people have been killed". Acknowledging multi-ethnic indigenous genocide HAS to go along with the respect that there STILL are indigenous people and they continue their fight for their lives and land.

You know who the show demonstrates as such? Olrox.

While I don't appreciate the show claiming "all of his people were slaughtered" as that is historically inaccurate, I was most happy to see an Aztec vampire present and very alive, connected to his culture, protagonizing the show. The Nahua are still very much alive and kicking and I appreciated that the show took that into account.

And Annette! Sweet Annette being one of the leads makes me most joyful. I can't stand idiots that claim her presence.on France was """historically innacurate""", check again, dumbasses, free black people were all over France (especially the children of black Caribbean elites, for example, from Haiti back then known as Saint-Domingue, which did not possess universities and would sent their children to study in Europe.)

Anyway. To see her star as one of the leads made me so incredibly happy. She's a wonderful character and I appreciate how they let Annette be unapologetic and direct, especially during a moment between revolutions were she was very aware the french revolution didn't mean shit to her people.

But she was so lovely and to see her afro-caribean religion present AND source of her power made me emotional more than a few times.

Castlevania Nocturne really did hit this nail on the head.

Anyways. To make sure I give people answers to "but where's the evidence to x thing you said?" Here are my sources:

THYLEFORS, Markel; “Our Government is in Bwa Kayiman:”A Vodou Ceremony in 1791 and its Contemporary Significations, 2009

DUBOIS, Laurent; Avengers of the New World : the story of the Haitian Revolution, 2004

BUCK-MORSS, Susan; Hegel, Haiti and universal history, 2009

[hxnguxng-jxn]

Hello, you can make a scenario 𝐗𝐢𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐧 × 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 × 𝐇𝐮𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠 Reader has known them for years and always had the mania of eating the nails until he is hurt and they cured it and tried to take away that habit then the years pass they havent seen each other and meet again but reader pretends to be someone else but they know it is him because of his habit of biting his nails but he does not know that they know it he just thinks he is nice to him as he would to anyone

Writer's Note(s): I can do this for you! Also, since you didn't specify if Reader was a Ghost/Heavenly Official/Mystical Monster I kept it ambiguous!

Info on Reader: Reader is intended AMAB, and uses he/him. The Reader is an immortal of some kind and knows the two characters from long ago, but age is ambiguous.

Timeline: Post Book 1, and in Book 2. Is in that timeframe. Spoilers for Ke Mo and Ban Yue, and the Ghost City.

【🔴】 Reader takes part in the dice roller scene. If you know, you know. Also, Hua Cheng bites Readers finger.

Fujoshis and Fem Readers DNI || Please enjoy!

Everyone in the group Xie Lian accompanied had strange backgrounds, behaviors, limits, and actions. He's not naive enough to not see the evidence that San Lang might be the mysterious Hua Cheng, or how the two assistants sent to protect him knew just a little too much about him and had specific memories they did not like to recall.

He could see many things, and he could understand a lot more than he could, say, 350 years ago. His mind remembers what his body could not, he likes to believe.

Especially when the tensions were so high during his adventures after his third ascension. Being in the rotation of San Lang, Fu Yao, Nan Feng... and you.

He could see glimpses of you in your disguise throughout the time he's seen you; with your choice of weapons, the food you prefer and how you cooked it, what type of clothes you prefer on other's and yourself.

But his major sign about who you might be―like San Lang's knowledge, like My Qing's eye rolls and hatred for his memories―was you biting your nails till the tips of your fingers were raw during stressful moments.

Everyone had nervous habits, even the most stoic still would like to dodge questions they prefer not to answer. And Xie Lian liked to fiddle with his bamboo hat, or start moving immediately to fix the situation.

Like Mu Qing and Feng Xin again after so long, it was almost like a lightbulb went off in his head. But unlike the unease of nostalgia hitting him, it was something warm in his heart and he was tempted to ask how you've held up all this time.

He also might have leaned on you too much during the situation between Ke Mo and Ban Yue because he knew you and what you could do. You were reliable and he did adore you...

And before long, he noticed his feelings were off somewhere and it was getting far more intimate between you two. And then you three.

San Lang―Hua Cheng proven at this point―also seemed to slither into his heart and rightfully so. He was kind, he was open about what he was comfortable sharing, San Lang treats you right, and he's sweet on him as well.

The emotions of potentially falling in love with two people at once, and seeing San Lang kiss your bandaged fingers after you chewed them raw stirred something like... butterflies, for no better comparison.

And then, Hua Cheng disappeared and you left him in one night. No notes, but all the evidence you existed around him. Breakfast from you, chopped wood from Hua Cheng, carpets on the line like you do, leaves raked like Hua Cheng.

Xie Lian ran back inside. You're not leaving him behind. He'll follow you both, to any end.

The City of Ghost's is good at bringing people together...

Red, red, red. The den of Gamblers was always filled with such color except when the customers would come in wearing anything but that. The attendants rotated the ghosts and Hua Cheng took what was owed and distributed... what he owed. If he even did.

The curtains between him and the current obsessed customer were briefly interrupted by a Heavenly Official (Lang Qingqiu) and the sudden appearance of three more individuals of interest. Of course, Shi Qingxuan was of interest because that means he had more than just one Heavenly Official in the Ghost City.

But seeing the veiled bamboo hat and the man next to him wearing a white veil to obscure their identity from afar, he could practically feel his non-existent heart beat and his fingers twitch. Who was this man under the veil? Why was he next to his gege and whispering back and forth so swiftly?

Hua Cheng was about to call them up as they figured out who would roll for Lang Qingqiu's freedom, when the man passed the roller to Xie Lian and rushed to bring his hand under his veil. For a brief moment, he thought the man would lift the veil, but the hand simply rested under it as Xie Lian looked up at Hua Cheng behind the curtains.

And then he felt the need to have you both step forward and to come to him so he can see you closer and fully. The curtains may not help seeing past your Veil of Illusion from over your face, but he could get a read on your demeanor and how you fall in line with his gege.

Having you both step forward because of the feminine announcer requesting for him was easy. "Would the challenger and his assistant with the veil please step forward. The proprietor would like to correct your dice rolling technique. It is incorrect."

Of course, gege is baffled and confused there is a technique to this, and so are the useless dreg that are his customers. The man under the veil takes after gege and helps escort him up with you, mumbling one or two things back and forth, before they stepped up to him.

Looking down at gege and trying to search for any sign of identity on the other man, he takes the offered dice roller and shows gege how to... handle the elongated item, and how to shake it up and down in even strokes. Gege's hands are strong and grip the roller harshly, so he offers to perhaps soften his touch in case he... breaks the roller.

He's helping. Honest.

And of course, the gesture has gege blanking before accepting the help he gave. But Hua Cheng wasn't done. And you aren't getting out of this without him seeing if he perhaps can identify you.

"In case your luck is bad or you're unsure if the dice aren't enchanted, I will allow this man to roll with you. I can tell your companion would know how to read magic." Hua Cheng states, knowing no slacker would wear a Veil of Illusion to the Gambler's Den. This one was smart. "But you'll have to roll at the same time."

"The same... time? How would I do that when my companion is holding the cup?" Your voice is familiar and yet so far away from what he expected. It wasn't the voice he had been waiting for (the voice of your disguise), it was something that hit his nostalgia in many ways.

"Here, I will show you." Hua Cheng assured. "Hold up the cup."

Of course, gege had terrible luck and would take any measures to make sure they didn't mess up with Lang Qingqiu, and extended the cup for instructions. "Take hold of it with your dominant hand over his shaking hand." You hesitate before you put your hand over his gege's. Good, the Ghost King thought, your not someone who sees themselves above gege in his den.

But it was after the instruction to use your other hand to hold the middle, while gege held the top and bottom, that he noticed you weren't wearing gloves or any kind of hand covering. Your nails were non-existent and your fingers were basically chewed to pieces and raw in some places, obviously chewed recently. That, and there was a specific bite mark over your index finger much further down on your non-dominant hand...

... While fixing up your hand after you had caught a sword in it, San Lang managed to lightly scold you while he patched it up. He knew you could just heal it instantly, but your fake identity was not supposed to be powerful, and it had to suffer with this annoying wound for appearance sake. Of course, Hua Cheng felt something stir in his stomach at the sight of your lightly bleeding fingers, and had taken your index into his mouth on instinct to taste the red stained there. If he might have bitten you out of surprise he had let his composure go, only he had to know...

"... Hua Cheng, sir?" Your voice snaps him out of his memories. You, the immortal under the veil, and gege hadn't been given the next instructions yet, and you sounded even more weary of this.

If he was young and human again, he was sure his face would heat and his body would betray him as the sight of having you and gege before him again was... something invigorating. He controlled all of his impulses with one short mantra he could remember, before he laughs off the wait you endured.

"Apologies, my dearest guests." He didn't give any excuse, all he gave was a simple instruction as he watches the roller between you both like a hawk. "Shake in a rhythm, match with your partner and cover where he cannot hold. The dice can't roll with no momentum."

Small Thing:

The Windmaster and Xie Lian look on as you fix your veil and make sure your outfit hasn't burned from the many fires they've had to put out from under you. A few feminine ghosts with fire inclined spells had taken a liking to your physique and your posture, and had tried to lift your veil with no results as you turned them down. Of course, getting into a fight hadn't been what you wanted, but winning was no issue with your squad as stacked as it was.

The Windmaster, Shi Qingxuan, had helped put out the final fire under your boots before making jokes at your expense. "Oh, our blushing husband, wearing his veil and not allowing anyone to see! Could he be a Ghost King in disguise? Could he be a rebellious or mysterious Heavenly Official? Wow is me!"

Of course, the God had taken off faster than strong winds could after you started chasing him in his feminine form. The Heavenly Official wasn't about to lose Xie Lian's trust by fighting the man he had accepted into their party on the way here, but he sure can tease you.

Xie Lian, when you returned to him and assured him you hadn't hurt your supposed guide at all, almost reached for your veil slowly to lift it just slightly. A face, so far in his memories lit his body on fire with a need to see it again... but he stopped short of seeing your chin. You hadn't stopped him and your adam's apple bobbed in anticipation and nerves. Xie Lian simply let the veil fall back down as his mind settled on what he wanted.

"I won't pry, but I'd love to see your face sometime." Xie Lian soothes your nerves while putting his hands on your arms gently.

"What if I'm not who you're looking for?" You ask him after a brief pause, your voice full of something bitter.

"You and San Lang, asking the wrong questions..." Xie Lian chided. I'd like you both no matter who or what you looked like. "You are him. But we're missing Hua Cheng."

There was a brief pause before whatever caused you to hesitate lets you go. "... We are. Let me lead you into the city, then, your Highness."

[dungeonpuppykai]

|| Till Death Do My Part ||

Description: Love has the capacity to stand the test of time, hardship and betrayal. Steve Rogers had taught you that first hand. 

Pairing: Old!Steve Rogers | Ex-Avenger!Reader.

Disclaimer: I (sadly) do not own Steve Rogers. This is a rather angsty piece so browse at your own discretion and only if you can deal with the idea of the other woman.

Warning(s): Angst, an emotional rollercoaster, probably morally gray Steve, character death, ramblings of a mad woman (the writer) basically. 

Note: I've nothing to say for myself except I don't condone asshole lovers irl. 

MASTERLIST

love is not love

which alters when it alteration finds,

Steve Rogers was a selfish asshole and you hated him.

You had sworn to yourself to never let the man that sat across the field see your face ever again. Not that he wanted to, anyways. As you had furiously wiped at your tears and turned a deaf ear to Bucky's calls, you had entered your vehicle after promising yourself to never be in the vicinity of Steve Rogers ever again. The painful burn of realization that your love hadn't been enough had burnt hot in your tight chest as you had raced your vehicle away and out of your colleagues' sights for the rest of your life.

At least, that had been the intention at the time.

But as days, weeks and months passed of you hating, cursing, loathing and detesting your former lover, you had come to the humiliating realization that you had indeed loved more between the two of you. And fuck, you had loved hard. Denial did not take long to wear off after that. The light of your days was dark without him and you had never been a romantic before him. Maybe the time you had spent being in love had not been that long. But it was enough to leave you absolutely miserable without some sort of contact with him. You were lucky he was still alive because what were the odds of that?

You did not really know.

But what you did know was time was not on your side.

You told yourself you were not exaggerating or being crazy. After all, the woman he had left you for had initially spent an even briefer period of time with him but had left him so influenced that every time you recalled his gaze before he had left now in hindsight, the strife in the stormy blue of his orbs hit you in the face like a resounding slap. 

Maybe you had been selfish as well; way too absorbed in your own fancy and needs to care about the inner battle he fought every day. 

But then again, you had not forced yourself on him and he could just have been honest. You knew yourself and respected him as a person well enough to know that you would have still ended up in the same place and dynamic with him as you were currently. 

"I am sorry, what was that?" You ignored the pang in your heart as light bounced off his silver wedding band when he went to put down his jalapeno loaded taco with a wince. Damn, it never failed to tug at your heartstrings. "Hm?" You put one hand behind your ear to mock-listen as Steve grunted and grabbed some water. "Ohhh, so that's what old age sounds like!" The man shook his head at your childishness -he had always called it that- as he coughed, placing one hand on his burning chest. 

Maybe that was why you had not been enough. 

You resisted the urge to shake your head to rid yourself of the thoughts. 

But the constant wonder and speculation of why was a matter out of your own control; you simply could not help it.

In every instance, any and all words that were uttered in some sort of a disapproval to one of your quirks or actions, back down you went the agonizing spiral of the countless what ifs. 

Maybe if you had been a certain way, the man sitting in front of you would be in his thirties and not…

You blinked, sinking your nails into of your thighs to try and slow down your racing mind. 

"Ha-ha" was what he could let out before he descended into a coughing fit. Your teasing smile dissipated into an expression of concern. 

"Hey Steve…" You were on your feet in an instant, well aware of the fragility of his body as you speed walked to where he was sitting on the couch from your spot across the coffee table. The serum gave him extra years and more mobility and agility than people his age but not even the original Captain America could rival time. "You okay?" Reaching his heaving form, you placed one gentle hand on his shoulder and rubbed on his back to try for relief with the other one. "Slowly, now" you whispered, biting your lip to calm your own heart as he overcame his fit and slowly sipped on some water. "I am sorry, I shouldn't have challenged you like that, Steve… I should have known better" please, I cannot fathom losing you so don't push yourself for my childish shenanigans if you can't. You bit your tongue. "Sorry" his smile was a gentle assurance to your pout as he placed a worn hand on yours. 

So many words necessary to be left unspoken.

"It's okay, sweetie. I enjoyed it" the pet name welled up emotion to the brim and before it could spill in the form of tears you hugged his shoulders and nuzzled your face between them, breathing in his scent and savoring every little bit as the man patted your arm comfortingly. He had noticed you had become very apologetic, so he tried his best to reassure you as much as possible every time.

He was not a fool.

Steve saw through you every time the gears started to turn in your head.

So many silences mandatory to be left unbroken.

You had intended to just check up on him from afar when you had first arrived in Boston a year ago, honest you did. A glimpse would have sufficed your desperation. But when he had paused in front of the town branch of your favorite coffee place on what had seemed to be a grocery trip, your feet had worked on their own. Memories of all the times you two had argued about why it was and was not the best cafe in all of America had flooded you until you were drowning, resolve abandoned. 

"Fancy a cup and a cake pop or two?" Steve had visibly jumped before whipping his head to look at you, eyes wide, panicked, guilty, emotional, shocked, shameful. But you had been so full of love and forgiveness in that moment; grateful for having just been able to exist next to him after all that torturous time apart, senses overflowing from his scent and heart at ease at the sight of his face regardless of its jadedness, you had smiled a reassuring smile. 

All answering and all concluding.

Steve's confusion had morphed into a small smile but not entirely faded away as he had nodded. Only when it finally did, guilt was replaced by it because he realized just how devoted and in love you really were. Miserable. And it was not long before he had found himself grabbing back at you; his only sense of familiarity left in the world.

For now he was not a man out of his time, but one that was past it.

And though he had initially tried, who was he to turn away such a beautiful bond as the one you two grew to share this time around? 

He was past forgiveness and redemption anyways. 

Though Steve had made every nick, every prick, every tug and every rip both worth it all and worse at the same time in his final moments a decade and a half later. 

You were standing next to the bed the hospital had installed in his house a year ago, hand tightly clasped over his that rested against your cheek. The coolness of his wedding band was as noticeable as ever but not at all irritable against your cheek anymore. Your tongue ached as you clenched your jaw and ground your teeth together to fight back the tears, every little beep of the heart monitor resonating with the erratic pounds of your heart.

"I…" You nodded as you edged closer towards him to listen to his constrained and husky voice. There was not a doubt these were his final moments. You could swear the room was getting brighter, or maybe your body was readying itself to go into shock and unconsciousness. You were not sure. You did not care. All you wanted to do at this moment was to cling. Hold and never let go. Refuse time its harvest, snatch the reaper of his meal. Hoard, clutch, hide. "Should have… never stayed b- behind." Your heart stilled at his words. "'M sorry, Y/n…" Steve gasped for air. Oh, no. "... Never s–" his tongue slipped and your heart jumped. "S- Stopped loving you… deep down" as a barrage of tears burnt its way out and past your cheeks like a broken dam, the beeps of the monitor melted into that horrible alarm you had dreaded so much for this whole year. Though your wails drowned the sound out with much ease as you collapsed on your knees and sobbed into the hand of your deceased love who was turning colder with the passing second, the warmth of his body now an eternal stranger to yours.

After you nothing goes and nothing returns.

Just like that, he had reached out and ripped down years worth of compromise just like that. 

All the times he had encouraged you to go out with the men who would ask you out, reassuring you that nothing could change your bond with him and you deserved to be happy too. That it was okay. Your life didn't have to stop just because he had lived his. The impossibility and sheer ridiculousness of wasting your entire life for a companion who had nothing to offer you except for friendship.

Only for this.

To leave you just as confused, hurt, betrayed, helpless and fragile as that girl in that field all those years ago. 

He never did have enough faith in you. For just how he had never talked to you about the woman he eventually chose over you and stayed back in time for, Steve had confirmed that by holding back this. All this time. You knew it just as well as you knew he was the love of your life, it would not have changed a single thing. The possibility was not unlikely that this one confession could have eased your constant struggle with yourself all these years. 

Steve Rogers was a selfish asshole and you hated him.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom:

[feelbokkie]

One Last Dance | Chapter 13

pairing: Minho x fem reader

genre: smau, crack, angst, fluff, non!idol au, major character death (I am apologizing now), friends to lovers, soul mates, first love, roommates

pov: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it) 3rd (for one part)

warnings: swearing, mention of food, childhood trauma (child of divorce)

summary: Childhood best friends Lee Minho and L/n Y/n are in their final year of university. While both of them are in love with each other, the only thing keeping them apart is Minho’s fear of change. As both dancers prepare for their lives after college, will Minho finally let fear rule him and his emotions or will he finally gain courage before he loses Y/n forever?

word count: 1,592

screenshot count: 16

taglist: closed!

previous | masterlist | next

©feelbokkie (2023) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

Minho quickly turns around to face Felix, who sheepishly continues the dance. Minho’s mouth hangs open in disbelief at the younger man. It’s a small mistake. A simple one that most people wouldn’t notice. But Minho isn’t most people and for him, this mistake is significant.

“Seriously?” He scoffs as he pulls the remote for the audio system from his pocket and stops the song.

“Sorry, sorry,” Felix claps his hands together and beings to his chest as he bows his head.

“If you were really sorry, you’d get the move right,” Minho says sharply, causing Felix to wince back.

“I’m trying, this is just a difficult routine,” Felix whines.

The two of them have been practicing most of the morning. Finals are coming up and Felix wanted help with the performance he needs to do for one of his finals. There is one movie in particular that Felix is having trouble with. And every time he messed it up, Minho caught it. It's almost like he's waiting for Felix to mess up and it's stressing him out.

"Maybe if you focused on your dancing instead of meddling in people's private lives it wouldn't be so difficult," Minho mutters under his breath as he runs his hand through his hair.

Felix presses his lips together, making them all but disappear as he looks at Minho, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. He knew that something had to be up with Minho, he just figured that it had something to do with you leaving but now he knows it's a bit more than that.

"Ah, so is that what this is about?" Felix asks softly, trying not to anger Minho more. His deep voice is uncharacteristically small.

"You spent more time sticking your nose where it doesn't belong when you should have been working on your performance." Minho shoots back. Minho's normally warm eyes turn cold as he looks at Felix. Minho clenches his fists to make himself calm down, his nails digging into the palm of his hands. He knows that he shouldn't get mad at Felix, but part of him still blames him.

"I know I shouldn't have but I didn't think you'd fuck up that badly. I was just trying to help. You and noona were fighting again and--"

"Just because we were fighting it didn't mean that we needed help. You forget that we've been friends for years before you came in and fucked everything up. You should have learned from your parents to not mess with people's relationships. Now look, that's two relationships that you ruined." Minho says as he walks to get some water, his voice thin and cruel.

Felix's breath gets caught in his throat and he suddenly feels he feels like he can't breathe. It's almost like Minho punched him and knocked the wind out of him. It's a low blow, both Felix and MInho know that. Felix's parents' divorce has been a touchy subject for him and he always felt guilty for it happening. Minho knows that, and yet, he still used it against him knowing it would hit a nerve.

Felix can feel the tears stabbing the back of his eyes. He quickly shuts his eyes, praying for the tears to stay hidden inside. And still, his bottom lip trembles as he tries to keep his composure. A lump forms in Felix's throat as he tries to choke back a sob. He rocks gently back and forth, not even aware he's doing it, as he tries to calm himself down. By the time Minho finishes getting some water and walks back to Felix, he's a bit calmer. He opens his eyes, now devoid of any emotion, and looks at Minho.

“Fuck you, hyung,” Felix says cooly before grabbing his belongings and leaving the practice room.

When you get to the boys' apartment, you head straight to Felix and Jeongin's room. The only noise in the room that can be heard is Felix's quiet sobs. Both Hyunjin and Seungmin sit on the edge of Felix's bed. Seungmin holds a bottle of water in one hand and is stroking Felix's back with the other. Felix's head is in Hyunjin's lap as he gently strokes Felix's hair. Jeongin stands by the door, wanting to be there for his hyung but not entirely sure how to.

"Lix," You call softly. You put your jacket and bag down on the floor at the foot of Jeongin's bed and slowly approach Felix.

"N-noona?" Felix croaks. He lifts his head from Hyunjin's lap and turns towards you. His eyes are barely open but you can see how they glisten with tears. His face red and stained with tears. Your heart shatters in your chest seeing him in this state.

"Hey, Lixie," You get closer to his bed and kneel next to him so you're at eye level, "What's wrong?"

He sucks in his lower lip, trying to keep it from trembling as he looks at you.

"Noona, I'm…I'm s-sorry," He chokes out.

"Why are you sorry?" Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. As far as you are concerned, Felix hasn't done anything to warrant this kind of reaction.

"B-because of me, you and Minho hyung are in a really bad fight. A-and it's all my fault that you two are going to hate each other forever."

You quickly stand up and pull Felix into an upright position. You sit down next to him, wedging yourself between him and Hyunjin. You turn his face towards you and use the bottom of your shirt to wipe the tears off his face. You then cup this face and look him directly into his eyes.

"Felix, what happened with me and Minho has nothing to do with you." You say softly.

"Yes, it does! If I d-didn't insist on trying to help you guys stop fighting, you'd still be friends right now. It's all my fault!"

"Why do you think it's your fault?"

"Because that's what Minho hyung said."

"He said that?" Your mouth hangs open in shock.

Felix nods his head as he sniffles. You watch as he explains what happened this morning with Minho. Your hand quickly reaches behind you as you stop Hyunjin from getting up and going to Minho's apartment. You press your lips together in anger, trying not to swear or go off. You're angry, yes, but getting mad in front of Felix isn't going to help anyone.

"Can you guys leave us alone for a second?" You ask the rest of the boys. "And Hyunjin, do not leave this apartment." You warn.

Jeongin nods his head and leaves first. Seungmin sets down the water bottle beside you and leaves as well. It takes Hyunjin a second before he finally leaves. You grab the water bottle and open it before handing it to Felix. He takes it and quickly starts gulping it down. He finally comes up for air when he's drunk about half of the bottle. He hands it back to you to close. He's no longer outwardly sobbing, but tears are still falling down his face. You pull him into a hug, his head nestling into the crook of your neck, as you also begin rubbing his back.

"Felix, none of this is your fault. Do you understand? And what happened with your parents wasn't your fault either. It's not fair for grown-ass adults to put their relationship on you like that. You didn't make Minho say what he said to me, so it's not your fault. Sometimes when people are hurt, they say a bunch of shit they don't mean because they want others to feel the pain they're feeling inside."

"B-but--"

"Nope, no 'buts.' Felix, romantic relationships are more complex and painful than everyone realizes. Truth is, Minho and I probably weren't going to last anyway. It was just a stupid fantasy that was bound for disaster."

"You two love each other, how is that bound for disaster."

"Because I love him more than he's ever going to love me. And that's not something you could have ever caused. It's not your fault and no matter what he says, it's never going to be your fault. The same goes for your parents."

Felix's body finally stops trembling against yours as he slowly starts to calm down. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief as you continue to stroke his back.

"I'll talk to him. And if for the time being you don't want to be mentored by him, then you can join me and Hyunjin. Okay?" You say softly as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

"Okay," He sniffles.

You pull Felix off you and go to wipe his face with your shirt again. You gently stroke his face when you're done, a smile smile forming. He has such an innocent face and childlike attitude, you're not entirely sure how anyone could be mean to him. It's almost as if he's living his first life.

"I'll spend the night tonight. We can even cuddle if you want."

"Can we?" He asks softly, a slight twinkle coming back to his eyes.

"Yeah," Your smile grows a little. "Now, come on, you haven't eaten all day. I'll make you something."

You stand up and stretch your hand out, waiting for Felix to take it. He grabs your hand and stands up, following you out of the room. His free hand grabs the back of your shirt like a child would to their mother as you two head to the kitchen.

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

Taglist

Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)

@amyyscorner @aaasia111 @weird-bookworm @allaboutyej8 @kangaracharacha @lilcutieana @jungkookies1002 @lanatheawesome @hanniemylovelyquokka @jiisungllvr @marked-unknown @kitheat @spearb-99 @chlodavids @veedoesntknaur @yongbbokkie @warlockwithoutcharisma @fennecnco @aslou  @babygirlsuna @jihanlovic @kalopsian-thoughts @reianagarcia @sunshinessky  @brain-empty-only-draken @f9clementine  @jaydebow @phtogravi @mal-lunar-28 @jhstayy

[snickerdoodlles]

No wonder this show became a hit. They really asked "you know what's better than one guy forced to give up something that it would break him to lose?" and gave us a whole bunch in different color shirts and said "Enjoy! :D"

(x, x)

right!!!! one of my favorite things about kinnporsche is how the show's like "here's some sexy mafia guys" except it's a TRICK, all the boys are at their sexy best when they're loving and domestic and caring for each other and get traumatized any time they actually act mafia. this show has its messy moments and goodness knows how their world works sometimes, but the writers had the most correct priorities when it comes to the emotional beats of the story.

Khun: the emotional journey of a deeply traumatized guy where we only see him in the aftermath, desperately clawing his way back to some sense of normality. how absolutely tender ep3 was with Porsche taking him to a new space, gently holding Khun's hand and asking him to stay with him and trust that he'll keep him safe, and he does, and we see Khun grow into a fiercer protector who can chase after the people he cares about past his walls and defend his home when its security is compromised.

Kinn: he wasn't a cold mafia boss softened by love, he was always a bleeding heart who's kindness was mercilessly beaten out of him. he falls in love so fast and so hard and it's so good watching his past traumas rear their ugly heads but him letting go of his old ghosts and clawing his way past them anyways, because he so desperately wants love and wants to love. and like? what a baller move that is for his character? he's a mafia boss, and a merciless one at that, but he also wants to be soft and cute and a good brother and boyfriend and all his people safe while living in and facilitating his violent and blood soaked world. the wonderful contradiction you are Kinn <333

Kim: the boy who tries to sacrifice everything for his and their greater happiness except it just makes him all the more miserable because this show really said there is no glory in what you give up or destroy, only what you shelter and protect. he's a self-saboteur but you can't help but root for him all the more because of it. he's just so scared to care, of that being used to trap him or anyone else, yet he's falling face first into his own schemes because he loves so much and so deep.

and just. Porsche, carving himself to pieces trying not to lose anything. Chay, who will twist himself into knots trying to hold everything he sacrificed for. Vegas, who tries to drive everything away before it can abandon him and shattering when it goes. Pete, who repressed and ignored all his wants and discontent until it shattered him.

i just. i love these boys. i'm obsessed with these boys. kp had a lot of balls to juggle and a bananas premise to do it in, but they nailed all the big emotions so good, i'm still mashing potatoes over them two years later.

[iwtvdramacd18]

Well y'all know I have to do it. Louis T4T fic reclist

for @iwtvfanevents A meal 2 remember event! I'm picking one to highlight per person here but everything is HIGHLY recommended and many folks here have multiple T4T and trans hits as well as collabs!. (And I'm not telling you who, you better give them a click through)

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

I am amazed by peace–@dictee

This was a holiday surprise so desperately needed. There's an intimacy to every description here, I think of some deep conveying of wanting... wanted to be wanted and wanting to want in turn, and the joy of knowing you can be! And you can have that. One of those fics that feels like a film in your head. Whenever this updates my day stops so I can enjoy it.

try to swallow the wave– @diasdelfuego

Mindblowing use of prose, bringing disconnect and identity to the forefront. Mixing heartbreaking emotion and unexpected elation. I can't believe you first published this anonymously because I was lamenting the fact I couldn't give the author flowers... AND NOW I CAN. Brought a tear to my eye when I first read it. I get chills just thinking about reading it again.

Snow in the Champagne– @nakiaslilhoodoo

There is something masterful about taking these bigger than life characters and bringing them to a very relatable, intimately mundane level, the ability to take these "smaller" moments and give them weight and heat and humor. Grounding in small objects, rituals of love, that's the type of stuff I love.

cleave/tie– @kittyldpdl

What an emotional ride. Can you just call a fic "fleshy" and leave it like that? Carnality and horror, this is something I want to talk about at length but can't for hear of spoiling the experience. I live for the levels of trans parenthood on display as well. Scars in fiction that make you slam your phone down and shout NO WAYYYYY.

Allude me, Pursue me, Consume me.– @salmoncakepls

Angela Carter is nodding along to this.... LOVE the fairy tale trappings and the bleeding of human into animal and past the two thresholds. Incredible imagery that sticks to the mind, once again trans parenthood let's make it crazy let's make it insane. Ending chapter had me holding my breath.

perpetuum mobile– @knifeeater

I wanna pretend like I have something indepth to say about this. I really do. Because the depth is there. Thinking about vampirism in the far flung future, vampire bodies like orbiting planets and satellites. But also. This is just really fucking hot WE FUCKING? IN THE FAR OFF FUTURE????

breath, held– @enterprisery

Love the exploration of brief returns to humanity in an erotic sense, vampiric play with the vulnerability of mortality? The focus on sensation (and brief letting go of it), the communication and heat behind it, love to see Loumand getting down in this way.

Once Upon a Wine-Dark Sea– @weather-mood

Recommending the entire series because like many worthwhile many-chaptered many forked stories there's a lot of context to be taken in (and by all means you should take it in, the whole is recommended), Charybdis is chiefly what puts this in this list specifically, and ofc I must point to Tidelines, ongoing; another fairy tale/ mythic epic.

And here are some rapid-fire fic recs featuring trans Louis:

rhododendron– @blueiight (MY BELOVED...)

in a lonely place–@devotiondroid (FINE you're the final nail selling me on danlou noir....)

Charred–@blacclotusss (ANOTHER HOLIDAY BANGER)

Pleas on Deaf Ears–@ bloodiedroses (WHEW)