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huramuna · 3 months

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beware the sapphire peak - chapter 3, end.

aemond targaryen x wife reader x alys rivers a period piece, set in 1902.

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you're a young, american lady who is an aspiring author. you are wooed by a mysterious and charming savant from england. swept off your feet, you're whisked away to his family's ancient estate, Dragonstone Hall. but with all stories, secrets are hiding around every corner, and your suitor is no different.a crimson peak inspired mini series.

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!i don't do taglists right now, so sorry!

content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, gaslighting, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, alys in her girlboss gatekeep gaslight era, no use of y/n, afab reader, pre-established alysmond, this isn't going where you think it is (it might be), infidelity-ish, polyamory, mentions of infertility, murder, depictions of murder/violence, pregnancy

moonlight sonata - beethoven • nocturne in e-flat major, op. 9, no. 2 - chopin

warnings: p in v, face sitting, come eating i guess!, breeding kink

So sweet– she had tasted so sweet to you, like the most saccharine, tooth rotting, sugary treat you’d ever had. A taste that you could get lost in for eons, grasping at the surface that threatened to pull you under, deeper, deeper… until darkness consumed you– and you could only taste her.

Alys murmured something to you as your mind went fuzzy with panic. What would Aemond think? What would happen now? Would he divorce you? Would he fire Alys?

Your hands shook slightly, a tingling and eventual numbing feeling coming to your lips, spreading throughout your extremities. Everything was in slow motion, the vision of Alys blurred through tears. “A-Alys,” you croaked. “I-I don’t know what just happened— I-I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t cry, my sweet puppy,” she cooed, upon you again, her scent all consuming and overwhelming and you wanted to kiss her again. “It’s natural.”

“N-Natural?” you whimpered, eyes still misty.

“Yes,” Alys breathed, petting your head. “You know, male lions usually have a few lionesses in their pride— and the lionesses are known to take great affections with each other, too. ‘Tis only natural, to seek the comforts of ones who comfort you.”

You sniffed, not really understanding what she was saying. The numbness was spreading, your head spinning and feeling like a hive of bees had taken host in your cranium. “I-I don’t… I don’t feel well…” you managed to whisper, clinging to the older woman as you lost feeling in your limbs, an acute pins-and-needles type pain steepling into your flesh, tapering off into icy splinters.

Now, you saw nothing but darkness, only hearing the hushed whispers of someone faraway.

You were dreaming now, you were sure— as you walked through the halls, feeling light as a feather. Your hand dragged along the stair bannister, nails tapping to a rhythmic tune that you could hardly recollect. It felt as if you were outside of your body in a slightly pastel toned version of the real world, a skewed view of what was actually real. The shade of carpet was off hue, a lighter, rosy red than it actually was, the accompanying curtains a complimentary shade of pink, when in reality, they were deep crimson.

Your steps felt effortless, a spring in your step like a young fawn who’d figured out how to use its legs, jaunting through the corridors with ease. You enjoyed your lovely pastel dream world, until you turned and saw the very end of the foyer.

It was dark, the light sucked out of it like it’d been erased, consumed— a familiar sight of inky black tendrils beckoned from the end of the hall, your feet moving on their own accord now. Your brain, feeling very much like prey, screamed at you. Threat, threat— run, run, run! But you couldn’t, you couldn’t turn, nor abscond. Getting closer, there was an eerie hum, like many voices converging together into a cacophony— you recognized it, fear settling into your bones. It was a dirge.

Pleasepleaseplease, don’t make me, don’t make me. Save me, save me.

The siren song lured you closer, until you were swallowed by the darkness itself, falling, falling…

“We are you, Lady Targaryen.”

“You shan’t leave this place.”

“You will be trapped and rotted like us.”

“You’ve fallen for their ruse. A fatal mistake.”

The fall felt neverending, the breath stolen from your lungs until they felt like shriveled raisins. Hands grabbed at your body greedily, pulling you under the surface as water replaced oxygen in your body– you gasped out, screaming, but no sound came, your arms wouldn’t move, as if they were stuck in molasses.

Other voices permeated your being, familiar ones. They brought a little comfort, but you could only discern bits and pieces of what they were whispering, chattering around you.

“— used too much, Alys—,”

“— she is perfect—,”

“— needs to wake up before—,”

Your consciousness, your real life felt so far away now, as your hands reached out to buffet the impact of your fall into the void… you could almost feel the sickly crunch of your ligaments being broken as you kissed the loam, into a darling embrace of nothingness.

You crashed to the ground, body strewn and broken like a porcelain doll– broken, shattered, thrown away. Trapped.

Sitting up from the bed, your bed, you were drenched in sweat. Oxygen ballooned in your lungs with a sharp, audible inhale as you looked around, eyes wide like a newborn fawn, once again. You zeroed in on Aemond, who was sitting in the corner of the room in the reading chair, one leg crossed over another, bobbing with anxiety. Alys was there, too, off to the opposite side of the chamber, fiddling with something on the desk. Her hair, usually well mannered and groomed, was slightly strewn in a loose bun.

The sound of your gasp caused them to be at your side in an instant, one on either side of the bed. Aemond’s hand was entwined with yours instantly.

“Thank God, she’s finally awake,” he murmured, shooting Alys a quick glance, brow furrowed.

“Oh, darling,” Alys cooed, “You took quite a spill in the bathroom– Lord Targaryen found you with a nasty head wound.”

Fell? When did you fall? With a shaky hand, your fingers skimmed the outline of cloth pressed to your forehead– you winced, a sharp intake of breath hissing through your teeth, it was tender to the touch. “When… how long have I been… unconscious for?”

“Five days.” Aemond responded, his leg still shaking as he pulled up the chair, sitting back down in it promptly.

You felt bewildered by that– five days? Five days you’d been asleep– and your dreams felt like only a moment and an eternity. The distress must’ve clearly read on your face, as Aemond squeezed your hand. You glanced over to him, lines of worry etched into his brow and beyond. He had dark circles under his eyes, likely from lack of sleep. He was, overall, disheveled, a look you hadn’t quite seen on him. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly cloying and full of cotton.

Alys nudged you, a spoon in her hand. She had soup– when did she leave? – offering it, intent on feeding you like a mere babe. Curling into yourself inwardly, you shook your head. “... m’ fine, I can… I can do it,” you offered, suddenly feeling extremely aware of the heavy mood of the room. They had fretted over you for days, for an accident you likely caused yourself.

“Come, dear,” Alys urged. “‘Tis wild rice in a nice bone broth.”

Your indignant streak ended quickly as your stomach audibly growled at the sound of the food. Mustering down your shame, you sipped at the soup, allowing Alys to spoon feed you. Aemond had a faraway look in his eye as he stared at the pair of you.

–

Your recovery was slow and meticulous– you had fractured your leg from your fall, as well as having some nasty bruises on your hip, the purple red hue blooming under your skin like ink from a tipped over inkwell.

You were utterly dependent on Alys and Aemond as they nursed you back to health, hand feeding you, bathing you, carrying you down stairs– and you let them. You melded into their touch, becoming one with them and they handled you like extensions of themselves, gentle and loving, as not to hurt you any further.

Your head wasn’t completely clear, though– even a whole month and a half after your accident, you still felt like a teddy, stuffed full of wool and hardly sentient. Alys laid you down in the bathtub, the same one you’d knocked your head against apparently, the water warm. It washed over you in waves, heat sinking into your bones and quelling the urge you had to scream, to run– to do anything. The scent of lavender filled your nose as she poured floral oils into the water.

Aemond was behind her, watching carefully. He was always there, no matter the situation, looming. He was adjusting his shirt cuffs idly, over and over in an anxious habit. He had quite a lot of those, you had noted. Now that you were almost always by his side, you watched him constantly, taking in those little habits. Jaw clenching, eye twitching, rubbing his fingers together, bouncing his leg. Not only those, but he constantly looked to Alys, as if they were communicating with their eyes alone.

You wondered what they were saying, as they met gazes and then looked back to you in sync while you were in the bath, nude as the day you were born. You pulled your legs up to your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious as they both bore into you, regarding you unabashedly, orbs roving over your figure. Pressing your chin to your knees, you looked past them, the glint of their scrutiny in your peripheral now. There was someone behind them.

Bloody and crooked, dripping water and essence of life, her body bloated and putrid. Her hair was blonde, at one point, at least– it was now a murky gray, stained pinkish with only the notion of its former color peeking through. Her eyes were dark, never ending holes– it was like looking straight into the void itself. Her throat was slashed, leaking the same black ichor that was in your dreams while you were incapacitated. Heavy breathing, jagged and errant, like a broken key on a piano, drowned out the chatter between Aemond and Alys. Her hand, spindly and wretched, squeezed on the frame of the bathroom door as she perched upon it, unable to stand upon the weight of broken, splintered legs.

“You. Won’t. Live.”

The person you were before your accident might have choked, sobbed– but you were good acquaintances now with the ghosts of the estate, and their never ending threats and prophecy. Your eyes glazed over, a peeved grunt coming from you. “Go away.” you muttered. You were sick of seeing their faces, hiding in plain sight, always leering at you from afar with their grotesque visages.

“What?” Alys asked, taking her hands out of the water and peering at you curiously.

“... may I bathe alone, please?” you sighed, wishing for one moment of peace and quiet and aloneness.

Alys looked back at Aemond and they shared that unspoken connection once again. He nodded slightly, minutely. He didn’t even say anything– he didn’t say much since your accident, leaning on Alys to be his voice. He clenched his jaw, as he does, and left the room.

Alys planted a kiss on your brow– the sweetness of her perfume felt familiar– and she departed, closing the door. As she left, you reflected on the state of your life. You felt like less than a person, moreso a doll. You didn’t remember falling, and you remembered… kissing Alys. Hardly, it was like a memory fluttering away on a breeze now, but the feeling of it was still there. It flooded back in your mind as you had drank in the scent of her when she got close, your stomach turning into a horde of butterflies. Was that even real? Or was it a figment of your damaged brain, painting a pretty picture for you while you were in a state of stupefaction.

It had to have been an illusion. Surely.

You supplanted your hand on the lip of the tub after soaking for at least three hours– the water was cold now, turning your slightly warmed stupor into ice. You had hardly walked on your own these past few weeks, and when attempting to, held up by Alys or Aemond. Pulling yourself up with the little strength you had, you stood up. Your legs shook, but eventually found their own as you tested your luck further. One foot on the floor, then the other, toes splayed and wiggling as they touched the cool floor. Something akin to elation came to your chest as you stomped, hiding a tiny giggle. How childish you felt now– but not as bad as you’ve felt during your recovery. You felt less than a child then, moreso a barely living organism, attached to the hip of Aly or Aemond, solely dependent on their care of you.

You grabbed the robe left on the privy lid, snugging it to your form– you considered keeping it untied, to rove around the estate free of inhibition, just because you could. But, you decided against it, tying it taut around your waist. You went to leave, hand hesitating as you went to touch the knob, remembering something… something like a shock touching your hand from before. Shock be damned, you turned the knob. No prick of electricity followed, and you were free.

Leaving wet footprints on the wood floors, you saw the halls in a new light. ‘Twas no pretty pastel painting, but it was familiar and real. You hummed along, hand tracing the bannister like you had when you dreamt. The estate was very quiet, not even a sound emitting besides the little pitter-patter of your feet– where had Aemond and Alys gone? Surely, with the length they’d kept you, they hadn’t gone far?

As you descended down one of the far halls you usually did not venture to, namely the Servant’s Quarters, where Alys resided, your ears pricked up to pick up a noise. Like the faraway call of an owl, deep and throaty, you could only hear, feel, the bass of it– it only got louder as you got closer to her room, the door ajar, cracked…

Peering in, your heart momentarily stopped, breath caught in your windpipe. Alys and Aemond were upon her bed, the top three buttons of her shirt undone. You could see the swell of her breast, heaving as she mouthed Aemond’s bare neck, his tie undone slightly from its spot on his collar, but done tighter just below his Adam’s apple in… a makeshift collar, almost. The older woman pulled on it with one hand, her other down… down… to Aemond’s weeping cock. She massaged it, her hand glistening with his arousal. His face was that of pure bliss and servitude, falling apart in her hand, with her lips against his skin, whispering.

A gasp fell from your lips and they peered up at you. Aemond’s face turned to that of horror– but Alys’ didn’t change. Her lips just perked into a further smile. “Come in, little one,” she hummed.

Against better judgment, or any judgment really, you opened the door further. Your still wet hair was stuck to your face slightly, peering up at them both through fettered lashes. You should be in hysterics, you should be crying, screaming, cursing, damning them both to hell for– for… this. But, you were doing none of that. You felt… placid, like calm water.

Alys beckoned you closer. “See, Aemond?” she practically purred, nosing his cheek while offering her hand to you. “I told you, she was perfect.”

“My love,” Aemond croaked. “Are… you well?”

That was the question of the year, wasn’t it? Were you well? You blinked slowly, mulling it over in your mind. “No. I’m not,” you responded, taking Alys’ hand in your own. “But, I am alright with that. We are all… unwell in our own ways.”

“So insightful, my little puppy,” Alys pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your mind and soul were utterly enraptured by her. “She knows how to share, don’t you, sweet puppy?” she side-eyed Aemond. “The others didn’t know how to share, did they– so greedy, they were. Not like you,” she spoke of you so reverently, with a honeyed warmth in her voice you just wanted to melt into.

Your heart was thumping at the sheer taboo of the situation, but you were excited– Alys tugged at your robe slightly, exposing your breasts to the cold air, your nipples pebbling into pert little peaks instantly. She let go of Aemond’s shaft, her hand wetted still with his excitement, offering you two fingers. She didn’t even have to say anything, you just opened your mouth as she rested those digits on your tongue, and you sucked on them eagerly.

Aemond, all the while, was slightly aghast at it– and even more, aroused. His blood felt like it was on fire as his hand reached out to caress your nipple like he always had before, between his fore and middle finger. You whimpered around Alys’ fingers before she withdrew them, smearing your lips with your own saliva.

“I’m so happy, my love,” Alys seemed to be addressing both you and Aemond, as she pulled you onto the bed between them, her fingers drawing little circles upon your bare thighs as your robe rode up. “We’ve waited so long for you– but it was worth the wait, wasn’t it?” her lips skimmed one side of your neck, while Aemond nosed at the other.

You felt all encompassing, squeezed between the two of them– your brain was firing off on all cylinders, every cell of your body writhing in pleasure. “... w-waiting?” you managed to ask.

“Yes, puppy. We waited for you– all of the others were no good, defective– but you are perfect. You desire both of us, yes?” Alys asked, peering up at you.

You nodded without hesitation.

“You know how much I desire children, but unable to have any of my own,” she murmured. “Will you have a family with us? Like a pride of lions, hm?”

You swallowed, eyes peeling away from Alys, drifting to the door, which was now open. The ghastly figures of seven women hung in the hallway, dead by many different manners. Eyes of the damned stared back at you.

“Y-yes, I want to have a family with you,” you agreed softly. You truly did want it– as you’d become so dependent on the both of them, you would do anything to please them. And you loved them both. You blinked– the figures at the door were gone now.

Alys hummed in delight. “Oh, my sweet,” she nipped at your skin before pulling you to the side of the bed. “Aemond, I am surprised she isn’t taken with child yet– he is quite virile, isn’t he– like a stud stallion,” she giggled as Aemond came up behind you, continuing to kiss your neck. “I suppose you need to breed her more often, now that she’s agreed.”

You melted into your husband’s touch, you had missed it so sorely– he had been so quiet and solemn during your recovery, like he was mourning something. He laid back on the bed and pulled you atop him, his arousal already prodding at your folds. You ached for him, truly, sighing a little moan into his mouth as you kissed. His taste was so different from Alys’, his was heady and deep, lulling you into a sense of familiarity. Sliding you back, he slowly lowered you down onto his length, stretching you out. You mewled at the sensation, coupled with Alys palming your breasts and pinching your nipples, causing that delightful cocktail of pain and pleasure that you had chased so fervently months ago.

Cursing under your breath, you adjusted to his size, looking down at him as you rested with him to the hilt. His hand grasped your hip, eclipsing you and thumbing at your clit. You rocked back and forth on him, eyes closed for a moment in exhilaration. Once opening them, you didn’t feel Alys behind you, but now she was atop Aemond as well, her bottom half sat upon his face as he serviced her, too– ever dutiful. The sight was raunchy and erotic and made a tingle go through you as you continued your rocking motions, skin slapping upon skin as you chased your high.

Alys leaned forward, in turn, pulling you to her. Your lips met again and she tasted just as lovely as you remember, so sweet and comforting, like honey coating your lips. The entirety of the situation was catching up to you as your peak hit you like a train, whimpering sweet nothings into Alys’ mouth, your hand squeezing on Aemond’s hip.

Apparently your peak had started a crescendo, as Alys was next, spilling on Aemond’s tongue and rolling off of him, his face coated in the evidence of her orgasm. Something primal and feral came over you as you leaned down and connected lips with him again, tasting both him and her at the same time– you clenched on his cock that was nestled deep inside of you, and with a grunt, he spilled deep inside of you.

‘Twas round one of four upon that night.

–

You quite enjoyed the estate, as big and spacious as it was, you suppose it could be considered lonely. You imagined it in its heyday, full of diplomats, royalty, lords and ladies and children alike– but it seemed to be a ghost of its former self. Much like you felt you were– mayhaps not a ghost. You felt more akin to a moth, emerging from your silken cocoon and spreading your wings.

Sitting upon the terrace, it was a full three years since you and Aemond had married. You watched the lawn as your twins toddled on the greenery with an abundance of toys– a boy and a girl that were just a bit over a year and a half old.

Settling into the seat, you put a hand over your swollen belly– once again round with child. You and Alys were keen on running Aemond ragged until the estate was once again full of children, much to his chagrin– and pleasure.

“Lemonade, puppy?” Alys hummed, nosing your ear as she offered you a cool glass.

“Thank you, sweet,” you responded in kind, taking a sip. Your eyes followed Alys’ hand as she gently caressed your belly, pulling up a stool and sitting beside you, one ear to your stomach. She quite liked talking to the children, born or unborn– always chattering, reading stories and telling tall tales.

Aemond scooped up the twins from the greenery, walking over to the two of you. “Say hello to mummas,” he cooed softly.

The twins babbled little greetings to both Alys and you, who they both considered their mother. You feared for the conversation that would come in the future where you had to explain that every family was different, and not everyone had two mummas.

But for now, you’d enjoy blissful ignorance upon the secluded estate.

Tipping your head back, you surveyed the tall walls of the building.

Seven windows lined the eastern inner palisade– and with those seven windows, were seven figures, staring back at you.

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #beware the sapphire peak #alysmond #alys rivers #alys rivers x aemond #alys rivers x reader #alys rivers x reader x aemond targaryen

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cacti-are-like-flamingos · 9 months

Text

Desert Oasis...

Gojo Satoru x Reader x Geto Suguru

The Cursed Trio | Wasted Oxygen

...

Suguru and Gojo would often lounge around this particular area in the forests near the school. Most times, they didn't really do much. They simply basked silently under the shades of the trees, the wind blowing through their hair as they relaxed like cats sunbathing belly-up.

Sometimes, very rarely, they dared to dream about their futures. The life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was hard, and they all knew that. It was just that sometimes the thought would pop up, and it was hard as hell to stop once it was on its roll.

Gojo was convinced that he would continue to be you and Suguru's sugar daddy in the future, while Suguru mostly remained silent, silently wondering if they would even survive that long.

A thought that was quickly dismissed as Gojo threw himself into his lap, arms folded under his head while he mischievously poked at Suguru's ankle from underneath. A smirk played on his pale face when he saw his pondering friend lightly glare at him, but Suguru acquiesced nonetheless.

And so, Gojo began his rant on the endless ways you, specifically, would squeeze him dry until he had no more money left. He cited your boundless hunger for sweets and spicy foods, and what-not.

It was halfway through that interaction when you finally appeared, a sleepy look on your face as you stumbled over to the pair. A bag of mochis hung from your forearm as you settled yourself next to Gojo, laying out the contents of the bag neatly on the grass before resting your head on the silver demon's abdomen.

Your arrival prompted different reactions from each of them.

Gojo mocked, "Ah! How'd you know we were talking about your stupid ass? Hm? Eavesdropper much." Meanwhile, Suguru playfully smirked up at you, his voice suave as he greeted, "Brought me something? Always so sweet to us."

And you hated how true that was — whenever you went out, you always bought them stuff. Why did you do that? Did you think if you could just prove your worth and usefulness, they'd stick around a little lon-- "Ohhh, they got us sakura mochi, 'Toru. From that one shop you really like too!" "See, they all fall in love with me eventually," the other playfully remarked.

Too exhausted, you did the next big thing — you stole his sunglasses and put them on. (No one ever spoke about it, but whenever Gojo found you asleep, he'd put his sunglasses on you so that the lights couldn't bother you as much. A fact he found out from Ieiri after he compared your room to the bat cave.)

Lately, the higher-ups had been sending you on more missions, so much so that you barely had any time to sleep.

At first, both of them would argue for you to go to your room rather than hang around them (Gojo would be more insulting about it — "Go to bed, shit for brains."), but you refused. You were adamant about spending time with them, even if you were unconscious.

Suguru, knowing that you missed them, had a thoughtful idea to give you something of his to ease that feeling of longing (impossible tbh, we got them abandonment issues). He generously offered you one of his earrings (has spares), and you proudly wore that shit with great pride.

In truth, they both hated how the higher-ups were running you ragged; your eye bags were far more pronounced than usual. They had no idea how you kept up with them whenever they decided to visit the plaza when you seemed to always be running on fumes.

Eventually, though, you caught a break. And when that happened, everyone knew to be careful when walking near your room. You had always had a sensitive ear, so even a single loud sound would have you up and about, unable to go back to sleep.

There was a legit a warning sign, constructed by Ieiri and Haibara, stating "Beware. Sleeping dumb bitch ahead." A mini-Gojo was crudely drawn on it, flipping the reader off, and it was taped onto an orange cone. You have no idea of its existence nor will you ever. (That is until a certain pink-haired boy stumbles upon it decades later)

That's a lie; you did come across the orange cone one time. I mean, you were the one who drew the mini-Gojo in light blue crayon.

Kento was the only person who could wake you up without you getting majorly grumpy (no, seriously, a grumpy you was like seeing an actual demon claw its way out of hell ---, terrifying).

Mainly because you found his face pretty, and you would feel bad for bothering him so much, although you could never tell if he was displeased, considering he was always so freaking stoic. It scared you to no end. I mean, how the hell were you supposed to adjust your personality accordingly? Shittt.

Either way, the moment you woke up, Ieiri was already by your door with a fresh cup of coffee and books in hand -- oh god, you had forgotten you were still a student. Surprisingly, you had remarkable grades, mainly because the subject of curses and the history of Jujutsu was far more interesting than regular non-sorcerer topics.

However, there was only so much reading you could do before it felt like your eyeballs would fall out of their sockets. (In the end, you always crammed the information at the last minute before the exam, so it was what it was.)

Side fact: You once went with Utahime to one of those pottery-making cafes and made Ieiri an ashtray in the shape of a cat. (She kept it in her room, near the window sill. It was always full of ash.)

While you studied, Ieiri had a habit of ordering pizza from that one place nearby and would have one of the boys get it. Never Gojo, though, because one time, the pizza never arrived at your room. So when you both went to check, there he was, stuffing his face with your pizza. (Ugh I want to order pizza so bad)

I wouldn't say he almost died at your hands that day, but he did come rather close to it. Haibara and Suguru had to be the ones to pull you off the lanky bastard while you growled like some wild animal.

Gojo actually looked terrified for the first time in his life. (Maybe a bit disgusted tho)

Yaga had made it a rule that no one was allowed to touch your food, whatsoever, unless you offered it. (Which was ironic, considering Gojo would steal from you whenever you were out snacking in the middle of the night. Talk about mood swings!)

Additionally, when you weren't busy catching up with schoolwork or being sent out on missions, the three of you liked to visit the local waterparks

I thought about figuring out who the person was that planned the whole event with an itinerary and all, while also trying to figure out who were the ones that just sent the money (TikTok trend). But then, I remembered that Gojo would be the one to plan the entire trip AND pay for it all. Oh, how he loved to spoil you two. (Fucking show off of a bastard)

It was known that even though Gojo was willing to buy you and Suguru food for the day, you still brought a cooler filled with snacks you had spent the night before making, along with their favorite drinks.

For some reason, Gojo was OBSESSED with this one company of sparkling water. It had barely a hint of flavor, and you hated it beyond belief, always complaining about it when you saw it in his hands. But still, you got it for him because you were such a good friend meh

As for Suguru, he never admitted it, but he liked his sandwiches without the crust. It made him feel like a child again, as though there was still a sliver of innocence left in him.

(When you weren't looking, he used to pry the crust off the bread. But you noticed either way, that's why whenever you made him a snack --- you'd cut it off for him.)

Suguru had taken on the responsibility of packing the extra clothes for when you were all ready to dry off and change into something far more comfortable. The night before, he had rummaged through all of your closets, making sure everything was prepared.

(There was one time when you all had planned to go out the next day, early in the morning, to the beach or waterparks. However, the very same night, you all ended up partying. The following morning, both you and Suguru were panicking all over the place, trying to get everything ready for a day at the park while Gojo laughed with a Pac-Man animation. The one where he 'steps' on the ants) (Add-on: Suguru rushed through your closets, tripping on things on the floor as he looked for outfits you could all wear, quietly cursing both you and Gojo under his breath for having such messy rooms)

You loved going on the group water rides, the ones where they gave you a giant floaty to hang onto, and all of you held on for dear life as you plunged down the steepest of tunnels. Your screams echoed throughout the thick plastic, adding to the thrill. Sometimes, during the wild ride, one of your friends would lose their grip on the float, leading them to cling onto a limb or grab onto someone's hair for dear life.

The number of times someone had to dive down to the floor of the pool to look for Gojo's glasses was fucking ridiculous. He seemed to do it on purpose for the extra thrill (also, that someone was Suguru, since he had sensitive eyes that reacted badly to the pool chemicals).

You, on the other hand, had the privilege of choosing the floaty. It was a flamingo, your favorite (😌).

But your favorite ride of all time was the lazy river. You could just laze away as you drifted through the stream, sipping on your coca-cola. Meanwhile, Gojo and Suguru soaked each other with water from their respective floaties.

Also, you and Gojo had a thing for those really big beach hats — the ones you'd see femme fatales wear in old-timey movies. He would use his to scoop up water before throwing it over Suguru's head, who would then playfully steal your hat (you'd screech in protest) and do the same, throwing the gathered water back onto Gojo.

Moreover, sunscreen is not allowed in this group. It was an all-or-nothing situation. They either endured the burning sun together or endure the bitching of all; there was no in-between. (And if you ever needed to get rid of a burn overnight, you had the answer after the countless times you had to do it for your stupid idiots.)

(The remedy was simple: refrigerate some aloe vera and lotion. Crank the air conditioner to the lowest temperature. Methodically apply the cold aloe vera and lotion all over the burns while gently massaging ice cubes into the affected areas. Every time the ice cube melts, repeat the entire process. Additionally, a cold shower for about an hour helps too Genuinely recommend)

Gojo had obviously been the one to burn the most, his face and back all red and sizzling as he squirmed under your cold hands. He screeched at you like a pterodactyl, cursing you to stay away. But as soon as he got used to the sensation, he was literally purring in your lap. His arms wrapped around your thighs as you leaned forward to soothe the angry red of his back with the balls of your palms. (There's a meme on the clock app, the "You let whitey burn!" That's how I imagine this)

Afterward, you focused on Suguru, who had just come out of a cold shower. He didn't really have a sunburn, much like you, because the two of you liked to stick to the shade while watching Gojo run around like a maniac under the scorching sun. But he still had some on the tops of his shoulders, so you applied the aloe vera there. He gave you an appreciative hum as you did so.

You had a light burn below your ankles because the umbrella you two were under only covered just above them. So Gojo grabbed you a bucket of cold water to engulf your feet in — he was laughing the whole time as he kept you in place, while Suguru had to drag your unwilling limbs into the icy hell.

Oh, none of you made it into your respective beds. The moment all of you managed to, in some capacity, soothe away your pains, you were all out like night-lights, snoring away in the recreational room where the others could see you.

So many pictures were taken that night, especially by a certain insomniac girl who liked to smoke a lot. Later on, she sent them to all three of you.

The photo showed the three of you all messily sleeping on each other, with Gojo's long legs draped over your own while he uncomfortably curled into you, and you laid your head right on Suguru's chest, his arm wrapped around your collarbone like a very loose necklace. (Gojo was shaped like a C, you were laying vertically, and Suguru was laying horizontally by the top of your head)

Gojo saved this photo as his lockscreen

You had Gojo's sunglasses strewn over your face, Suguru's earring on the left right ear.

Gojo had your long lost bracelet on his wrist and one of Suguru's hair tie

Suguru has one of your obnoxious hair bands (you like those fabric ones that have a shit ton of decorations) and a bag of Gojo's favorite treats (on the way back, all of you stopped by for some sweets) laid by his waist

...

(A/N): 9 a.m.: I see a lot of you are liking this little series. I'm so happy you guys enjoy these little snippets of life --- I just hope you bulletproof for this about to hurt.

8: 48 p.m.: Hi hello ignore my previous comment. :) Also, I may or may have not given myself a concussion so if I die tonight...it is what it is 🤷

The Higher-Up's really seem to be running you ragged? Why is that?

How is it that you have this uncanny ability to always say the right things? Could it be related to your cursed technique?

Drop a comment

Feel free to buy me a 🦩

Hope you enjoyed!

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seafoamreadings · 2 months

Text

week of march 10th, 2024

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: this week may feel low energy to you (unless you happen to be a very watery aries) which can have you feeling like you need to start.... something. you can brainstorm ideas but it really won't be the best time to act.

taurus: while the vibes are not as earthy as you might like, they are watery-venusian which suits you well too. it is a little like you are the garden, and someone is providing you with good water and compost and other helpful garden-things.

gemini: the middle of the week features a moon in your sign which can go a long way towards helping if you are feeling bogged down by the atmosphere in other ways. go ahead and socialize, or whatever else is going to make your brain happy this week.

cancerians: pisces vibes suit your soul. there's a lot going on in your 9th house over there. if you can take a long trip, do it now, before mercury retrograde. if not, at least immerse yourself in intellectual, spiritual pursuits.

leo: while a watery week like this can leave you feeling soggy and suffocated, the good news is it's all highly neptunian - it's glamorous, and no one does glamor like you. so embrace the hair and the sparkles and the unnecessarily done up looks and enjoy the attention.

virgo: your relationships get a blessing. sometimes blessings are in disguise. but even if this one is, you can see at least a glimmer of the positive effects it will bring you, right?

libra: your planetary ruler is powerful from her ingress into pisces and therefore you, too, are powerful. if it is at all possible, make your daily routines all into sacred acts. nothing is too mundane for someone so close to all that is.

scorpio: we are beginning to enter a season that, for you, will be fun, and spicy, and sparkly. you can certainly pout in your lair if you wish, but consider what joys you might miss out there.

sagittarius: it's another one of those weeks where ideally you spend time at home. it doesn't mean you can't have adventures out there, but don't neglect the base where you go to recharge.

capricorn: your reputation as a workaholic need not overrule your real-life tendencies to have a bit of a wild side. this is a really good week to spend time with friends, or even just meeting new people socially. if you insist on playing into the stereotype, do some career networking!

aquarius: pisces vibes happen in your 12th house. it makes you sort of like a piscean yourself, at least for the time being. do not deny yourself your own emotional nature. it's part of the human experience.

pisces: there is major activity occurring in your sign, most of which is highly auspicious. you are sort of in the limelight, in a nice way. the caveat is to beware of people who would use or manipulative you cruelly to their own ends; you will want to operate from unconditional love but not everyone is on the same page. be kind without being a doormat.

#horoscopes #weekly horoscopes #horoscope #weekly horoscope #astrology #signs #zodiac #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

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lostheretics · 3 months

Text

PLOT TWIST (6)

▸ chapter 6; bonnie, clyde, and the others on the side

pt. 1 || pt. 2 || pt. 3 || pt. 4 || pt. 5 || pt. 6

✵ cast : jung wooyoung x fem!reader, kim hongjoong, lee juyeon, kim younghoon, ateez, mentioned oc and many kpop artists name or group

✵ genre : romance, marriage life, eventual angst, smut, mafia!au, non idol!au

✵ summary : there's you, and me, and us, and oh wait. perhaps there's more.

in which marriage is not always a paradise, honeymoon avenue somehow is far behind as you look through the rearview mirror. and beware of the road ahead, for accidents might happen. road work, traffic jam,

or some stranger trying to get a lift, perhaps for a permanent front seat.

✵ notes : 6k-ish. thanks for waiting, to those whoever awaits i guess. PLS REBLOG (i will appreciate this sm) AND GIVE SOME THOUGHTS IF U HAVE THEM. ENJOY

WARNINGS BELOW CUT

☒ warnings: bad words here and there (it's life, but still minors dni) but do remind me if i missed something.

☒ i do not condone mafia acts nor any acts that goes against the law at all. everything mentioned are just purely fiction, made to entertain myself and fellow readers in this particular platforms.

☒ do not repost this on any other platform without my permission!

✓ reblogging, liking, and commenting this post in tumblr (through comment or askbox) are very much appreciated.

i don’t know how exactly to start this one.

but it’s about younghoon, the crown prince of seoul, the heir of the seoul kim family and the huge problem he’s facing right now. he’s in a deep shit. the shit being the problem that could swallow him whole. the huge problem being falling in love.

how is it a problem? one might ask.

well, he fell in love with a woman he’s not supposed to fall in love with. for god’s sake, it was supposed to be just a one night job. a good friendship, a good business partner if it goes for more. but he overstepped. he couldn’t help it. not to mention the woman he fell in love with is already tied down to another man.

simply put, he somehow fell in love with jung y/n.

and most of all, over a single fucking ice cream night.

as he laid on his bed, his mind could only go back on repeating the moment, on and on again.

you were such a good dancer.

you’re a really good dancer.

younghoon’s brain kept on saying so as each of his hand held your waist and hand, guiding you through a dance in one of mrs. han’s party that you got yourself into.

he still couldn’t believe how easy it is for you to get an invitation over a single lunch and conversation with mrs. han.

safe to say you had charmed the lady.

and not long into the party, you had once again charmed your way into her heart. and her daughter’s heart more importantly, with the talk of younghoon’s brother, the main target of the whole operation. you charmed them so much to the point that mrs. han had set a formal date to meet both the families up. of course, with the thoughts of marital proposal and possible mergers of the two powers.

the outcome of it might still change, but you still got the two families to meet up with each other and that alone is impressive enough to him.

that’s why you and younghoon spend the rest of the evening dancing and chatting. the job is practically finished, and what’s left was easing up to each other.

“i owe you for this one. a promise and more, i think. you’ve landed my whole family a new ally, and my brother a possible wife. in less than a month, i might add.” he had said while leading you on a dance.

you’ve found that younghoon, more than just a charming man, is also a good and down earthed one.

you smiled at him, “it’s a possible outcome, but not yet certain, mr. kim.”

“younghoon.”

“huh?”

“younghoon. it’s kinda too fast, but we’ve come this far and i think it’s safe to say we can certainly be on first name basis now, y/n.” he said, “only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

“…if you say so, younghoon.”

younghoon smiled back. it might sound awkward still, but for that, time can be the cure. not everything can be done instantly anyways.

the dance stopped after a while. younghoon and you had several rounds of conversations around the room, keeping the couple act up. his hand would be guiding you by your back, fixing your dress or holding your drink or handbag whenever you need the help, including you in every conversation.

he truly is a gentleman.

mrs. han, as the socialite she is, invited many important guests. though filled with other socialite wives, there are some prominent figures like deputy chief of the police, in which younghoon is close to, several high ranked people from ministry of health, or even other well-known and successful businessmen and businesswomen from all around the country. everything fell like a domino effect to you, just by knowing younghoon alone.

after a while, you and younghoon came to the realization that you both were not a fan of the crowd. hence, you both decided to shy away from the crowd and opting to sit by the empty gardens, a bowl of ice cream in on one hand and your champagne glasses on the other.

quietness filled you both as you enjoy the way the star shone that night, while munching on the vanilla ice cream you got from the ice cream bar inside.

“this reminds me of the first time i met you, you know.” younghoon broke the silence. you turned to him with a raised eyebrow, telling him to elaborate.

“i was getting away from the crowd in juyeon’s party so i went to the gardens. instead of watching the sky, i had to watch this lady fainting in the middle of the garden in a party—“

“ugh.” you groaned.

“—and i had no choice but to help her, because i’m such a gentleman.” he jested.

you closed your eyes. “that’s the most embarrassing thing to ever happen in my entire life.”

“imagine the shock when i learned this lady who fainted would soon become my business partner? and great one at that?”

“great one? i’m flattered, younghoon.”

“and you should be. with the amount of achievement? so many in so little time.” younghoon said.

you chuckled lightly. you looked at the hem of your dress, playing with it to satisfy your fidgety urge.

“i had to. you know, for the family. for my husband, given the state we were in.” you murmured, “i only want stability, if not with peace.”

it wasn’t the first time you mentioned your husband’s name to him. some people in the mafia know that you are jung wooyoung’s wife, and he your husband. younghoon knew that too. but most of the times you were with younghoon, you never failed to mention your husband’s name. him being a great caporegime, good strategist, good husband who took you to meetings, et cetera. and always with a smile on your face. it never failed to amaze younghoon just how much love you have for him.

“how does it feel like?” he blurted out suddenly.

“huh?”

“to be married. to be in love in this… society of ours.” he said. “you seemed to be in love with your husband, which isn’t an everyday thing that happen here, you know? ‘cause most relationships are… benefit based. arranged marriage, forced ones… so how?”

“oh, that.” you smiled. “because there isn’t any benefit. we’re just… in love with each other. i didn’t came from any mafia group or family, it just happen that i worked for one without knowing they’re one, and i just met wooyoung. just like that. it’s unlikely in the mafia world, and the ways are also unlikely to happen in a normal world. but we dated, we fell harder, and decided to settle down.”

“and to me, at least, it feels great. i don’t think i’ll ever feel this way again. not before him, not after him.” you had mouthed in the end, unconsciously pouring up some of you heart contents.

younghood sighed. “must be beautiful.”

“you could’ve got all of it, you know. just now.”

“how so?”

“the arrangement with the han’s daughter. might be an arrangement, but a good and stable one at that. i mean, you’re the crown prince of your family. you have power. just treat her right, and tell her to treat you right, then you wait for the love to bloom. might take time, might not be the same as mine, but a win win solution still.” you expressed. “why giving it all away for your brother? no offense, he looks like a great guy like you, but why?”

younghoon chuckled. the usual question. after all, who in their right mind would give away all powers like just that?

“hm, where do i start?” he murmured to himself, then continued.

“to put it easily, i’m here, but i don’t wanna be here. my heart isn’t fully in this. despite my rank, birth and responsibilities, my brother is more suited for this job. that's why he's always around me, i might hand him this job. hence, the arrangement and all."

“what is it then, the thing you want to do the most?”

he leaned back a bit. eyes looking up, seemingly thinking and lost in his thoughts. you stared at him, stared at the way his eyes mirror the twinkling of the stars, and the way he tugged his lips up.

“a doctor.” he quietly said, after a while. “a real one. not for my family’s business. going all around the world as a volunteer, and actually helping actual people in need.”

“when i was in uni, i wanted to pursue a med career. but my dad didn’t really approve of it— of my future career choices in med as a volunteer. and med field are most held by my uncle and his children. so my dad offered me a chance for a med career, just not in the actual med field, but more on the business site. so i took law as my major and business as my minor and took over one of our hospitals.” he explained, before continuing, “but, i still make the best out of it. i volunteered a lot in uni, and my hospital is one of the best hospital in seoul in its practices, and we have a lot charity events to help people.”

you stared at him, awed. there was no words that could describe how amazed you are.

“wow.” was all you could say.

silence filled the both of you for quite some time. each of you let the conversation sink in deep, trying to understand each character, though perhaps in a light that’s slightly different from the usual one in the underworld. there were no hostility, no walls kept up too high, no tactics.

just two people in a mellow moment, enjoying each other’s company and in harmony.

following your own question, he then asked.

“what about you, y/n? what kind of life do you want to live?”

now, it was your time to be the one deep in thoughts. the one who stare at the stars, humming to yourself, thinking of the right answer.

“not a mafia one, to be honest.” you murmured, “but… ever since i met wooyoung, i feel like… i’ve lived my life. that i’m living in the life that i want,”

”with the one that i love most.”

somehow your words seemed so sincere to younghoon’s ears. so pure, so innocent, and so dreamy. something that he once dreamed of, something, or dare he say, someone that he wished for.

and somehow, you left younghoon star struck.

how will he ever move on? how will he ever find someone if he set such standard for his love life? a fairytale like love life, in this kind of environment.

he wondered about the life that you have with wooyoung, wondered if he ever will have those life. he wondered what if he was the one you met instead of wooyoung.

wishful thinking, eh?

but that’s all they are; thoughts. his gentlemanly self wouldn’t have it in his heart to steal like that. to take someone else away just for his own. no, he’s not that kind of man, and he stood by that.

yet it didn’t do anything to erase your pictures from his mind. at least for the night. it doesn’t lessen the warmth bubbling in his gut as he type his message to you in his phone; the eagerness to see you as soon as possible.

me: evening y/n. is tomorrow’s plan still up?

younghoon put his hand down, tapping his phone against his bedsheet as he anxiously wait for a reply; if any would come. the clock on his bedside table showed the time. 1:47 am. you must’ve fallen asleep, right?

right.

ding.

jung y/n: wouldn’t miss it. see u soon, hoon

younghoon think he might need to see a doctor now. his heart’s beating way too fast.

you: woo you: i dont think i can send lunch today cause im visiting the kims at their house. im sorry :(((((( you: pls dont miss lunch ok i asked the butler to send u some food. ilysm you: also idk when i’ll be home, so pls sleep early. i promise u’ll see me in ur dreams xo

you sighed, just after your thumb clicked on the send button for the last message.

sending lunch for wooyoung is one of your sacred daily routine ever since marriage, and this would be the first time for you not to do so. you sighed again, trying to get the uneasiness to subside so you can focus on your job today.

but it’s still there. prickling you slightly from the inside, initiating the thoughts and realization that you haven’t met wooyoung that much these past few days.

waking up today, you could only share a quick peck as wooyoung was in a hurry for a mission, so he said. last few days you could only drop his lunch and left as quick to continue your own job. suddenly everyone everywhere needed you.

you miss him.

last night you were together, you remember as if it was just yesterday, you recalled how you were talking about this exact problem, this exact thing. it fears you of how fast it came true to life. and you fear even more if it ever will go even further.

ding

woo: im gonna cry woo: jk but it’s ok babe i’ll be on a mission anw today, i dont know when i’ll be done. but i’ll be home tonight woo: come back fast if u can, ok? i love you too

just as you finished reading his replies, a sound of horn blasted as a black shiny car pulled up in front of you. the door to the driver side opened up, and you were gifted with the sight of younghoon emerging from the car, offering you a bright smile.

“ready?” was all he said while opening the passenger door, inviting you into his car.

you nod and said a small yes, entering his car. you stare at your screen for a little while, before typing a quick response.

wifey: i’ll try my best.

a sigh escaped through his lips after your last message to him. putting his phone back to the slot beside him, wooyoung could only stare far into the dark alleys in front of him. his mind filled with you it made his heart heavy.

it was never a problem before, when he had to go far or for a while on missions away from you. you’d miss him, he’d miss you, but right then he knew that whatever the circumstances, when he came back home you’ll always be there.

it’s not the case now.

he’s away for missions, and you’re away for business. when you’re home, he might not be home, and when he’s home, you might not be.

for that, he feels the subtle ache in his chest.

his fingers mindlessly tapped against the wheel of his car, before he was pulled back to his senses. the passenger door opened, showing jiwoo and her smile.

and her tight red dress.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer.” her snickers made him clear his throat, looking somewhere else to avoid jiwoo’s playful glint. he mentally slapped himself for even staring at jiwoo, but as a man, how could he not?

her neck is on display, as were her long legs. the dress short, but long enough to keep the gun and some knives hidden away. and with her features, anyone would be swooned by her presence.

maybe that’s why she got assigned for this mission, and again, with wooyoung.

what the fuck am i thinking? i have a wife.

“what takes you so long?”

“chill, i was getting some snacks for us. you said we’ll be spying and tailing a lot, so i figured we’ll be staying in the car quite a lot.”

“nah, change of plans.”

“what?”

“san called. seonghwa said we should go undercover into the club and get the stuff ourselves. so i’ll go as a gambler and you,” he eyed her up and down, “you, conveniently, will be enough as a distraction. did you knew we’re doing this for the mission?”

“nope, i was just feeling myself with the dress.” she shrugged. wooyoung raised a brow, but found nothing came up into his mind nor out of his mind, so he just started driving, wanting nothing more than to finish the mission.

“so what’s the stuff we’re getting?” jiwoo asked as they parked a few buildings before the club. the car came to a halt, the sight of the dimly lit club welcomed their eyes.

“san said it’s a ledger.” he got himself ready, “hongjoong needs something in there. it’s a proof, list of government officers getting involved in the human trafficking ring.”

“that’s terrible.”

“there are better words to describe how disgusting that is, but sure. now,” he turned to jiwoo, “i’ll go in, act kinda drunk and gamble some money for the ledger. you’ll be the distraction and a plan b; should i fail in getting the ledger, you should be the one getting it. okay?”

“okay.”

parting there, wooyoung got out of the car and walked to the club.

so here’s the thing about missions. they can be safe, they can be risky. zero to two means safe, something like spying or just plain investigating. on the other hand, field missions can have more risks, depending on the type of job. whether you have to stay low, or to kill as little as possible, or to not be seen yet has to be there on the spot. it depends.

and on a scale from one to ten, wooyoung is absolutely fucked.

it was supposed to be a ‘get in, get out’ type of job and without being seen. yet he managed to make a group of 10 people running after him in the club, after he tried to trick the dealer, a.k.a the owner of the club —the stupidest thing he's ever done in a mission.

“stop right there!”

a gunshot was heard, luckily not hitting wooyoung anywhere. but guns are out, which means his had to, whether he liked it or not.

he ran in between the crowd of people dancing and getting high, staying as low and as unseen as possible —which, he kinda failed in the first place, but he did his absolute best—, and he took out his glock from his hidden holster, shooting enemies in his sight. thankfully the music is loud enough to cover the sound of his gun. the ledger is safe in the bag, but if he’s not, then there’s no point in doing the mission any longer. but he had to hold on.

all while he ran and shoot, he cursed jiwoo for not holding them for long. she should’ve been a distraction, but perhaps not distracting enough.

“fuck!” he shouted.

and right after, the power went out in the whole club.

all the lights, all the music suddenly died, and the party goers could only ah-ed in unison clearly disappointed at the outcome. wooyoung couldn’t see anything in the dark, and had to stop for a while. he looked around, and found the group of men running after him starting to turn on their flashlights. he was about to run when suddenly someone grabbed his hand.

“it’s me, jiwoo!” the voice whispered loudly. wooyoung looked up and found jiwoo holding him, pulling him away from the crowd. she handed him a shirt and a new hat, rushing to cover him with it.

“let’s get out.”

jiwoo guided him out, away from the prying eyes in the darkness, before the power went back on. the backdoor was empty, leaving only wooyoung and jiwoo. jiwoo kept holding onto wooyoung, pulling him as they ran for their car a few blocks down. wooyoung almost threw himself into the car, sighed loudly when he felt the leather seat touched his back.

“what the fuck was that?” he spat out to jiwoo.

“you tell me! how’d you get chased by those guys? i thought we’re doing this quietly?” she spat back.

“that was the plan, but you failed to hold them back.”

jiwoo rolled her eyes. “no, you failed to realize that they have more security than what you think.”

“the fuck was that supposed to mean? i had mingi and san check everything before we go in. and they're doing a bidding for the ledgers anyways.” wooyoung hit back, making her sigh before explaining.

“you were already far into the club when i found out that the bidding is for tomorrow, so the ledger being there was still a top secret until tonight. reaching out would be risky, and i couldn’t explain it that fast, so i had to do plan c.”

“plan c?”

“i broke into their cctvs and jammed the whole thing so there’s no track of you, then cut out the power to get you out of there.”

he contemplated her answers for a while. sighing again, wooyoung laid back to his chair, trying to ease his breathing.

“thank you.” he said defeatedly.

“we’re partners. i protect you, and you protect me woo,” she shrugged. “now move your ass and let me drive. you’re hurt.”

“huh?”

he glanced towards his body trying to find the hurting part. he reached behind his shoulder, wincing when felt a cut wound along his upper shoulder blade. blood was evident on his fingertips when he pulled them back. it must be enemies’ knife cutting through when they fought, and didn’t realize up until jiwoo point it out.

“just a scratch.”

“yeah well that scratch probably needs a few stitches. c’mon.”

jiwoo moved into the driver’s seat, then drove the car away from the chaotic club. for a while, no one said a word, except wooyoung when he gave a call to san about the mission. the sight of endless trees and dark road made him drowsy, and soon he fell into his slumber.

“hey, wake up.”

wooyoung jolted awake, blinking his sleepiness away after jiwoo woke him up. he looked around in confusion, realizing they’re not back at their base.

“where are we?”

“other town nearby. let’s be safe and make sure they lost our tracks completely,” she pushed his seat back to create more space before shimmying herself into the tight spot. “take your shirt off.”

“w-what?”

the comical look in his eyes made jiwoo laughed as she reached for his shirt.

“yo! yes you’re hot–“

“i’m hot?” she chuckled.

“yes, no– shit– i got a wife ji–“

“’m not trying to fuck, silly. i’m trying to fix your wound. now take the damn shirt off.”

with jiwoo's determination, he had no choice but to take off his shirt hesitantly, glancing back to jiwoo, “look away.”

“shut the fuck up i've literally seen your body when we spar.”

off his shirt goes, showing his skin that glows under the yellow lights. jiwoo handed him a soju to distract him from the pain as she stitch his wound up. he winced a couple of times when the needle poked through his skin, but he held on.

jiwoo’s fingertips are cold, soothing to his hot wounded skin. despite the harsh words, she’s light with her hands. the sound of his and her quiet breathing filled the air.

“the pharmacist said there’s a motel just down the road, maybe we should crash there for the night.”

maybe it’s the soju he downed to the last drop. maybe he lost too much blood because of that wound. maybe it’s the fact that he’s half naked, tipsy, and jiwoo is wearing a red, absolutely sexy dress, but holy fuck, did jung wooyoung just glitched in the brain at the mention of a motel and staying the night out with another woman.

“why?”

“it’s almost 2 in the morning.” she murmured. “the drive to the base would take 2 to 3 hours, and honestly i’m tired. you’re wounded and no doubt tipsy, i’m not about to let us crash somewhere down the road.”

that makes sense. but he had other ideas, as he reached out to the console, trying to find his phone. maybe someone could fetch them up, wooyoung thought. he tapped on the screen a couple of times, clicking on the power button but to no avail. the screen stayed dark.

“shit, my phone’s dead.” he glanced towards jiwoo who just shrugged.

“mine’s dead too.”

and no one thought of bringing a charger with them.

he groaned, leaning back to his seat. after a few beat of silence, he just nodded. “well, i guess we have no choice.”

somewhere in him, it feels wrong. like something is poking through his chest as jiwoo drove down the road, right to the said motel and parked the car. like there’s an unseen stop sign in him, reminding him to not to do it as jiwoo pulled him to the motel room.

but what could go wrong? wooyoung doesn’t like jiwoo in that way.

not even the way she took her dress off carelessly in front of him, opting to change into a bathrobe that’s not even tied properly. not the way he clearly saw her pair of underwear.

shit.

but no, he doesn’t like her like that. and he’s sure of that. yet, the blaring sound of siren kept playing in his mind, reminding him that this isn’t right.

but perhaps it’s the soju that calmed the siren down, as he doze off into his slumber once again.

jung wooyoung woke up that morning, with a headache and pain on his shoulder. and that dull thing poking through his chest, and the same siren blasted again in his head when he saw himself; splayed on the bed half naked, with jiwoo and her loose robe, limbs tangled with each other underneath the sheets.

nothing happened last night, he's damn sure of it and remembered every single second that passed before he fell asleep.

yet, still, he doesn’t like this feeling.

“are you okay?”

younghoon nudged you, who immediately woke up from the empty daydream you had just now.

“huh?”

“you’ve been out of it for like, a solid 5 minutes. are you okay? did my father say something to offend you?”

“no. nothing important.”

yes. it was something that could change her whole life.

you sighed, “it’s just… i forgot to tell wooyoung that i’m staying out last night. he hates sleeping alone.” she lied. though, not entirely. she did forgot to tell wooyoung about the whole staying out for the night last night. wooyoung would absolutely gone batshit, but judging from the lack of his messages on your phone, he might not have known it yet. which is strange.

guilt bubbled up in younghoon, easily seen through his eyes. “i’m really sorry about last night. my father… tend to get too friendly and would sometimes step over the boundaries, like insisting for you to stay the night. i should’ve said no and took you home. god, he even made you stay up late.” he grumbled.

“it’s okay, he meant well. i just forgot to tell wooyoung, that’s all.”

“when i drop you off, i’ll explain everything to wooyoung and hongjoong, so they won’t have any weird ideas about it.” younghoon said, “you’re a married woman after all. we don’t want any trouble.”

you smiled and nodded, “thank you for the offer. i’d be thankful.”

younghoon smiled back, and continued driving towards ateez mansion, as you fall back to yet another set of daydreaming, or, more specifically contemplating your whole existence after the talk with younghoon’s father last night.

over some of his words.

01.59 am

a sigh almost left your mouth, along with a yawn, but you held back as best as you could. after all, you’re presented before kim younghoon’s father, the senior in kim’s family and not to mention one of the prominent figure in the business.

but you have no regrets, all the time passed wasn’t for nothing. and he’s a pleasant man.

“you work diligently, younghoon have said this a lot. he’s not easy to get close with,” the man chuckled, “well, it’s a shame that you’re married. i would’ve offered my son to you, he seemed intrigued.”

“you flatter me, sir. and more often than not, younghoon is the one who helped me a lot since i got into the business.”

he smiled, putting down his cup of tea. “so i’ve heard. ah, didn’t you meet younghoon through the lees?”

you nodded, “yes. lee juyeon, to be precise. though, i don’t know what younghoon has told you about it…”

“he told me everything. of why juyeon gave you to us, what you want and what he wanted. that boy,” he shook his head, tsk-ing, “ruthless as his father was. the whole people in the business had to tip toe around him if they want to be alive. jiyoung would never do that.” then he proceeded to say something that made you raise a brow.

“her child would never.”

“i thought that was just a rumor?”

the man smiled knowingly. “well, sweet lady, this old man here has a reason for supporting lee jiyoung when the sibling war happened, and still is, until now. i know a secret or two, things that others don’t know.” mr. kim explained with a longing gaze. “she’s my best friend, after all.”

“like, a secret marriage?”

you shoot your shot.

“i was one of the few to witness her marriage. she loved seo rim well, despite the fast that he’s just a bodyguard. going against his elder’s wishes of marrying someone more prominent in the business to secure her safety and her throne, me being one of them.”

“and now for that, she had to lose everything. but whatever people say, it was a lawful marriage.”

“seo rim?”

mr. kim laughed, “oh, oops. the name’s out i guess.”

you pressed him again, shooting your shot one more time. “but, what about the child? was it a girl or a boy? where are they?”

but to that question, mr. kim just shrugged. he downed his tea before filling his cup again. “dunno. but if i do, i’d protect them with all i have.”

you closed your mouth, only nodding to his answer. you laid back to your chair. the new information filled your head so it all circled your mind. secret marriage, possible offspring of lee jiyoung. seo rim. the name echoed in your mind. a name you never know before,

but now you do.

mr. kim hummed, staring into the fire in front of him, seemingly in his own mind. you stared at the old man, a few white strands of hair on his head, several lines on his face, and you wonder, what does it feels like to witness a war and survived. he lived long, enough to know the lee jiyoung, to witness things that others don’t. long enough to know people, wise enough to know what to do and what not.

hence the question.

“why me?”

“hm?”

“why did you tell me this? we just met today. and even if you do know me, it’s only from younghoon and that’s not even enough.” you murmured, “so why are you telling me this?”

the man hummed again. “because i know,” he said, making you raise a brow. he continued, “i know i can trust you.”

“where have you been?!”

san’s screeching voice was the first to greet wooyoung when he stepped out of his car with jiwoo. the said man had his hands on his hips, eagle eyes staring down judgingly at the two partners.

“bed’s empty, no note, car gone! you could’ve died!”

wooyoung massaged his temples. “now’s not the time to quote some harry potter line, san.” he groaned.

san shrugged. “it was a moment. and seriously, where have you been? you two! not even a text or a call, we were about to hunt you down!” he accusingly said. “you and y/n both, woo. thankfully y/n told us her whereabouts just this morning. but you? radio silent.”

“my phone died, and so did jiwoo’s.” wooyoung lifted his head when he realized san mentioned your name. “y/n did what?”

slowly, san lowered his hands from his hips. his eyes starting to grow wide with confusion in it. “she didn’t tell you?”

“tell me what?” wooyoung pressed.

“she’s staying out last night as well. at the kim’s.”

his brain short circuited, trying to process san’s words a couple of times. when he finally processed the whole sentences, it left him utterly dumbfounded.

“what?!”

just after he screamed, a black car stopped behind them. the sight of kim younghoon getting out of the car greeted them, along with you, whose door was held open by younghoon.

“speak of the devil.” san blurted.

wooyoung ignored his remarks, opting to trot his way to you. he threw a look on younghoon, before pulling you away from him.

“you didn’t come home last night? why? why didn’t you tell me?” he pressed, his hand still circling your wrist.

you quickly felt guilty. “i’m sorry love, it was younghoon’s father sudden invitation. i couldn’t really get my phone, that was my fault.” you ran your free hand over his bicep, trying to soothe the anger away. “won’t happen again. what time did you get home last night?”

“he stayed out as well.” san replied from behind you. your eyes widened, while he freezed.

“what? you didn’t tell me anything about it. what happened? wha-“ your palm acidentally touched to his shoulder blades, feeling the rough bandage underneath it, “were you hurt?”

but wooyoung turned away, pushing your hand lightly. “just a scratch, it doesn’t matter.” he turned his gaze back to you, once again giving you a questioning look. “why didn’t you come home? why would you stay at someone else’s place? baby, you’re my wife. what would other people say?”

younghoon slotted himself between the two of you. clearing his throat, he explained, “mr. jung, that was my fault. my father can be quite pushy, he insisted that mrs. jung must stay the night because he wanted her company and to talk. i’m sorry, i should’ve insisted on taking her home.”

“damn right you should’ve.” wooyoung spat, earning a slap on his chest from you.

“wooyoung!”

younghoon bowed slightly. “i’m sorry. i’ll make sure no one knows about this, and i’ll explain everything to hongjoong. if these words ever comes out i won’t hesitate to straighten things up and i certainly won’t let this ruin your or y/n’s reputations. once again, i’m sorry.” the man doesn’t even lift his head, bowing once again. “i’m sorry. excuse me.”

“hoon–“ you tried to call him but to no avail, as the man quickly got into his car and drove away. you watched in guilt as his black car went further. throwing a side eye at wooyoung, you detached yourself from him, grumbling as you walked away. he followed right behind you.

“i can’t believe you just did that!”

wooyoung scoffed. “am i not allowed to do that? you’re my wife, and your husband is questioning why were you staying the night at some other man’s house!”

stopping in your tracks, you turned back to glare at him. “i did nothing with younghoon, heck i even stayed at a different wing in his mansion!” you point your finger, “you were staying out last night as well! with your partner who, by the way is also a woman! did you see me complaining or accusing you of anything? no text no nothing, who knows what you did out there?”

…splayed on the bed half naked, with jiwoo and her loose robe, limbs tangled with each other underneath the sheets.

“how could you accuse me of cheating?we didn't do anything!”

“i didn’t even say the word. you put those in your own mouth.”

“i got injured, she was tired, both of our phones are dead, we had no choice but to stay out!”

“that’s exactly what happened to me! younghoon’s father wanted to speak, yes he’s a fucking pushover and that’s kinda annoying so i had no choice but to do as he says because he’s that important, but i did nothing other than talking.” you half shouted. “kim younghoon is an ally, woo. an important one right now. i’m not doing this for me, this whole thing is a business, but then you shouted at him, being completely unprofessional and irrational, i—“

you bit your lip, trying to held your emotions back. “if something goes wrong, hongjoong’s gonna be mad. i’m trying my best right now to gain his trust, to gain something for us, but y—“ you choked back your tears out of frustration, trying your best not to let out a single drop of it.

seeing how you almost broke down lessen his anger.

“baby….”

“you two, enough.”

hongjoong’s voice blared through the whole hallway, making you both turned your heads. you quickly wiped a single tear, trying to compose yourself.

hongjoong had his hands on his pocket, eyes icy as he stared down at the both of you.

“how many times do i have to tell you to keep your goddamn professionalism first in the business?” he gritted through his teeth. you and wooyoung could only stare at the floor beneath you. you heard a sigh coming out of hongjoong’s mouth.

“younghoon explained everything to me, even gave me a proof of y/n’s room. i know you’re angry, but you shouldn’t have shouted at him, woo. and y/n you should’ve known better than to stay at someone else’s place. the fuck is wrong with you two? i'm not even married but i at least know this.”

you and wooyoung could only turn away from hongjoong's gaze, clearly lost your faces.

he shook his head, opting to leave the problem behind. “make up later, however it is. now, you both clean after yourselves, especially you, y/n.” he pointed at you, “you have a lunch reservation with lee juyeon. i approved it for you. i’ll pick you up after for a meeting with stray kids.”

“she just came back from younghoon, now she has to go out with another man again?”

hongjoong only stared at him. “i said stay professional.” he said, before he turned back and walked away.

there’s something sour left in his tongue.

he’s fully aware of the cause, he just couldn’t say it out loud. so he just sat there on the edge of the bed, watching as you prepare yourself.

the both of you talked and sort things out, explaining each problems while you changed his bandage for a fresher one. both of you talked about how it was unavoidable, things you’ve said before, just with cool heads.

but it still left something unpleasant.

you were stepping into a nice green dress, zipping it up. you strapped your heels, then fixed your makeup. a little blush here and there, your hand danced oh so delicately across your face, it would’ve make him all giddy if it wasn’t for the fact that you were about to go out with some other man.

you caught him staring at you from the vanity mirror, the hardness on his face was unmistakable. you sighed as you turned around, walking towards him. wooyoung turned his gaze to the floor, so you reached for his hands, cradling in it your own.

bringing his knuckles to your lips, you kissed it. “i know you’re upset.” you murmured. he stayed quiet, so you continued.

“i don’t know when will all of this stop. but remember the promise we made? hm?” you cradled his face. “i’ll do anything to keep us together and safe. because i love you, and i need you to understand that there’ll be no one other than you.” you pressed.

“others don’t matter. just you.”

you looked at his lips, crouched down to give him a soft kiss. though a little unresponsive, he gave into the kiss.

“i love you too.” he murmured into your lips.

the same words came from the both of your lips. the both of you truly are each other’s halves, in one heart, in one mind, in one act.

even when the same unpleasant feelings resides in both of your hearts, and you both refused to address it.

kim younghoon: i’m sorry about this morning. y/n: it’s alright. i’m sorry my husband shouted at you. we’ve talked abt it tho kim younghoon: it’s okay. he did the right thing. (typing…) (typing…) (typing…) kim younghoon: he’s ur husband, i understand y/n: thank you kim younghoon: y/n y/n: yes? (typing…) (typing…) kim younghoon: we’re still up for tomorrow? y/n: yes. i’ll see u soon.

“ah! if it’s not the rising star of ateez.”

juyeon gleamed as soon as he saw you, smile so wide his eyes smiled with him. and to your surprise, he quickly reached for your hand, planting a kiss on your knuckles.

your husband, who escorted you there was right behind you with hongjoong. both of them were stunned at the sight.

but before anyone could say anything, juyeon excused himself, “i’m sorry mr. jung, i don’t mean anything bad. it’s just, i’m really happy to see y/n. i’ve never been so connected in conversations other than with her.” he grinned, “though, if she was available i’d definitely try my luck.”

he laughed, forcing everyone to laugh with him.

hongjoong spoke, “well, we understand. she’s pleasant to be with, perhaps that’s why our wooyoung loves her so.” he nudged wooyoung, “isn’t that right, woo?”

“yes.” he replied dryly, earning a glare and a squeeze on his shoulder. but he couldn't care less.

“well,” juyeon clasped his hand together, “we should go in. i’m starving, and i wish to have a good conversation today with y/n. if i may?”

juyeon offered his hand to you. glancing between juyeon and wooyoung, you have no choice but to take juyeon’s hand, careful in not looking too eager. you threw a guilty look at him.

while walking inside, you typed a quick text.

y/n: i’m sorry. i had no idea he’d do that, he never does y/n: i’m so sorry baby y/n: it doesn’t mean a thing to me

ding

woo: it’s ok. (typing…) (typing…) woo: come home whenever ur done.

23.47 pm.

you glanced at your watch, sighing defeatedly. you definitely won’t be home as quick as you wanted today.

you already miss wooyoung. but you have to do this.

the alleyway was dark. the sound of your heels clicking against the pavement echoed in the air. the small restaurant was about to close, the light about to go off altogether. you lightly knocked on the door. “excuse me.” you called.

a buffed looking man came out from the kitchen, a knife on his hand. “we’re closing. what do you want?” he gruffly said.

“uhm, sorry,” you stuttered, “is mr. kim’s soju… no,” you quickly regained yourself.

“i want to talk to the soju maker himself, mr. kim. there’s this… old soju i’m looking for, which i don’t know the brand is.”

the big man stood there for a while, processing your words. he went back to the kitchen, and you heard some murmurs before he came back outside, now smiling. “mr. kim is waiting for you in the kitchen.”

the man escorted you inside, through the messy wet kitchen up until a door. he knocked on the door, announcing your arrival. “come in.” a baritone voice responded. he opened the door, ushering you to come in, before closing the door.

an old man sat on his study, his white hair tousled and a pair of glasses sat on top of his nose. his weary eyes studied your form.

“it’s been a while since someone used that code. soju maker…” he chuckled. “people usually looks for fresher soju, something done, but now you’re looking for something older. tell me, what are you looking for miss?”

he pointed the chair across him, signaling you to take a seat. putting aside your handbag, you took a seat. there’s a beat of silence, before you let your voice out.

“it’s a who, sir.” you said, before continuing.

“i’m looking for seo rim.”

(to be continued)

—

damnnnn 8 months. i have no words for myself fr😩🤚

i hope y guys still enjoy this. i feel like i should add more things, but i’m afraid it’ll make the whole thing stale ykwim

but we’re getting CLOSER and CLOSER to the main problem, aka the timeline when y/n got shot (mafia!woo y/n caught in the crossfire), which is the very first fic that started this all

anyways. TOODLES. enjoy

78 notes · View notes

chaoticdelinqueerwithglitter · 4 months

Text

Let me tell you now, you're the lucky one

(Enemies to Enemies Who Fuck)

(HaruKaku in Bonten timeline)

(some past-MuSan and past-KakuIza with a subtle RanOmi bc why not, it's my fic and I don't have self-restrain when it comes to multishipping)

(link to ao3 in case some one preferes to read it there)

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat!

All of them. Bonten is their own warning. Substance abuse. Really unhealthy coping mechanisms. Depression. Mental health problems. Suicide. Major character death. (it's Bonten, they all want to kill themselves and some of them succeed, okay?) Mentions of unsafe sex, but there is no smut or graphic depiction of it.

I tried to not be too graphic with any of this topics, the focus is mostly on what the characters are thinking/feeling. But it's hard anyway, tbh the last scene was actually difficult and painful for me to write. So please, don't take the CW lightly and prioritize your mental health!

Angst and Hurt/No Comfort.

MANGA SPOILERS!!!!

Notes: HaruKaku came as an hilarious idea. Because they are hilarious, let's be real. Soulmates archnemesis, doomed to hate each other in every timeline. But then Bonten happened and of course, I ended up writing some angsty shit instead of focusing in all the other moments when they are hilarious. Kudos for me, yey! 🥲

This is canon complicit (again, is Bonten, beware!)

It alternates from Kakucho's POV to Sanzu's POV. I did that thing again of using "Haruchiyo" when he's in his most vulnerable state because for some reason I like playing with his name like this.

(English is not my first language, be nice please 🙈)

(the art is from @just-sp-in-inginthevoid who is in part responsible for the archnemesis brain riot, but mostly the hilarious part, tbh)

Is not that Kakucho enjoys Sanzu's company. Or that the pinkette gradually started to grow on him. Quite the opposite, to be honest. He hates him a little bit more every day, every shared mission, every time they had to spent hours together.

But with Sanzu, he feels. He feels intensely, he feels with passion. Even if it's twisted, at least he's not empty anymore. The void that threatens to devour him seems to disappear when he's around the other man. Sometimes, Kakucho wants to murder him, but he knows he can't. Others, he wonders what would happen to him if he also loses the only person that it's still able to provoke an intense emotion on him.

Hate is better than apathy, isn't it?

They hate each other passionately. Sanzu finds his reactions too funny for stopping it, always willing to go a little further, to push Kakucho to the edge. It's too easy to pick on him, making him forget about his allegedly righteous patience.

It's disgusting, how Kakucho thinks of himself like he was better than the rest of them. So Sanzu enjoys to proves him wrong, to show him that they are the same (even if he can't stand that fact either, seeing that burning rage in those heterochromatic eyes makes it worth it).

Now that he thinks about it, it was probably a matter of time, considering that his king denied them the right to kill each other, they needed to find a way of releasing all that build up anger. That's probably why isn't that surprising when it finally happens.

It looked like a regular night. Sanzu was high as a kite, trying to forget every one of his lives. Kakucho just seemed to be there, he can't recall exactly why, some type of report, but he didn't pay any attention to it at the moment, too intoxicated for actually caring for something that could wait until tomorrow.

“Why are you still here? You like me that much or what?”

The pinkette man says, slurring his words.

“Are you that high? You know I hate you.”

Is the harsh answer that he earns. It's brutal, but real. Kakucho's honesty has something that grounds him to the present. It's sickening. It's exactly what he wants right now.

“I hate you too, don't worry.” He laughs, finding his own words amusing. “Think about it, me and you. Just us, hating each other all night long.”

“You're crazy.”

“And you didn't say no.”

(If he was more honest with himself, he would admit that he was trying to find another way of punishing his broken mind and his body. But he's not.)

And oh, it actually feels good. Kakucho fucks him with the same brutality that talks to him. He couldn't bear any type of gentle touch (specially not from someone that it's so linked to Mucho, but he isn't thinking in that, he promised himself to forget his old captain a long time ago).

There isn't any type of care between them, only spite. Both men are too broken for having the ability to love someone again. Indeed, this was precisely what he needed. This is perfect.

The next day, Kakucho feels nauseated. How couldn't he? Sanzu was high as fuck, too intoxicated to give proper consent to do anything. So even if he was also a little drunk, even if it wasn't his idea, Kakucho feels guilty for what happened.

Until Sanzu just laughs at his poorly attempt of apologizing, mocking his morals once more. He was about to punch him in the face, but the lingering guilt doesn't allow him to do it. Not that one more bruise would make a difference, actually.

Both are covered in so many marks that more than sex, it looks like they tried to kill each other. Yeah, maybe he should stop feeling sorry for Sanzu, considering this. Maybe that was the best way to get rid of that not-so-pent-up hate.

And it works. At least for a while, it works. Until it happens again. And again.

Is not that they are lovers (Kakucho wants to puke with that idea). They just fuck from time to time. That's all. They hate each other, they wish they could kill the other. But they can't. So, sometimes, they fuck.

Their relationship is not pretty. At all. Or better. If Kakucho had to use only one word for describing it, he would say “real”. They don't lie to each other, what would be the point? Both are too able of seeing between the lies, they are too similar in so many ways. But that raw honesty only makes it worse.

Kakucho knows it's a mistake, that he shouldn't care about Sanzu's fate (he brought it on himself and he doesn't seem to have any complains). But Mikey is worse every day, the king is falling and his loyal dog is falling with him. Kakucho needs to do something, because the uneasiness he feels every time he sees them is now living rent-free in his mind.

That's why, one day, Kakucho tries. He's trying to find his clothes, dressing quickly, wanting to get out of this room that only makes him feel sick. Then, he looks at Sanzu, his pink hair scattered on the pillows, a lazy and satisfied smile than only appears after sex (and never lasts). There is some twisted vulnerability in how content the other man is while lighting up a joint, as if seeing these new swelling (all this pain) on his skin was something he wanted.

(Kakucho can't shake the feeling that Sanzu is using him as another way of hurting himself and that infuriates him so fucking much... Maybe that's the real reason why he decides against his best judgment and opens his big mouth.)

“Is not worth it.”

“Uh?”

Sanzu looks at the other, not sure if he actually heard something. He just wants to smoke and relax, to feel the post-orgasmic satisfaction while it lasts, to enjoy the pain in his body (one more of his little punishments).

“I said is not worth it. Dying with Mikey.”

If it had been anyone else, Sanzu would shoot him in the face just for saying this. Thinking like that, talking like that about his king is treason. It should be. But it's difficult to pretend Kakucho's isn't right about this when, unfortunately, it's the only one Sanzu trusts with Mikey's well-being (It's the one he calls every time Mikey is being suicidal again).

“You wish you could be me, you wish you had died with Izana.”

Sanzu spits his words, burning with all the rage he feels every time he has to acknowledge the reality of how is Mikey.

“That's not what this is about-”

Kakucho is unable to finish his sentence, turning pale in anger when Sanzu cuts him. 'Good'.

“You're a selfish bastard, aren't you? You want me to be like you, stuck here with no purpose, jerking yourself with the memory of a ghost. Pretend it's because of your high morals, that you're worried about me or some other bullshit. But you're just another selfish bastard. And you envy me.”

If it had been anyone else, Sanzu would shoot him in the face. But he can't (he wants to, oh, he wants it so much, but he can't disobey Mikey's orders). So, instead of bullets, he uses his words.

“At least Izana cared about me.”

Is the last thing he hears before Kakucho slams the door. Sanzu laughs maniacally, throwing the first shit he can find to the place the other man was a few seconds a go. He's momentary satisfaction long forgotten, replaced only by hate (and pain, but one that he refuses to see).

The worst part is that in a sickening way, he trusts Kakucho. They don't lie to each other, that makes it so much worse, because both of them know that what the other said is true. He hates him, he hates him with every fiber of his body. He doesn't want this words to be true, he can't accept that. He needs to keep living in this denial, to pretend Mikey is fine (to pretend he doesn't keep mixing this Mikey with that in his nightmares, to pretend they don't look so alike).

It's been three days. Three whole days since Mikey's death was splattered on the news (no one seems to care about Takemichi's death, even with all that footage of how the hero tried to save the most dangerous man in Japan). Kakucho cares, but he knows damn well that he wouldn't be welcomed within the hero's friends, so he would have to say goodbye in his own way (again).

During this days, Kakucho learned some things, like the fact that apparently everyone had some kind of contingency plan in case this happened (no, for when this happened, all of them could see that Mikey was more on the edge every day). But nobody spoke to him about it, keeping him in the darkness, the only idiot that didn't prepare himself for the end. Well, not the only, he knows that, of course he knows that.

(Sanzu would have killed them in the blink of an eye. Anyone who dared to imply that Bonten needed to be prepared to function without a king.)

Kakucho understands the need for secrets, of course he does. The idea of Mikey falling would be considered treason a few days ago, it was taboo to think like that. At the same time, none of them wanted to acknowledge it, like saying it out loud would make it more real. He can't even be mad when the Haitanis (obviously) thought about him on their own schemes, making sure Kakucho was also safe. Or as safe as any of them could be now that Bonten was crumbleling.

It's been three days. Bonten is crumbleling. Mikey is dead. And Sanzu disappeared the same day. Everyone knows he's dead, but they don't say it. Not in front of Takeomi, who's still desperately looking, going out in the rain for hours. Trying to find something, some clue that leads him to his little brother. Clinging to the hope that he's still alive somewhere. That he's going to find him, high as fuck, but alive (Kakucho thinks being able to find Sanzu's body at all would already be a miracle).

Only Ran is able to convince Takeomi to rest a little bit, promising that he and Rindou will help with the search as long as the older man gets a few hours of sleep. Takeomi just nods, mumbling “Today is his birthday, Ran. Is his fucking birthday and he's out there alone.” while Ran drags him softly, a concerned look plastered in those violet eyes.

Kakucho hates it, hates having to see all this sorrow around him (again). He doesn't lament the loss of Mikey and Sanzu, he's incapable of doing it. Grief took his heart for hostage a long time ago, there is nothing more for him to mourn.

More than anything, Kakucho hates himself, because he's jealous of Sanzu. He knows he shouldn't, but he hates that the pinkette man was right about him. He envies Sanzu, who had the privilege of dying with Mikey, of dying with his king.

Kakucho hates the Mad Dog even more right now. But he's aware that once this hate fades away, he would feel empty again. So he clings onto this feeling, he needs this rage as a motor to keep moving.

It doesn't matter if this energy is fulled with rage, he needs it. He can't fail his friends, what's left of his family. Kakucho has to keep living even if he can't remember how being alive felt anymore. Even if he's more dead inside every day.

So, over and over... Kakucho would keep living.

The rain keeps pouring down without truce, Haruchiyo shrinks inside the leather jacket that was always too big for him. Now the only thing that makes him feel protected from that annoying rain (from the world). To be honest, he isn't completely aware how he managed to recover it from his penthouse, but it seemed important in that moment.

The jacket and the old picture that he's still clutching in his pocket, the only two things he cared enough to take. He doesn't even need to look at it to see the four happy smiles stained with watermelon juice. Two pink haired kids that could be confused by twins, one with a shy smile, the other with a cheerful one, happy to be included with his brother friends. Next, a fierce smile showing two small fangs, already a force of nature at his young age. In the middle, a blond kid with the most radiant smile Haruchiyo ever saw, capable of making everything shine just with his presence. Full of life, of dreams. Full of potential. Brighter than the sun, a true leader.

But that was a long time ago and, once again, Sanzu is the only one who remembers. The man staggering in the rain is now the only survivor from that photo. Only him, alone in this fuck up world where nothing and no one matters anymore. Not without Mikey. Even Bonten can burn from what he cares.

He keeps walking (it feels more like floating for him, floating in a cloud of pain and numbness at the same time). Until he finally reaches his destination, an abandoned bowling alley. Sanzu enters in some kind of trance, not sure if he's dissociating or too intoxicated. He doesn't care.

He sits down exactly in the same place his king sat down. How many days had passed since that moment? One? Two? Ages. It certainly feels like ages for him. Haruchiyo hugs himself, trying to make space for his legs inside the big comforting jacket. Completely curled up. And he cries, he cries like he hasn't allowed himself to do so in the last ten years.

He's starting to sober up, he can feel it. Because the flashbacks are coming back. Shinichiro jumping from that bridge. Mikey jumping from this exact building. Mikey falling from the stairs, that awful “clonk”. Mikey jumping again from this building.

Haruchiyo screams, holding his head with both hands, begging the images to stop, unable to continue reliving those memories. He needs everything to stop, to be quiet, his shattered mind can't take it anymore.

He takes out a small box from his pocket, looking at the content. Everything he needs is here, he knows how to do it, how to make sure he's not going to wake up from this trip. His stupid hands are shaking while he gets the syringe ready.

For some reason, he suddenly remembers Kakucho's words a few months ago. He hates it, he hates thinking in that fucker when he's about to die. But the other man was right, wasn't he? Mikey never cared about Sanzu, he spent years of his life trying to keep his king alive and it was all for nothing. Everything blew up in one night.

A manic laugh escapes between his whimpers. Of course is that, he's fucking jealous. Sanzu is fucking jealous because at least Kakucho got to held Izana's hand when he died, he got to comfort his king in his last moments. Sanzu didn't had that, Hanagaki was the one holding Mikey's hand. Always that cockroach, never him.

What did he expect anyway? Haruchiyo is just a failure. He never deserved to be the one making his king last moments less painful. Of course, he should had known. He failed everyone. He failed Shinichiro, unable to protect Mikey, to be the friend he promised he would be. He failed Mikey, watching him falling into the darkness, becoming the same empty shell he already saw in a past that never happened, and doing nothing about it.

Sanzu doesn't have anything left. He also killed his own chance of happiness a long time ago (he also failed his captain, didn't he?). The only thing left for him is to disappear, to follow his king. He's going with him, because he's being following Mikey for so long, that he doesn't see any other choice. He's going with him, because he doesn't deserve to keep living when he couldn't save Mikey.

But it's fine, the drug is already kicking in, his body feels more relaxed. Even his mind seems to be quiet, almost in peace. He looks at the old photo one last time, before drifting out of consciousness, looking for safety in the inner part of the leather, pretending it smells like cheesecake.

It's fine, because at the end of the day... Haruchiyo was just a failure.

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antimony-medusa · 11 months

Text

Okay so, why do we tag things (on Ao3). Story hits you with a little summary and then a list of things that happen in it that's as long as your arm— why's that happening? So on Ao3, there are two reasons to tag things, and they both fit into how Ao3's search function works. You tag a story with "hurt no comfort", and "cyberpunk au" and that means that it shows up when people search "hurt no comfort" (the opt-in aspect of tagging culture), but it also does NOT show up when someone is searching "cyberpunk au" but has blocked "hurt no comfort" (the opt-out aspect of tagging culture).

Tags can serve as both an enticement, for people who want specifically that thing, and a warning, for people who might be like "you know actually I don't think I can handle that right now". And I sometimes see people who are used to the way other sites use tags hit Ao3, and they are NOT used to how the tagging culture works, and they either tag their work inappropriately, or they are freaked out by the way other people's work is tagged.

On most social media sites nowdays, you tag things for exposure. People follow or search certain tags, and if you tag your tiktok with #foryoupage, it's more likely to show up on people's For You Page. (I think, Tiktok is an arcane mystery to me). There are definitely tags that circulate your fandom that are there to lure people in who are searching for that tag, I know for sure that people search on "humans are space orcs", and I have searched for "Technoblade is autistic" and I know there are people searching for "Tommyinnit gets a hug", etc. Sort of positive tagging.

Anyways, I have seen people scrolling and then they hit something tagged with like, "rape/non-con", and then they go WHAT THE FUCK WHAT ALGORITHM IS ON THE GO HERE WHY AM I BEING SHOWN THAT.

But the thing is, there's no algorithm on the go here. Sometimes yes, people are tagging with a tag that you personally see as horrible and they mean it as an enticement (A) horny brain works in marvellous and non-logical ways, B) sometimes people want to read about the worst possible thing happening), but a very good portion of the time that tag is there as a warning and to make sure that if people have excluded that tag, they don't even have to see it. You can't rely on the algorithm to not show you things you don't want to see, you're responsible for excluding the stuff that you go "uh no" to from the search. But once you HAVE excluded it, poof. You will not see that shit.

The tag is there specifically to make sure that nobody has something triggering hits them when they're unprepared, just reading along happily and then boom, erotic cannibalism. That shit is supposed to be in the tags.

(The one exception to that is if the author has selected "choose not to warn", which you are supposed to take as a warning that it's alllll on the table. Buyer beware, there could be absolutely anything happening here, including major triggering content. So I know people who search with a bunch of excluded content, and they just exclude Choose Not To Warn as well.)

Anyways, people get used to the way other sites use tags, and not only do they not know why people are tagging with all these negative things, they get used to the shadowbans. If you mention [list of things tiktok hates], you won't show up when people search. So then they don't put any tags they figure are objectionable on the work.

This is EXTREMELY counterproductive to the way Ao3 actually works, because there is no algorithm or shadowban on Ao3. Anyone who's been there a long time has had the experience of searching something and then like the third hit is something where you go "I did not even know that was a kink, okay, life is a rich tapestry", which on any other site would have been shadowbanned so hard. Which means that yes, your post is going to show up in more searches, but actually that's a bad thing, because it's going to show up as a hit for people who would really prefer not to see that.

The whole idea of Ao3 tagging culture is that you can opt in to your experience when you choose to read, whether that means you're searching for the [bad thing] or blocking the [bad thing]. When you avoid tagging things, surprising people with things like underage sex when they have had every expectation to know that they avoided that, that's BAD.

Tagging lets you actually find the target audience of people who wants to read what you wrote, and it lets people who are going to be mad or hurt by your work stay away.

Anyways this is a really long-winded way to say TAG YOUR SHIT PLEASE.

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twisted-sickfics · 2 months

Text

Tough Day

a lot of content warnings in this one for angel-typical sexual content and violence so please skip this one if that’s not something you’re comfortable with! this still has lots of caretaking and comfort, there’s just also valentino so please beware!

content warnings: MDNI, emeto, language, valentino, violence and sexual content

Angel knew it would be a tough day when he woke up feeling like shit.

Well, to be more specific, his stomach feels like shit and his entire body aches all over. It doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out that he��s probably coming down with something.

But he doesn’t have time to worry about that. Valentino needs him for a shoot and he’s not exactly going to take “I’m sick” as an excuse. He’s been higher and felt worse than this and completed shoots just fine. If he’s lucky, he doesn’t even remember them when he’s that out of it.

This is just…uncomfortable. Inconvenient. A fucking drag.

Getting to the set isn’t an issue but actually having to film? That’s another beast altogether. Having a bunch of dicks shoved in his mouth isn’t exactly the best idea when he’s already feeling like he could puke at any second. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like that’s the vibe Valentino wants to go for today.

Filming isn’t actually that bad, but it’s during the short break he’s allotted that things start to take a turn for the worse. He takes a drink of water and practically gags, feeling his stomach rebelling against the liquid he tried to introduce into his system.

“Angel, baby, we haven’t even played with your gag reflex today,” Valentino says, obviously having fun reveling in Angel’s misery. He just has to suck it up and take it, trying to fight back now would just be stupid. “Don’t tell me you’re losing your touch.”

“Not at all, Valentino,” Angel swears. “I’m fine.” The last thing he’s going to do is open up to Valentino and admit weakness. If anything, the creep would only want to exploit his misery even more.

Valentino looks at him intensely as though poring over every little detail of Angel’s body. It feels slimy. It feels violating. “Back to filming, then,” he commands and the stagehands and actors get into position. Angel follows suit.

It’s when he has a demon’s cock up his ass and his brain is being pounded out that the nausea gets worse. He lifts a hand to cover his mouth, but Valentino immediately yells, “Cut! Angel, what the Hell are you doing?! We need to hear you loud and clear!”

“Valentino, I—” He isn’t sure how he would have explained himself, but even fumbling over his words would have been better than doubling over and vomiting all over the bed. Which is exactly what happens. He hears the stage crew gasp and shout around him, pictures being snapped, and Valentino yelling at him.

It all gets fuzzy after that. Maybe it’s the fever he’s positive he has at this point or maybe it was all so awful that he blocked it out of his memory, but he doesn’t remember much of Valentino’s wrath, just being thrown out of the studio and yelled at by some stagehand to call a cab because the shoot is over.

That didn’t end very well.

Angel still has the cognizance to do exactly what that stagehand told him to do because he needs to get home now. He’s lucky a driver even lets him in the car with how rough he looks, but he manages not to throw up in the backseat for the entire ride. That’s a win in his book.

This late at night (or early in the morning), not many of the hotel’s employees are still awake. Alastor might be lurking around somewhere but that doesn’t really count. Husk is the only one up at this hour, but that’s about the only person Angel feels comfortable showing himself around while he looks and feels like this.

“Hey,” Angel greets, his tone noticeably less excitable than usual. “‘m not feelin’ great today, you got anythin’ other than booze here?” He hasn’t eaten or drunk anything since the previous day now and he knows he should at least get some non-alcoholic fluids into his system.

That…definitely wasn’t what Husk was expecting. He thought Angel would immediately ask for the strongest drink he could make, but for him to admit that he’s not feeling well? Husk decides to keep a close eye on him out of concern. “I’ve got coffee, milk, tea, and water,” he offers. “Take your pick.”

Angel’s stomach rolls at the thought of drinking anything other than plain water right now, so he opts for that. Husk eyes him for a moment longer than usual before handing him a glass of water. “How was work?”

“Terrible,” Angel admits. “I threw up all over the bed during the shoot and Valentino threw me outta there. Guess I ain’t getting paid this time.” There’s no way Valentino will pay him for screwing up. He’ll have to resort to other means to make ends meet for the month, then.

“What the fuck?!” Husk shouts, and he immediately lowers his voice because of the way Angel flinches. “That bastard did this to you? Because you got sick? The next time I see that guy, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

“After today, I think I’d like that,” Angel says, taking a swig of his water like it’s alcohol and immediately regretting it. His stomach still isn’t feeling great. “Listen, I’m gonna head to my room now. You have any drugs I can take? Like, the actual medicine kind?”

He must be feeling worse than he’s letting on if he’s actually asking for medicine. Even now, he’s performing. “You head upstairs and I’ll meet you there. I’ll bring you some meds and some water.”

Angel looks like he’s about to say something for a moment, but stops himself. Instead, he nods and heads to his room. Husk knows the bitterness of the tea would probably upset his stomach even more, so he pours him a glass of water instead. He gets some nausea medicine and some fever reducers (just in case, the guy was looking a little worse-for-wear) and heads to Angel’s bedroom where he’s immediately greeted by the sound of retching from the bathroom.

“Angel?” Husk calls out, setting the glass of water and medicine on the nightstand and opening the door to the bathroom only to be greeted with Angel hunched over the toilet, expelling what little is left in his stomach. “Hey, ‘s okay. Just breathe.”

Angel gags, bringing up a small amount of stomach acid. “I feel like shit,” he moans, eyes streaming with tears from the strain of throwing up, his voice hoarse and raw.

“I know,” Husk sympathizes, “but you’re doing great. Just lemme know when you’re done and we can get you cleaned up.” He takes this opportunity to check his forehead for a fever and sure enough, he’s burning up.

It’s tough to see someone who’s usually so strong in Husk’s eyes barely able to keep themselves up in front of a toilet bowl, and he really feels for the guy. If he had any kind of power over Valentino, he would kick his ass into oblivion for working Angel to the bone while sick.

“Think I’m done,” Angel says, looking absolutely miserable. He looks like he might pass out, so Husk wants to get him to bed as soon as possible. Husk rips off a piece of toilet paper and uses that to clean around Angel’s mouth. It might just be the fever, but his face looks really red.

“Think you can stand up?” Husk asks. He’s surprised when Angel nods, attempting to stand up on his own, but he leans on Husk for support as he walks to bed.

For the first time that night, Husk sees Angel visibly relax and close his eyes. “No going to sleep yet, sweetheart,” he says, apologetic since he knows the only thing Angel must want to do right now is go to sleep. “I need you to take these.”

Angel swallows the pills with some water and sighs. “If I have to go into work tomorrow, I think I’ll actually die again. I feel like shit, Whiskers.” How honest. When he’s not feeling well, Angel tends to be a bit more truthful. Interesting.

“I know you do, Legs. Tell you what, you sleep in today and get some rest. If Valentino comes knocking, I’ll set Alastor on him. Sound good?”

“Mhm,” Angel mumbles affirmatively, but he’s already half-asleep and very out of it. He probably doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to, but there’s no way Husk is letting him go to work tomorrow when he’s this sick. He’s already thrown up twice and his fever felt pretty high. Whatever Valentino is going to do to him won’t be good.

Husk turns to leave when he feels a hand grip his wrist. “Wait…please stay…” Angel mumbles. How could Husk say no when he’s asked like that? He isn’t completely heartless. Just mostly heartless.

It doesn’t take long for Angel to fall asleep. He must have been exhausted, because it usually takes him much longer. Husk sits next to him, reading a book he’d been meaning to catch up on.

Husk flips through the pages of his book when Angel begins to stir again. He doesn’t appear to be awake but he looks distressed, as though he’s having a nightmare. Husk doesn’t wake him because he doesn’t want to disorient him even further, but a large small part of him feels badly seeing him like that.

Eventually, Angel wakes up with a gasp. “You’re alright, Legs,” Husk says, a steadying hand on his back. “You just had a nightmare. You’re in your room and you’re fine.”

He doesn’t feel fine, though. His stomach is in knots and he’s starting to sweat but he feels cold. He just dreamt about Valentino and he has to go to work the next day like this. There’s no way he can work like this! He’s going to get in so much trouble.

Husk can see Angel starting to work himself up even more, but he doesn’t know what to say to him to make it better. It’s only when Angel’s breaths start to morph into nauseous hiccups that Husk goes to get a trash can and places it under Angel’s mouth.

Angel starts to gag unproductively, bringing up strings of saliva. It isn’t a pretty sight, but Husk wants to be here for him. He has to. “It’s all right, Angel,” he says, “just let it out if you have to.”

Eventually, Angel finally does bring up a mouthful of bile and Husk winces. He hasn’t seen him this out of sorts in, well, ever. And he’s seen Angel in many different states.

It seems like that’s all he’s going to be able to bring up because the rest of his retches are dry and unproductive. Husk has to help him sit back in bed as he moves the trash can out of the way. “How’re you feeling?” he asks tentatively, though he has a feeling he already knows the answer.

“Like shit,” Angel says, as expected. “I think I threw up the medicine you made me take. Sorry ‘bout that.”

That’s when his phone starts blowing up. Husk is able to see the contact labeled “Valentino” on his phone, followed by several messages with some very aggressive language. He doesn’t miss the way Angel tenses up when a new text comes in.

“I-I should answer that,” he says, reaching for his phone before Husk snatches it out of his grasp.

“No way,” Husk says, “you’re not answering that asshole. I’ll take care of everything, promise. You deserve one day for yourself. Worst case scenario, tell that Valentino to shove a dick up his ass because you’re not going and that’s that.”

He’s worried he crossed some boundaries there, but Angel’s lips turn upward in a small smile. That’s enough to make Husk smile too. “Just get some rest, sweetheart.”

Husk isn’t stupid, he knows that means more work and possibly more punishment for Angel down the road. But for now, he’s in no state to show up for a shoot. Anything that comes later, they can handle. For now, he can just focus on resting and feeling better.

Angel doesn’t have to ask him to stay this time.

#emeto #emeto fic #emeto tw #sickfic

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eveenstar · 2 years

Note

Heeyy requests are open right? If so could you maybe do Toby dating headcannons? Only if you want to!!!11!!! 💜

Hello! Of course! I could never deny headcanons for my favourite boy <3 Here they are, and as you will see, my Toby is slightly different from the fandom or canon one. I decided to make my own version of him because why not? Hope you like it!

Dating Toby would be like... (headcanons)

Dating Masky headcanons , Dating Hoodie Headcanons

Oh boy. This relationship is the definition of walking on eggshells. Maybe that's an overexaggeration. But you get my point.

Toby might be the "easiest" one to get into a relationship within the main proxies. But beware, all of his previous relationships were all to amuse him at best. You, however, might be different, this time.

Unstable, but not TOO unstable. He's a good hunter - which requires patience. He used to hunt with his father, a long time ago. So, when it comes to you, he has tons of patience but that's not an invitation to test it. He doesn't want to hurt you but the Gods forbid how his foggy his mind gets when overwhelmed.

Speaking of which, Toby get overwhelmed easily. There are days the slightest thing will send him into a spiral. He won't seek your comfort or touch then, so, best be just leave him alone in his corner and go cook something he likes. Food with a soft texture might help.

pancakes because i'm starving for pancakes

Last proxy who decided to invade him during a breakdown ended up with a hatchet in their brain. Well, who told them to approach a serial killer cleaning their axes?

Anyway. On contrary of Masky, you'll actually see other proxies here and there. Of course, whatever ranks the Big Man has put up, Toby is in the top of the food chain, which leads to other proxies visiting. You can be around when this happens, but be wise with what you say or do. Not that Toby is jealous, he has nothing to be jealous of when it come to other proxies, but he can't have the others aware of his weaknesses.

There is also the matter of danger. You're in constant danger. The most brave will seek to harm you to get Toby out of his leading position, but no harm actually happens because this man is like the...James Bond of hatchets. Good moves for a man in his 30s.

He's also fairly vocal. He doesn't talk constantly of course but he'll let you know his thoughts, or make random comments about missions. At some moments it'll even feel like you two are a normal couple. So, talk to him and he'll be happy :)

His laughter is also something worth mentioning. He doesn't laugh a lot, it's rare when he does, but they're very light-hearted and a bit rough in the edges. It's simply adorable when he shakes his head or throws his head back and laughs out loud - but don't mention it or he'll get embarrassed.

Toby's a movie boy. Absolutely adores action movies with fast pacing. Hates animation. Movie nights are a must and it's another moment of normality.

Has high pain tolerance. He feels it but forced his brain to ignore it so Toby will arrive home with stab wounds or gunshots wounds that he probably forgot he had - it's your job to make sure he doesn't bleed out. This is less common for a 30 something-year-old Toby than Toby in his 20s. He's older and wiser, a professional in his craft. No one gets near him anymore without having a axe craved in their head first.

Beard beard beard beard. He has a beard. Fairly visible as well. It's hot. Take that as you will.

Toby will train you as well. Practice with axes and throwing knives, as well as fighting moves. This man has a thing for you using sharp weapons or getting him on the floor - again, take that as you will. :)

Yes, he now uses throwing knives. He learned how to use them from another proxy a few years ago.

Along with Hoodie, but slightly different, Toby will get you gifts for special dates such as your birthday or Christmas. He's not particularly fond of Christmas but feels obligated to get you something. He won't go out of his way to buy you said gifts, Toby will either make you one through wood carving (one of his abilities he has perfected over the years) or will steal one from a victim's house.

Christmas! Family holidays. He hates it. Toby has detached himself from who he was so much, but the sight of happy families makes his blood boil. He's not stupid, he knows they're not at fault for what happened to him - but that reason soon leaves his mind when the flashbacks hit. Before he knows, his hands are already dirty with blood. He hates the stupid songs and the parties - but, if you're someone to celebrate it, he won't oppose. He'll get angry and will exile himself with his hatchets, but some times...some times he'll silently join you cooking or decorating. He won't say a word, and if you're smart, so will you.

Toby has abandoned his family name. His first name is the only remnant of his past - and for this, Masky will use it to mock him to a breaking point. He won't let Toby live down the fact that he surpassed Masky in the ranks. He'll get home snappy and angry - and he'll always vent to you. Toby is very vocal with his hands as well, he moves them around a lot - lots of angry waves and quite possible a few bottles will be smashed or thrown if you don't stop him.

He's a lot to take in, but most of the time he's very calm and collected. Please, feel free to vent or talk to him whenever you feel like it. He loves the sound of your voice and hear you talk about anything soothes him.

Or sing. Oh boy. If you catch him alone, thinking you're asleep, you might hear him singing a lullaby to himself. It's almost impossible to hear it, and he will deny on his life that he does this.

Toby is one of the proxies who doesn't mind what he does or who he "works" for. It has been so long and his path has been so tragic and dark - he has become numb to it. He has you and his children a.k.a his hatchets.

Surprisingly not very aware that Slender would harm you. But that creature would. You're only alive because He allows you to be. One day, that might come to an end and trust me, Toby can be more frightening to face than Masky and Hoodie. And that includes, a possessed by SlenderMan Toby.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

#toby rogers x reader #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby #toby rogers #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta x reader

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vryfmi · 2 years

Text

POSTER ANALYSIS BECAUSE MY BRAIN REFUSES TO BELIEVE LOCKWOOD&CO IS ACTUALLY BECOMING A REAL TV SHOW

beware: a long post

- SKULL IS HERE SKULL IS HERE SKULL IS HERE honestly, after "the Golden Blade" character that really threw me off it's good to see this iconic bastard appear on screen. low key sad it's not pulling any faces (yet)

- “Hunt or be Haunted”. this one really took me by surprise. the change of tagline suggests that our smallest agency in London and their business is no longer the only focus of the story. it gives more of a feel of survival story rather then underdogs type of story tho. we'll see where it goes

- the logo is growing on me, it still looks too polished to me, compared to any of book logos which were, well, logos, and here it's just font. but it goes nicely with brutalism aesthetic, sPEAKING OF WHICH-

- yall see this? they are actually going with brutalism for their world?? not a sugar-coated London with beautiful scenery of old european city?? thank you l&co crew i love you for doing your hw.

<...> For a while any object even dimly supposed to have some kind of psychic residue was treated with terror and disgust. Items of old furniture were burned, and random antiques smashed or thrown into the Thames. A priceless painting in the National Portrait Gallery was hurled to the floor and trampled on by a vicar, ‘because it looked at me in a funny way’. Anything with a strong connection to the past was considered suspect, and a cult of modern objects grew up, which remains with us even now. <...>

there's nothing good in what past holds in their world. people are paranoid because no one knows where new outbreak will happen. of course there are blocks of concrete for flats, of course it's cold, of course it's surreal to see London like this. it's alternative London.

- i love these ghost lamps, they are my new fixation. they are so big and so out of place. obsessed even. ufo looking. my love. ghost lamp my beloved

- rapiers, you love to see those

everyone has a unique hilt. im so normal

- last but not least: composition. i think it ties nicely back to tagline change since, yes, it would be nice to see idk Portland Row being shown. but no, characters are in the middle of empty street, looking at something that we can't see. they are agents after all - seeing things outside regular person's comprehension is their thing. they are distressed but got their rapiers at ready. sky is getting dark, ghost lamp (my beloved) is on, quiet city is cowardly seen underneath. f i t t i e s i s b e h i n d e v e r y t h i n g

NOW ON TO THE CHARACTERS

they are all so awkward looking, my divvies

- SKULL my man got a nice looking prison, i like the handle, it's handy. now i see why Lucy will struggle while breaking this jar with poop statue. now waiting for his cast announcement :/

- Lucy got the biggest wardrobe update, kinda digging it. definitely more practical, but it's sad to see heavy boots go. but now everyone is much quicker on their feet, especially after seeing how fast these ghosts are. ARE THOSE FLARES ON HER BELT

- not to be that person, but Cameron was born for this role. really aching to seeing more of his acting and his way of bringing Lockwood on the big screen. also thank lord he's wearing trainers. he already has a safety hazard coat, if there was one more formal piece of clothing he’d died on spot- wait he still has a tie- credit goes to @lucyjcarlyle for pointing out Lockwood's ring, can't wait to find out it is a family relic and die inside

- George by Ali actually feels like George, right? baggy clothes, bag that weights him, something about his posture - all those things add to recognition of character despite differentiating from books’ description. it’s sad we didn’t get to see him in teaser

- and they all look relatively young! like this thumbnail really captures it

also, im not the only one who sees the iconic @doodlingraka's colour palette everywhere, right? because i dig it and i want more

in conclusion: it doesn’t look perfect, lets be honest here, but Cornish’s interview puts it all together in a perspective. this show is a love letter to horror movies of last century. they were clumsy, too, but they knew how to scare its viewer in a smart way. and that’s what books did, now it’s time to pay a tribute. at least i want to believe so

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #l&co #l&co. netflix #netflix #analysis #ghost lamps my beloveds #jonathan stroud #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george karim #skull in the jar #the skull #ruby stokes #cameron chapman #ali hadji-heshmati #WHO VOICES OR EVEN BETTER PLAYS SKULL #NETFLIX YOU COWARD #.mypost

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xhaotixaesthetica · 2 years

Text

Yandere!Stray Kids Headcanons

Starlink Intergalactic Navigator

You are in: the Asteroid Belt

Author's Note: This is different from the Yandere Ateez headcanons. While they're way less violent, I feel like they're more fucked up in a way. Maybe because they're more sexual?? IDK, just don't go into those expecting the types of yanderes I outlined in the Ateez Headcanons. BEWARE OF HYUNJIN, JISUNG, AND JEONGIN'S, ESPECIALLY JEONGIN'S. SERIOUSLY I DON'T WANT YALL TO GET TRIGGERED FROM MY WRITING.

READ THE TRIGGER WARNING: This post contains DUB-CON, KNIFEPLAY, BRIEF DESCRIPTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT, STALKING, HOME INVASION, GROSS INVASIONS OF PRIVACY, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, DESCRIPTIONS OF ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS, MURDER, NONCONSENSUAL GROPING AND DEGREDATION, SEVERE BULLYING, AND BRIEF DESCRIPTIONS OF PHYSICAL ASSAULT. The behaviors and relationships depicted below are abusive and unhealthy. These are not examples of healthy relationships, it’s actually the opposite. This is meant to imagine the members of Stray Kids in a popular anime trope and it in no way represents their real-life personalities and characters. Real-life Stray Kids are actually known for being some of the kindest, most respectful idols in the industry. It’s fiction, it’s for fun, PLEASE DON’T READ IT IF YOU KNOW YOU WON’T LIKE IT OR THIS KIND OF STUFF DISTURBS YOU!

Genre: angst, smut, fluff

Word Count: 7.0K+

Chan

The Keeper of the Gilded Cage

Chan as a regular person is very caring and protective of those he loves, and I don't think it would be ridiculous to think that these qualities would also translate over to his yandere side. A relationship with Yandere!Chan would very much start out as a normal relationship with thoughtful dates, caring texts, loads of affection, and overt displays of his more gentlemanly nature.

Chan is smart and Yandere!Chan would be even more so from all the years of hiding his deviant urges.

The isolation would begin gradually, mostly in the form of events that Chan has orchestrated behind the scenes to cause you so much anxiety in your daily life without him that you're too afraid to leave his side. From freak car accidents after him tampering with your car in the middle of the night to your own friends physically attacking you in outrage at the drama that no one knew Chan had started between you and your friends behind the scenes, you would slowly find every aspect of your life devolving into chaos.

But nothing bad would happen when you were with Chan. With him, you never hung out with anyone else so there was never any drama. And any time this "drama" found its way to you and Chan's relationship, he would always talk to you about it and clear up the misunderstanding, better than your friend who had fought and abandoned you without a second thought. With him, your car never had a chance to break down and land you in the hospital because you always rode in his and he would always drive. With him, your card never got declined because he would always pay.

Without your noticing it, your brain had created an association of safety with Chan. Everything always seemed to go wrong in your life, but not him. He was caring and sweet and nurturing and everything was always right in your world when you were with him.

Of course, it was natural that you would begin to stay with him so much.

And Chan loved it. He thrived on your dependence, on being seen as your protector, your knight in shining armor. He loved being needed, being the number one source of love and safety in your life. He knew it was wrong, but to him, being in love, being in a truly committed relationship meant being the center of each other's whole world. You were already the center of his and he didn't particularly mind all of the strings that he had to pull to make sure that he was the center of yours.

I don't see you ever getting punished, because you would likely never find out what Chan had done to orchestrate the dynamic the two of you had. He had created the most impenetrable kind of gilded cage to imprison you in, a cage that existed only because of your own fear and insecurity of your own abilities.

"It's okay to be weak, angel. Everyone's weak, sometimes. But we're strong together. As long as you're with me, I promise that everything will be okay."

Minho

The "Eccentric" Control-Freak

Anyone could get a whiff of trouble from Yandere!Minho from a mile away. It's not hard to tell that there's something dark and burning, like the flames of hell behind his eyes, and he has an intense gaze in those pretty feline eyes that's as much magnetic as it is terrifying.

I think that those qualities would be the very thing that would attract you to Yandere!Minho. Minho, as a normal person, doesn't make any effort to force himself to conform to what society says he should be. He's unapologetically weird, loud, and true to himself, going to any lengths to follow his passions and do what he wants to do, and I think that would be the defining characteristic of Yandere!Minho.

Unlike the vast majority of yanderes, Minho is very upfront about who is is and his nature. Unlike Seonghwa, he's aware his behavior is deviant, out of the normal, and unaccepted by the vast majority of people, and I'm pretty sure that he also knows that it's wrong. He simply doesn't care.

I think there would be less tension in you and Minho's relationship, simply due to the fact that it takes a minute for Minho to get attached enough to someone for his yandere tendencies to begin to show. It's not going to be something that automatically comes out on the first date, and the time it takes for him to develop feelings for you is really your only window of opportunity.

To stay with Minho long enough to develop feelings for him, I would think you are either someone used to being in controlling relationships, or maybe you just don't go places that much so you're not that bothered by it. Or you're just incredibly naive. Either way, you're probably someone that would find themselves acquiescing to his whims a lot.

Minho is quite controlling. He will let you go out on your own, but you have to constantly call and tell him how much you miss him and text him your exact location, what you're doing, and who you're with. If you're not doing those things, then his trust issues will flare up and the moment you get home, he'll be interrogating you about who you were with and what you guys were really doing together.

Minho is quite a sexual yandere, and I see your home life being full of a lot of 24/7 kinks. He would make you walk around with no clothes on so he has easy access, sometimes make you crawl on all fours and act like a cat, make you call him master, etc.

He would be quite affectionate and possessive, often touching you inappropriately in public to prove a point and it wouldn't be out of the ordinary to see him get in an altercation with someone he thought was looking at you too hard.. He would call you lots of pet names and keep you as close to him as possible, often bringing you with him to work or outings with his yandere friends, who had no problem with you and see you as more of an ornament on Minho than an actual person.

I see all of Yandere Minho's punishments involving some sort of sexual element: him carving his name into you while you're tied to the bed, choking you until you pass out during sex, sometimes even going as far as to fuck you in front of the person that he was about to kill for getting too close to you.

Minho doesn't have a problem with violence or killing others, but he definitely has to be in a certain mood for it, otherwise he'll just beat them into a hospital bed or give them a good scare. Most people are aware that you're Minho's significant other, and wouldn't be caught dead around you anyways, so Minho doesn't have to resort to these things often.

Overall, if you're willing to succumb to all of Minho's rules and regulations, he'd be one of the easier stray kids yanderes to get along with.

"It doesn't matter how other people say that we should treat each other. You belong to me, and neither one of us are going anywhere, kitty."

Changbin

The American Psycho

While it's pretty easy for yanderes like Chan and Seungmin to fly under the radar, Changbin is undoubtedly the yandere that people would least expect.

He's known in the community for being a friendly albeit kind of dim-witted guy. He's somehow friends with everyone, wouldn't hesitate to give the shirt off his back when it came to his friends, and was known for throwing incredible parties. Yes, he may be a little dumb but he was bright and optimistic and kind and well-intentioned, right?

No.

Because let's get one thing straight, Yandere!Changbin is far from stupid. In fact, I'd argue that he's one of the most calculating yanderes on this list.

His whole persona: the generosity, the dim-wittedness, his extroversion, even the parties, it's all a part of his facade.

Changbin is very observant, especially when it comes to noticing people's weaknesses and desires. He has an uncanny habit of providing what people want or need the most and that's part of why he has so many friends. And none of his friends are chosen lightly. They're all picked strategically based off of what they can provide him when he most needs it, whether money or access to their resources or even alibis should he be in a particularly tough bind.

It's this facade that makes it particularly easy for him to get to you. In the beginning, he starts off very much like Yandere Chan, courting you with extravagant gifts and dates and attention. But unlike Chan, Changbin would have no problem with showing his true colors.

It wouldn't be for a while, not until he knew you were utterly, madly in love with him.

The next day, you would be walking by yourself, maybe to work or to get a cup of coffee. And the next thing you knew, you were being pulled into an alleyway and pressed against a wall, the hot breath of a man that you had never seen before invading your sense. You could barely hear him through the blood pulsing in your ears, adrenaline short-circuiting your nerves as tears clouded your view of the man. Though you had one idea what he said, it was easy to understand his intentions as his hands roamed your lower back.

His face was leaned down so far that you could almost see each and every one of his clogged pores and just as his disgustingly chapped lips were about to reach yours, his body was wrenched away from you. And as you collapsed in relief, you saw that, against all odds, It was your loving boyfriend Changbin who had rescued you, fists raining upon the man with a vengeance.

And how were you to know that he's staged this whole thing? That he's paid this man to hurt the very person he claimed he would give his life to protect. How could you know that the man you adored was capable of such cold-blooded evil?

The situation had a dual purpose.

Yes, there was the added plus of our undying devotion, your grateful smiles, and loving words as you saw him as your savior.

But the real show came a few weeks later, when he was beyond sure that he had your complete love and trust.

That was the day that you walked in on him killing someone.

And he would be his true self, unapologetic and calm, urging you to look at the man's face. And when you did, you recognized him. It was the man who had assaulted you weeks earlier.

Changbin had already cut out of the man's tongue so he was unable to warn you that your lover was the very man who had caused you to be assaulted. And Changbin kept justifying it, saying how could he allow the man who had wronged his love so badly to continue to breathe. How could he allow this man to keep roaming the street when he knew he would likely do it to someone else?

And considering how hed over heels you were for Changbin, he knew it would be a lot easier to accept murder if it was for a reason you perceived as being righteous.

Maybe it would take you time to accept and Changbin would pretend to give you that time, all the while hiring private investigators to follow and keep tabs on you and make sure you didn't do anything rash.

And when three days went by and you still hadn't gone to the cops, he knew that he had you.

After this, the reasons for murder start getting more and more insignificant, until eventually, you'd walked in on him killing so many people that it was nothing more than background noise to you. The reason didn't even particularly matter. You knew, deep-down-was that the reason was nothing more than the fact that Changbin simply wanted you to see it so that you would be desensitized to it.

And it got to a point where you found it hard to care.

No matter whose flesh he had sunk his blade into the night before, when the sun rose and he crawled back into your bed, hair still wet from the shower that washed the sticky blood off of him, he still kissed your cheek so tenderly that one would think you were made of glass. He still put his arms around you so tightly that all the world knew how afraid he was of losing you. He still made love to you like you were the last person on earth.

While Changbin does meet the qualifications for a serial killer, he isn't necessarily putting these things in your view because he likes killing so much that he can't stop. He's doing it because it's the only way he knows to show you the darkest parts of him that do not shy away from doing things like this.

And once he knew you understood that, that you had accepted him at his worst, you would stop walking in on killings. You knew the monster that hid under your boyfriend's skin and you kept his secrets. For that he would give his love only to you for the rest of your lives. Whether you wanted it or not.

While Changbin would never hurt you physically, he is by no means above kidnapping, maiming, or even murdering one of your friends or family members if that's what it took to keep you in line.

"Always remember what I am, precious. Always know the evil that lies next to you in bed, protecting you while you sleep. And always remember that if you ever betray me, it could be your loved ones under my knife next."

Hyunjin

The Sadistic Secret Admirer

Hyunjin as a yandere would be extremely scary, because he is unused to feeling so intensely about anything as he does about you. He doesn't know how to handle the intense emotions you well up inside him and it can cause intense mood swings on his part.

Most confusing to him are the urges you bring out in him that he never knew he had.

Hyunjin has always been considered a good person, by himself and by those around him. Yes, he's a little shy, but he's friendly and knows how to use his naturally dramatic personality for comedic effect to sheer people up. He's artistic, kind, sensitive, talented, and, not to mention, drop-dead gorgeous.

Hyunjin had dated before, even fallen in love a few times, but it had never seemed to work out. There was always something missing, some invisible roadblock between him and the object of his affection.

For the longest, he couldn't figure out what it was.

Until he met you.

And, all of a sudden, it was like the love he had heard about in the movies. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. His vision tunneled until you were all his eyes registered, and a sort of still haze fell over his mind as he knew. Nothing else mattered but you.

And Hyunjin knew you had to be his soulmate.

In that one moment, he completely unraveled at the seams, his grip on reality being replaced with one built on fantasy and delusion and you.

Hyunjin had to go to the nearest bathroom on campus to get away from you. The only way he could pull himself together was to be away from your intoxicating scent and your hypnotic eyes.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, he could swear he saw your whole future together stretching out before him in every breath he took and every dilation of his pupils. He saw every kiss, every touch, every declaration of love, a grand wedding, kids, and...crying??

In every fantasy of you, Hyunjin saw you crying every time you made love. He saw fear and love warring in your eyes, tears pouring down your face that made him pop a boner right there in the middle of the restroom.

Hyunjin was confounded.

He'd never thought things like this. He'd never thought of his previous lovers being as afraid of him as they were in love with him, much less him purposefully being the cause of their fear.

Hyunjin avoided you the whole day, disturbed at this new development in his mind, and yet he couldn't get the image of you crying out of his head. He couldn't stop thinking about how you would look when you were afraid of the man you loved, feeling complete and utter power over you, and knowing that the life of the person that gave his existence meaning was completely in his hands..

After a week, the disgust had ebbed, replaced by the devouring need to see you, to be in your presence again. Each second away from you felt like agony and Hyunjin was noticeably weaker, unable to eat or sleep properly when he couldn't see you. Were you okay? Had someone hurt you since he'd last seen you? What if you'd gotten a boyfriend or a girlfriend?

Hyunjin knew he had to make you his. He was afraid of what he would do to you or the people around him if someone else got to you first.

It wasn't hard for Hyunjin to befriend you. Even you, a new student to the university, knew of the reputation that Hyunjin held and you were flattered at the attention he was giving you, grateful for a friend there to make your transition from universities easier.

It wasn't long before you started to fall for him, and Hyunjin was well aware of it, but he was enjoying the pining, so you both continued on, best friends with obvious feelings for each other but both two scared to do anything.

It was a few weeks afterward that the secret admirer gifts started. They were innocuous at first, short love letters with candy and bracelets and flowers.

They would be left in harmless places, the seat you always sat in in your poli sci class, on your library book when you got up to get a book while studying, in your backpack if you left it open at the cafeteria.

It was something sweet for Hyunjin, and yet, all the while, he couldn't help but wonder how you would look all paranoid and scared if he upped the ante.

So, one day, he randomly starts leaving the gifts at your house.

It has the effect he desires.

You vent to him about this secret admirer who you once thought was sweet and now you couldn't help being scared that they were a creep.

And Hyunjin played the role of the understanding, protective best friend, taking you into his arms and hugging you, knowing full well that when he was staking out your house and saw the fear in your eyes as you opened his gift, he jerked himself to completion right there where he was standing in the bushes.

Your fear was even more intoxicating than he thought it was.

He tells himself that it's harmless, just a bit of fun, that he's making up the terror he's bringing into your life by being a good friend. He tells himself lie after lie, but deep down he knows the truth.

He knows that he'll have to put his cards on the table some time soon. And after that, he would never let you go ever again.

When Hyunjin sneaks into your apartment one fateful night, stealing you away, he gets the exact look he dreamed of on that very first day you met and he feels in his bones that this is how it's supposed to be.

He stands you in the mirror, his front to your back as he restrains you firmly in his arms, one hand over your mouth as he forces you to watch as the man who was once your best friend and your closest confidant reveal himself to be your biggest threat. He sees the fear for this man who had stalked you for months war with the adoration for the man who had been there when no one else was.

And he knew that, once he got you to his home, isolate and alone, it wouldn't be hard to make those ideas of him merge, twisting your mind until you were as sick as he was. Until you got off on your fear of him even more than he did.

Whatever sanity Hyunjin had left was well and truly gone.

Now, Hwang Hyunjin lived for your fear and your love.

"It was so hard to keep the secret that it was me all along, angel. I just can't fucking help myself! Don't you see what you do to me? Don't you see how fucking crazy you make me?!"

Jisung

The Pervert Next Door

Not to say that the other yanderes aren't, but Yandere Han Jisung is an absolute fucking weirdo.

Jisung would be what you typically think of when you think of a yandere: a socially-awkward incel with no social life/skills, a "nice guy" mentality, a porn addiction, and an obsession with boobs to rival that of a prepubescent boy.

When you first move into the house next to his, you don't think much about the fact that you've never seen your neighbor to the left of you. It's quite normal to not know one's neighbors nowadays, and you're so busy with your day-to-day life that you don't even really notice much.

To be fair, in those early days, Jisung didn't know about you either.

He's quite the shut-in, working on music in his dark bedroom when he's not binging anime and about to burn his apartment down trying to make spaghetti. He rarely leaves his place, unless he's being dragged out by Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix to get some air or Chan and Changbin so they can actually get some music done in a real recording studio.

Jisung, undoubtedly, knows that a new neighbor has moved in, but plenty of people have come and gone in the neighborhood since he's been there, and he doesn't see how that's any of his business.

It's not until one day when the stars aligned that you happened to be coming back from grocery shopping at the same time Jisung happened to be coming back from a long studio session with Chan and Changbin and Jisung got his first-ever glimpse of you.

In that moment, Jisung would swear that his entire life had changed. He was enamored by your mind, body, and soul (though mostly your body at first) and he knew that he had found the one, his person, his soulmate. Whether you reciprocated or not.

Jisung is the only yandere in stray kids that, if he had his way, would never enter a formal relationship with you.

Jisung wants to be delusional. He tells himself that you are fully aware of him, his existence, your "mutual attraction", and your "relationship. He wants to believe that you both are in a committed relationship, it's just part of your "relationship dynamic" to be in this sort of cat and mouse game where you both are never in the same room and hardly speak and you even see other people but you're both still in love at the end of the day. (I'm telling y'all, he watches way too much anime.)

In reality, Jisung likes the hidden power he holds over you by hardly ever being in the same room as you, yet being able to break into your house when you're gone and jack off to the scent of your underwear or steal your bras. He loves that he can watch you sleeping or getting dressed through the cameras he's installed and the little peepholes he's cut into the wall and you're none the wiser. He loves that he knows all the sweet spots of your shared walls where he can best hear you pleasuring yourself at night. He loves that no matter who you have over to sleep with, he's the one who can sneak into your home at night and use you while you sleep at the end of the day.

Jisung is also 1/3 of the Shrine Line, collecting any disused intimate wear like bras and panties that you might be about to toss or haven't worn for a while as well as used pillowcases and absolutely anything with any of your bodily fluids.

No matter how many times Jisung feeds those delusions about your "unique relationship dynamic" to himself, he knows deep down that the power he has over you, the fact that he can do all these things to you without you knowing about it or even knowing he exists, is what gets him off the most.

While, in my opinion, Jisung is definitely one of the grossest yanderes on the list, considering his long rap sheet of what, frankly, mostly consists of sexual assault and disgusting invasions of privacy, the silver lining is that he is the least lethal yandere on this list. His obsession with fucking with you from afar means he places a to less value on jealously or restricting your movements or controlling you.

The only thing that could happen to trigger a turn for the worst would be if you ever decided to move, but I find that unlikely to happen since Changbin is good friends with your bank that you pay your mortgage to and Jisung could get him to pull out all sorts of tricks to get the bank to force you to stay there.

"My sweet, stupid little Y/N. I own you and you don't even know."

Felix

The Clingy People-Pleaser

Felix is definitely uh...one-of-a-kind.

Felix, like Hyunjin, gave no indication of yandere behaviors to absolutely anyone, including himself, before he met you. Unlike Hyunjin, however, Felix has a major character flaw that is painstakingly obvious to anyone that knows him even remotely.

Felix is a massive people-pleaser.

Felix will go out of his way to do things for people, sometimes helpful, sometimes drastic, just to be liked. Felix has even been known to change aspects of himself just to make his significant others or friends like him more. No to mention the fact that he's clingy, but due to the people-pleasing, he's better at hiding that if it means being well-liked.

Most of this definitely comes from low self-esteem. Felix always felt like he had to try harder as a kid to make friends or not be seen as weird, and it's translated very poorly and prominently into his young adult life, often impeding and ending his relationships which only makes him more paranoid and insecure.

With Felix, your relationship was normal for a long while. Felix has dated plenty of times before without going yandere mode, so I feel like for him to find himself in a relationship where those tendencies are prominent, his significant other has to have shown some sort of attraction to those qualities in himself that he tends to blow out of control.

This isn't to say that it's his significant other's fault that he's acting this way, but more that he can tell that his significant other likes affection, being doted on, taking a lead in relationships, and someone who's flexible and Felix thinks that he's being a good partner by exhibiting these qualities to the full extent that he's capable of, but really he's just making everything uncomfortable by blowing reasonably desired relationship qualities way out of proportion.

Unlike any of the other yanderes on this list, Felix doesn't enter the relationship with bad intentions or ulterior motives, and he truly thinks he's doing the right thing.

It starts off somewhat innocuous, his usual clinginess, acquiescence to whatever you want no matter if it makes him uncomfortable or not, hiding or creating parts of his personality on a whim to make himself more attractive to you. It progresses further into his usual relationship-ending territory, calling you every hour, texting every ten minutes, requiring constant reassurance, changing his behavior or appearance to a disturbing degree once you mention you like something about a celebrity or someone you admired, and getting outrageously unreasonably jealous.

The change to yandere territory would come if you showed yourself to be comfortable with or attracted to these behaviors. This would rock Felix's world, and he would see you as someone who he could be more himself around, which would only make him worse.

Felix isn't particularly a violent yandere, especially not at this point. But he does start crossing a lot of boundaries.

He has a lot of newfound, extremely intense emotions for you that he finds himself completely clueless as to how to handle.

He starts breaking into your house, though for a lot more innocent reasons than Jisung. Felix wants to watch you sleep and just soak in the presence of being around you. It's an insatiable need for him to be around you, one that he finds little to no shame in indulging in the more the relationship goes on.

Felix is another member of the Shrine Line, stealing random things from you with little to no rhyme or reason and placing them on a little table he has stored in the back of your closet along with a bunch of pictures of you from your dates.

Yandere Felix wouldn't really be that dramatic, and for the most part, the relationship would actually be normal, albeit a little toxic and codependent if not for Felix's massive invasions of privacy.

The only time I see Felix's behavior escalating is if you were to ever start spending so much time with another person that he began to seriously think of them as competition for your affection.

Felix isn't like other yanderes, who would meticulously plan these things to a tee. His crimes would be unpredictable, crimes of passion when he was in the throes of dramatic, unjustified fits of panic, anger, or anguish at the thought of this person having the audacity to try and come between you two.

Maybe you find out, maybe you don't, but to be honest, I can't imagine Yandere!Felix turning yandere for someone who isn't at least half as yandere as he is. You'd probably find it romantic, the lengths he would go to be your one and only.

"I-I-I didn't mean to. I hope this doesn't make you think of me differently, but I don't regret it. I adore you, this is nothing compared to the things I would do to be worthy of your love."

Seungmin

The Wolf in Gentleman's Clothing

Seungmin is, without a doubt, the most dangerous man on this list.

His life is perfectly put-together.

He's attractive, he's well-connected, he comes from wealth, he's smart, he's cultured, he's kind, he's respectable, he's athletic, he's generous.

And he's been stalking you since you both were children.

Maybe stalking isn't the right word.

It started as an innocent crush back then in kindergarten, the first time he ever laid eyes on you. Even back then, your school had been intense. As the gifted division of an already prestigious school, most of the time other kindergarteners would have spent or learning to read was filled with vigorous study and competition for you all.

You were one of five students there who weren't nepotism babies, earning your spot there with plenty of pressure from your parents and an academic scholarship that you could maintain only through hard work and sacrifices.

You and Seungmin were top of your class, and, though you would think it wouldn't be the case, Seungmin had never been bothered by competition. Why would he be focused on that when all he t=could think of were how sparkly your eyes were?

As you and Seungmin got older, no matter where you headed in life, whether you maintained that gifted kid status or became a troublemaking victim of gifted kid burnout, Seungmin would always remain devoted to you.

Ever since you were kids, he had only ever wanted you and every single thing he had done since then had been to one day make you his.

Maybe it was a reasonable response psychologically. Maybe it made sense that he would be obsessed with something he could have for his own sake and not for the sake of being perfect or making his family look good. Maybe he could have had a normal relationship with you and grew into a man as well-adjusted on the inside as he seemed on the outside if he took advantage of the therapy that was so easily within his reach that other people would kill for.

But he didn't.

Seungmin was well aware that his urges, the burning desire for you and him to possess each other wholly mind, body, and soul were strange and healthy, but he completely and utterly didn't care.

As far as Seungmin was concerned, he lived every aspect of his life for the benefit of other people. You were the one thing he could have for himself. The one thing that brought him direct joy.

If you eventually started making trouble at school, it would be a large point of speculation as to how you were getting away with such things with your scholarship intact at a school that wasn't even as lenient on its nepotism babies as it was on you.

The answer would be Seungmin.

If you ever fell in danger of losing your scholarship, he would swoop in to save it at the last minute, unable to tolerate the thought of going through the motions without you there to make him better.

He would probably befriend you in your last two years of high school, building such a bond with you that it would be impossible for you to resist his persuasion to try for the top university in Korea, the one his parents would be forcing you to attend.

And who would be stupid enough to say no when the university accepted you, offering you a full four-year ride with room and board.

It was a dream come true for you and for him.

Your relationship would flow quite naturally, progressing from best friends to mutual pining to significant others to fiances to spouses in the span of a socially acceptable amount of time.

Life with yandere Seungmin would be probably the easiest of all the yanderes on this list. He would treat you like royalty, paying for everything and taking care of you no questions asked. He would be supportive of anything you did and pull whatever behind-the-scenes strings he had to in order to get you what you wanted.

You could even have a small group of two or three friends, most likely the significant others of the other stray kids yanderes.

The only problem is that you would never really know how much of your life Seungmin was controlling without your knowledge. You really wouldn't know he was controlling anything.

But he was.

Every job you ever got was only because Seungmin approved it, because your working there wasn't a threat to your relationship. Same with your friends. And your family. And any life opportunity that ever came your way.

Seungmin has a bodyguard and private investigator following your every move, reporting your every action and whereabouts to him every hour on the hour and he keeps up with you diligently. You don't sneeze without him knowing about it.

On the off chance someone manages the slip through the cracks and hurt or upset you or jeopardize you two's relationship, they are dealt with swiftly. While Seungmin doesn't have an intense proclivity for violence, he definitely sees it as a way to release his stress every once in a while, especially when it comes to someone who's messed with you.

The biggest change would come once you and Seungmin were married.

It was noticeable during the engagement: increased possessiveness, him getting more handsy, rougher with you during sex, restricting your independence little by little, him going less and less time without you by his side, making strange almost disturbing comments.

And then, on your wedding night, he would turn into a completely different person.

Sweet, doting Seungmin still remained, but he was now accompanied by a domineering Seungmin that kept you on his lap all day and touched you inappropriately inboard meetings just to show others you were his and carved his name into the skin of your inner thighs when you guys fucked.

The thing is, he would want the same treatment. He would cream his pants when you carved your name into his skin, want you to touch him inappropriately in public to show your ownership of him, and would question your love for him if you didn't try to fight every single person who flirted with him or even looked at him suggestively.

Seungmin would gradually pull away from the public eye, running much of his inherited company from home and sending underlings in his place to all but the most important PR events while you and he either stayed home or jetted around the world, always in each other's embrace.

Any time not spent with you is viewed as wasted time in Seungmin's eyes. He feels absolutely no desire for privacy and expects you to feel the same.

Seungmin is so wealthy, powerful, and seemingly completely normal that the both of you would never be caught, and you would likely be so enamored by him and his devotion to you that you would never want to leave anyway.

He won't stop until he has fulfilled his lifelong dream of you and he merging with and possessing each other mind, body, and soul.

"Go on, puppy. She looked at me. I'm yours and she tried to take what belongs to you. What do you think her punishment should be? I think it would be hot if you cut her eyes out. Then she couldn't ever look at other people's property again."

Jeongin

The Bright-Eyed Bully

Jeongin would be the most unstable, unpredictable, and probably the most unhinged yandere on this list.

Everyone on campus loves him. He's hot, athletic, sweet, and hilarious.

With you being the relative nobody you are on campus, no one knows or really even cares why would always seem to avoid him or be uncomfortable with him.

And for good reason, Jeongin's favorite threat was that he would sneak into your dorm and kill your pet if you ever told anyone how he was bullying you.

Because the reality is that Jeongin treated you like a careless child with a worthless toy.

Any time of any day, you would be subjected to being whisked away to an empty lecture hall or storage closet by Jeongin and he would tap into every insecurity you possessed, a sadistic smile on his face as he said the meanest things he could think of, sometimes while slapping your face, kissing you, groping or grinding against you.

The way Yandere! Hyunjin gets off on your fear, Jeongin gets off on your tears.

It's why he makes fun of you, why he tears down your self-esteem, part of why he touches you inappropriately knowing there's nothing you can do to fight him off. Jeongin absolutely adores the way you look when you're crying, especially because of him.

He pulls your hair, slaps you around, yells at you, touches you, and sometimes forces you to touch him, all so he can see the addicting tears and facial expressions you make that haunt him in his dreams.

Jeongin is incredibly possessive over you. In his mind, you two are together, whether you know or want that or not. He doesn't allow anyone to touch or talk to him in a flirtatious way, so you shouldn't either. Except to Jeongin, when it comes to you, someone simply complimenting your outfit or sitting next to you in the campus cafeteria is considered flirtatious to him.

And he makes you pay for it ten times over when the two of you are alone, while also shattering your psyche with the knowledge that he's killed or maimed whoever had been "flirting" with you earlier.

Jeongin could never get bored of your tears, but eventually, he will find himself wanting to be the subject of your affection as well as the cause of your distress.

Since he's already isolated you by punishing you whenever someone "flirts" with you, it's easy for him to scramble your head by suddenly being so nice to you and obviously pursuing you in public. He brings you snacks, pays for your meals, hangs out with you, forces you to go on dates with him, hugs you, pecks you on your cheek, and eventually starts making out with you in public and bringing you everywhere with him.

Jeongin is also the last member of the Shrine Line, taking the things that are most important to you both because he wants to torment you and because he wants to be among the things you consider the most important.

This isn't to say that the bullying and cruelty have slowed down, if anything, it's increased.

But now he's bullying you and dating you in equal measure, and it's only so much the human brain can take before it has to do some fucked up stuff to survive, so now you've grown dependent on Jeongin, seeing his cruelty and degradation as acts of love equivalent to his kisses and his hugs.

Jeongin has you right where he wants you, the "love of his life" a pliant doll to give him all the tears and affection he could ever want.

In Jeongin's mind, it was a fair trade. You do whatever he wants and feed his sick urges and he "loves", cares for, and protects you from others for the rest of your life.

"See, butterfly? You're as fucked up as I am. You like when I hit you, when I tell you how fucking stupid you are, when I hurt you. You're even sicker than I am, hmm? Who else is going to love your little pervert self better than I am?"

The Asteroid Belt

#yandere #yandere stray kids #yandere kpop #yandere bang chan #yandere minho #yandere changbin #yandere jisung #yanndere hyunjin #yandere felix #yandere seungmin #yandere jeongin #yandere headcanons #asteroid belt

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angrylilcyclops-art · 2 months

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Hi so I fell into this hole you see... and got caught on THIS

And because of THIS I'm now back on my 1920s bullshit and my brain is mathing here.

Alastor died in his late 30s early 40s in 1933. He lived in New Orleans, which means he was probably in his late teens to mid 20s when one of the most buckwild (heh buck) serial killers was a live.

That guy would be the Axeman of New Orleans who had a thing for Jazz.

READ THIS LETTER FROM THE GUY

"Hell, March 13, 1919

Esteemed Mortal:

They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman.

When I see fit, I shall come and claim other victims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me company.

If you wish you may tell the police to be careful not to rile me. Of course, I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigations in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid as to not only amuse me, but His Satanic Majesty, Francis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it were better that they were never born than to incur the wrath of the Axeman. I don't think there is any need of such a warning, for I feel sure the police will always dodge me, as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.

Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death.

Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is: I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain and that is that some of your people who do not jazz it out on that specific Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.

Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and it is about time I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that thou wilt publish this, that it may go well with thee, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed either in fact or realm of fantasy.

-The Axeman"

Alastor was probably having a time when this was happening. Idk what kind cause he's parents/mom was probably terrified, and who knows what was going through his head at the time. He could have been having a fun time or was scared out of his mind.

Anyway, I seem to be stuck still. This deer man is based on one of my favorite decades, and I can't get out, send help.

Awful man. Awful awful man. I love him.

#angrylilcyclops talks #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #i'm rambling #I like the 1920s a lot #axeman #new Orleans Axeman

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blaisenova · 8 months

Text

the consequences of enjoying someone's company

Xina Kwan had always been able to make Miguel smile even when no one else could. Maybe a little bit TOO well...

or:

Miguel O'Hara visits with his ex-girlfriend turned friend, Xina Kwan, until, like always, things don't go quite as planned, and Miguel has to explain some rather strange truths about himself, such as why Xina could see fangs when he smiled.

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the world needs more xina and miguel content, and i am all too happy to supply it.

xinamiguel lovers, this one is for you!! they're not explicitly stated to be together, so it can be read as either platonic or romantic, but it is entirely possible to read some of what happens as romantic tension. THIS IS CANON COMPLIANT, OKAY?? WE CAN'T KEEP PRETENDING THAT THEY DIDN'T STILL KINDA LOVE EACH OTHER EVEN AFTER THEY BROKE UP IN THE COMICS. dana lovers, beware of dana slander. i'd say i'm sorry but it would be a lie. we stan xina here.

also, an extra bonus for those of you who just want to see miguel be a guy for once. oh yeah, that's right, in this ao3 fanfiction i offer you a miguel o'hara that ISN'T just angry all the time. you wanna see this man have a good time? you wanna see him interact with someone without being an asshole the entire time??? you wanna see how this man acts when he's not under the pressure of holding together the entire multiverse??????? WELL HERE HE IS. comic accurate miguel. come get y'all juice.

gentle reminder that i also take requests if any of you have an idea itching at the back of your brain but don't wanna write it XD

content is below the cut because it is LONG. ao3 link is in the reblogs as always. please enjoy!! <3

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It would be impossible to overstate just how much Xina Kwan meant to Miguel O’Hara.

The two had known each other from the time they were young children, back when it had felt like it was them two against the world – and, really, the sentiment wasn’t too far off considering how desperately Kron Stone had wanted to make their lives living hell, up until he decided they didn’t deserve their lives at all – and to say that they were close would be an understatement. So close, in fact, that once they’d matured from intelligent youth to genius adults (and Miguel, from an arrogant child to an even more arrogant adult), the two had gotten together.

Then, of course, Miguel had ruined it by being his selfish, self-absorbed self; though, in the moment, he hadn’t thought it was a mistake to leave Xina for Dana. There’d been a part of him that regretted hurting Xina the way he had, but Dana was a gorgeous, loving woman who never thought him any less than perfect, and Xina… Xina hadn’t let him be content in being the bastard that he was. At the time, he hadn’t liked that about her.

Now, after it was already too late and Miguel had ruined things with Dana, too, he could see how stupid he was for choosing what was easy over what was best. Just another failure to chalk up to the heroic Spider-Man.

It was true that Dana loved him, and it was even true that he loved her back, but it had taken a lot of suffering and bullshit to realise that loving someone wasn’t necessarily enough for them to be good for you. He probably should have known that already, considering the state of his own family, but that would have required any level of self-reflection, and that was still a rather new skill for him, all things considered.

What he knew now, though, was that Xina had never apologised to Miguel’s dad on his behalf, claiming that he didn’t mean his vitriol when he did. Xina had never tried to love George O’Hara when they both knew he didn’t deserve it, and she certainly hadn’t tried to convince Miguel to love him, too. Dana believed that he’d cried at his father’s funeral because he genuinely felt sorrow, and Miguel hadn’t had the heart to tell her otherwise. Somehow, even after everything, she still didn’t seem to understand that some people didn’t deserve love or pity, and that, even if George somehow did, Miguel would never have deigned to give it to him. Though, there was also a part of him that found himself wondering how she hadn’t seemed to get that he didn’t deserve it either.

Complicated and distressing feelings aside, there were simply things that Dana let Miguel get away with that she shouldn’t – like being arrogant, and “pompous” (or so Xina had said, at least, and, frankly, Miguel was starting to believe her), and uncaring towards the world that so desperately needed to be cared for – and there were things she wouldn’t let go that she should – like his relationship with his father, and his mother, and Gabriel, as if she hadn’t hurt him, too; as if she didn’t use the fact that Gabriel used to love her to keep him from being angry with her.

If honesty was what you were looking for – something Miguel had never been very good at, especially when it came to the difficult truths about himself – he would say that, despite his initial regret over his hasty break up with Dana on the day that he found out about his biological father and the truth of his… condition, it was a bit of a relief. They had been in love, but that wasn’t enough. Miguel had adored her, but she’d made him a worse person and he’d hurt her in kind, and, while he might not have cared about that fact before, he did now.

Running from the difficult confrontations and hiding in easy love that allowed him to fester in his grief was a choice he’d made back when he’d cheated on Xina, but he could see now that it was a poor one.

And, really, if honesty was what you were looking for – which, really, was asking a lot of Miguel – he would say that he missed Xina. Maybe not necessarily in a romantic sense (though, he couldn’t quite be sure), but it didn’t really matter, when it came down to it.

There was a reason that Miguel had insisted so fervently that LYLA be fixed. Sure, maybe it was, in part, due to her comforting familiarity in a time that was, undeniably, full of the terrifying unfamiliar, but it was also because LYLA was a product of Xina; she was a constant reminder of the person that Miguel had cared for so much and, frankly, still did. He hadn’t wanted to let that go, and maybe that should have told him something even before things ended with Dana, but Miguel had never been very good at facing difficult feelings. That’s why Dana had been so addicting, and why he’d wronged Xina when he shouldn’t have.

Xina had always been a bigger person than he had, though, and, somehow, she’d found it in herself to forgive him for what he’d done. If Miguel still wasn’t so afraid of what voicing his relief and appreciation might cause, he’d thank her. Maybe one day.

For now, though, the two could be friends as they once were; or, at least, something close to it. It was a nice change of pace, to be able to talk to someone that didn’t want something from him, one way or another. Though, admittedly, that was likely, in part, due to the fact that Xina’s expectations of him were still depressingly low.

It hurt a bit, but Miguel was aware that he’d more than earned it.

For now, mercifully, the difficult conversations could wait, and Miguel could pretend to be nothing more than Miguel O’Hara: bastard of a man that was doing his damndest to become less of one; not Spider-Man and whatever being him meant.

Or, at least, that was what he’d thought. He’d never really been that fortunate.

“Miguel O’Hara,” Xina exclaimed with faux fury, a hand placed firmly on her hip and a brow quirked upward as she attempted to bite back her smile behind a snarl. Her other hand laid casually on the door handle, and Miguel could already see all sorts of twencen junk just a few feet inside her home. “And just what, pray tell, are you doing here?”

“Xina Kwan,” Miguel returned, matching her energy as he, too, placed his hands on his hips and scowled. “I should ask you the same thing.”

Losing the fight against her amusement, Xina desperately tried to obscure her laugh with a scoff. “I remember you being smarter,” she mused. “I live here, as a matter of fact.”

As if the notion was news to him, Miguel’s eyes widened, and he straightened up, making a show of looking around the doorstep and peeking past her shoulder into the house before he raised his brows. “Well, sure enough,” he hummed. “Fancy that. May I come in?”

Sighing, Xina allowed a smile to slip onto her face, and she pushed the door aside, gesturing half-heartedly. “Yes, I suppose, but don’t touch anything. I don’t know what you’re contaminated with.”

“Charming, as always, Xina,” Miguel hummed as he entered. He fixed her with his own smile, and, like usual, took care to ensure that his fangs remained concealed. “I was going to say you were a better doorman than that robot of yours, but now I’m not so sure.”

“What’s wrong with Jack?” The words were accompanied by the sharp slam of a door, and Miguel couldn’t help but to smirk as he turned to see the annoyance on her face.

“He still calls me ‘Miguel the creep,’” he hummed, idly picking up some sort of blocky looking plastic brick with buttons on the side and some sort of antennae coming out of the top.

Immediately, Xina smacked his hand, and Miguel hissed at the feeling but placed the object back on the table nonetheless. “Does he?” she asked, eyes wide as if she genuinely didn’t know. Which was shocking bullshit. “That’s so strange. I wonder who taught him that.”

“I have a few ideas,” Miguel murmured, rubbing his hand with a pointed look.

“Well, now, let’s not get accusatory.” Xina straightened the item he’d moved, brushing it off gently. She paused, examined the object once more, then moved it slightly to the left before nodding affirmatively.

All the while, Miguel could only watch in muted fascination. “What is that thing?”

“Some twencen tech!” she immediately chirped, eager as always to talk about her number one favourite hobby. “It’s called a ‘walkie-talkie.’”

Miguel’s head cocked to the side, a brow raising. “A whatie-what?”

“A ‘walkie-talkie,’” Xina repeated slowly, grabbing his ear and pulling it to her lips as she spoke, much to Miguel’s chagrin. He batted her away, though couldn’t quite squash down a smile. “It’s basically what they used before holo-messages. I just wish I had another one so I could use it for something besides collecting dust. They only work with a pair,” she huffed.

Again, Miguel picked up the object, taking care in his movement, and, this time, Xina let him. He turned the walkie-talkie curiously in his hands, impressed by its weight when it supposedly had such a simple function. He’d never really understood her obsession with the twentieth century. From what he’d read, things really weren’t all that much better than they were now. He’d been working on a goober – though LYLA liked to call it a gizmo, mostly to spite him, he’s sure – to potentially see for himself in another universe, if he didn’t, y’know… die in the process.

That was later Miguel’s issue, though, and a worthy risk if he might be able to bring Xina a matching machine to complete her set. He didn’t get her obsession, but he didn’t have to. It was important to her, and that’s what was important to him.

Almost inaudible in his concentrated confusion, he mumbled, “Qué extraño…”

“What was that?”

“I said ‘super cool.’”

With another huff, Xina took the artefact from his hands once more, placing it back down onto the table. “Yeah, alright, you liar.”

Despite the practised angry tone, Miguel could see the way her lips quirked up in a smile, and he couldn’t help but snicker a bit. She’d always known him too well to believe nice lies. It was part of the reason why Miguel used to be so afraid of her, though the admission was something he still hadn’t quite come to terms with. Afraid was a strong word, but it was also an accurate one. Miguel was afraid to be seen for what he was, because he was even more afraid that he was something not worth seeing. Xina had never seemed to agree with that sentiment, though.

“Okay, maybe I don’t get it,” he admitted, hands on his hips once more.

“Of course you don’t,” Xina returned, cruel teasing words accompanied by a sweet smile. “I was always much smarter than you.”

“Har, har,” he said sarcastically. “Very funny.”

“Who said I was joking?” Then, before Miguel could respond, “how are you and… Diana, was it?”

“Dana.”

“Yeah, that one,” she said, snappily enough that it was clear that she’d actually known the answer all along, which Miguel was well aware of, considering how LYLA had returned to him with intricately coded insults specifically in Dana’s name. “You haven’t talked about her in a while. Did you two finally break up?”

Without missing a beat, Miguel fixed her with a sarcastic smile. “Yes, actually! Thanks so much for asking.”

Despite the nature of the question, his answer seemed to genuinely catch Xina off guard, her eyes going wide and mouth falling open. Her eyes searched his face as her brows furrowed, a mixture of guilt and some kind of indecipherable relief shining in her gaze as the gears turned in her mind and grasped for a response. It was almost amusing to see Xina so stumped when, normally, she was so quick on the draw. There were very few times that Miguel had seen her well and truly left without words, though, unfortunately, the twinge of bitterness and healthy dose of grief made it difficult to enjoy to its fullest.

“Congratulations,” she blurted, then immediately cringed at herself, a hand coming up to her forehead with an audible smack, and, admittedly, Miguel’s eyes widened a considerable degree, too. “Wait, fuck-” she backtracked. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m sorry, Mig-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Miguel hastily interrupted, pushing down hurt and hiding it behind a quirked brow. “What did you just say?”

Shrinking in on herself, Xina cringed again. “Congratulations?”

“No, no, not that,” he said, and a hand waved her off almost dismissively. “The other thing.”

“I’m… sorry?” she tried again, brows furrowed in confusion. Her arms, which she’d wrapped tightly around her shoulders, loosened their grip, though the tension didn’t leave her.

Miguel shook his head with another wave of his hand. “Not that either. The f-word.”

Eyes narrowing, Xina tilted her head forward. “Fuck?”

A short, breathless laugh fell from his mouth. “Oh, my god,” he nearly whispered, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “What are you, a millennial?”

“Wha-” Again, Xina’s eyes went wide, and her hands fell from her shoulders completely. “Miguel, are you kidding? That’s what you’re upset about? Me saying fuck?”

Face deadly serious, Miguel nodded once more as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Nobody says ‘fuck’ anymore. I know you’re into the whole twencen thing, but cursing is a sacred thing. You need to act like a civilised human being and say ‘shock.’”

As if she was entirely unsure how to react, Xina’s mouth still hung open uselessly, her eyes searching Miguel’s almost urgently. When all she was met with was his carefully practised mask of apathy, she managed a surprised scoff and picked her jaw up from off of the floor. Miguel, to his credit, managed to hold himself together, too, and raised a brow.

“You’re unbelievable,” she sputtered.

“Thank you,” came the response.

Then, “No, you are genuinely…” but she didn’t finish, the words trailing off, and Xina’s eyes narrowed once more. She leaned back on her feet, managing to actually look somewhat intimidating despite how much shorter she was than Miguel. Her arms crossed, and she fixed him with an unimpressed look that made his skin crawl just a bit. “I see what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he lied through his teeth, trying desperately to keep the tension out of his shoulders.

“No, no, you are,” Xina insisted, no longer falling for his antics. “I’ve known you since we were kids, Miguel. I know all of your stupid little tricks, probably better than you know them yourself.” She approached him, and, really, despite Miguel quite literally towering over her, he still felt small under her glare. “I’m gonna apologise to you, whether you like it or not.”

“Xina,” Miguel began uneasily, giving her his best attempt at a placating smile. “Come on… Let’s not be rash. I cheated on you, and you told me ‘congratulations’ when I broke up with my fiancée. We can just call it even.”

“Alright, first of all,” Xina began, a finger waving in Miguel’s face.

“Oh, boy.”

“Those two things are not comparable,” she hissed, though Miguel’s attention was mostly on the way that her finger moved in front of him. “And second of all-”

“Right.”

“I am better than you.”

“Uh huh.”

“I apologise to people when I hurt them, even if they don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, great.”

“So, I- Are you even listening?”

At that, her hand stilled, and Miguel frowned, his eyes refocusing on her face. “What?”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m kidding! Come on, let’s just forget about it,” Miguel practically pleaded. “We can watch one of those twencen movies you like. One with that actress you really like, uh…” He trailed off, face screwed up in focus, mumbling, “ay, ¿cómo se llama?” then, with a snap of his fingers, “Marilyn Monroe!”

Xina placed her hands on her hips, brows furrowed as she eyed him. “You’re really sad about it, huh?”

A scowl found its way onto Miguel’s face once more, and he ran a hand over his face and through his hair in exasperation. “Ámi, I don’t know how I can be any clearer that I do not want to talk about it, or even think about it, for that matter.”

“Alright, alright,” Xina relented, raising her hands in surrender. There was a beat before she snickered a bit, shoving Miguel’s arm with a smile that was a bit too soft. “Look at Miguelito! He grew a heart, eh? What’d you do with the real Miguel?”

Despite the teasing, Miguel couldn’t help but to return her smile. “I guess someone got fed up with his ‘pompous’ attitude and killed him,” he answered, and the two laughed.

In a way, Miguel knew that it was irresponsible and selfish to hold all of his hurt as close to his chest as possible only to inevitably lash out when someone happened to push the wrong buttons. More than anything, he was terrified of being like his father; or, step-father, rather. George O’Hara had chosen the worst possible way to express his feelings, and it had, admittedly, left Miguel terrified to express his at all. It felt safer to just keep them to himself, up until the point that he couldn’t take it anymore and ended up taking it out on someone else, and, in the moment immediately after, Miguel realised just how much like George O’Hara he really was.

The thought was enough to make him feel sick, and it just made him work even harder to be everything his father wasn’t, for better or for worse.

George O’Hara never would have taken up the mantle of Spider-Man, and, even if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have used the position for any damn good. Knowing the bastard, he probably would have used his abilities to come up with new and improved ways to torment his family. If Miguel couldn’t say he was better than his father in any other way, at least he could say that he was better than him in that.

Still, there were more days than Miguel liked to admit that he wondered whether he was doing the right thing by trying to use his powers for good, or if he really was just using it to boost his own ego like Gabriel had accused him of.

“Hey,” came Xina’s gentle call, her hand pressed against his bicep gently, grounding him. “Have you ever heard of Pac-Man?”

Miguel was quiet for a moment, then, “not even once.”

“Oh, man,” she said, her face cracking into a smile, “prepare to have your mind blown.”

To say Miguel’s mind was not blown would be an understatement. Of course, he knew by now that the things Xina found to be completely mind blowing were entirely different from the things Miguel would be impressed by, but, even with reasonably low expectations, this was a disappointment. She’d led him through her house, skillfully weaving around the organised clutter of twencen artefacts, then stopped – with the biggest, proudest smile Miguel had ever seen from her – in front of a rectangle with two buttons, a stick, and a screen. He raised a brow at the thing, then peeked over to Xina again.

“Well?” she prompted, gesturing to the box and confirming that Miguel wasn’t mistaken and that the real thing wasn’t hidden behind the rectangle. “What do you think?”

Again, his eyes slid over the thing, and, yeah, it really was just a couple of buttons and a stick, but, nevertheless, he smiled. “Consider my mind blown.”

“Yeah, alright,” she huffed. “Thanks for humouring me. I swear it gets better.” Xina beamed as she pulled the cabinet away from the wall with some degree of effort and pulled what looked to be some sort of tail from the object. Miguel watched in muted fascination as she stuck the thing into some sort of specially made device that connected the thing to the building’s power source… with a wire? Who would want that?

All at once, the thing’s screen flared to life with so few neon coloured pixels that they barely even made shapes but, somehow, managed to be bright enough to hurt anyway, making Miguel flinch even behind his sunglasses. Coupled with the almost ear-piercing music and sound effects that accompanied it, he could safely say that he was less impressed than he was bothered. As Xina once again turned her smile to him, gesturing to the screen with all of the enthusiasm of a child, Miguel wouldn’t have dared to say it aloud.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, and that much, at least, was true.

“I know, I know. It’s pretty awesome,” Xina bubbled, and her smile turned mischievous. “The best part? It’s two player.”

That made Miguel raise a brow in genuine interest. “It’s a game?”

“Finally have your interest, huh?” she teased. “It is a game. One of the first, actually.”

Miguel peered at the screen again, watching yellow pixels dart across, occasionally followed by red, blue, pink, or orange. His head cocked to the side, and he took a bit of a hesitant step closer. “How do you play?”

With a snicker, Xina rubbed her hands together before lacing them together and pushing them forward with an accompanying crack. “Watch and learn, rookie.”

As it turned out, Pac-Man was actually a relatively simple game; you (the yellow munching thing, though Miguel did not get an answer as to what it was other than “he’s Pac-Man!”) needed to travel through the maze and eat all of the dots (why, Xina couldn’t tell him) and avoid getting touched by the multicoloured “ghosts” that would chase you throughout the map (which, again, Xina couldn’t explain, but maybe it didn’t matter). There was also fruit that occasionally popped up for some reason – though all it really seemed to do was increase score – and bigger dots that turned the ghosts blue (“Xina, there’s already a blue ghost.” “Well, these are bluer.”) and made them edible, apparently. Though, the ghosts never stayed dead; whereas Pac-Man only got three lives. Miguel commented on the unfairness of it, but Xina didn’t seem particularly interested.

So, all that said, it should have been a pretty easy game. Xina certainly made it look easy, weaving between ghosts with ease and timing her dot collection just right to ensure that she could take out each enemy in one fell swoop. She only played a few levels, noting that the ghosts would get faster and faster, before she intentionally lost so the two of them could play together; which was the same as single player except the game forced you to take turns. Whoopie.

As easy as the game looked, though, Miguel ate his words more than he ate dots as he struggled through his first life.

“What the- What the shock?!” he hissed as he got stuck in a corner for the fifth time, struggling to time the joystick movement with the direction he wanted to go. He whirled to face his companion again, eyes blown wide with frustration. “Xina, it’s shocking broken. It’s these controls, I swear. They’re ancient. Are you sure it’s working?”

Barely containing her laughter, Xina gestured to the screen. “The game’s still going, Mig.”

“¡Chale!” Miguel all but screeched as he turned back to the game, furiously pulling at the joystick once more. “Este jodido juego es tan… ¡Qué mierda! Ay, no, no, no… Aléjense de mí, ¡cabrones! No quiero que me toquen, por favor, moriré- Ah! No! Shit, shit- ¡Coño! Shock!”

As the yellow pixels curled in on themselves in death, Miguel wailed at the screen in frustration, though he perked up as he heard the distinct sound of wheezing from behind him. Concerned for a moment, he quickly turned to check on Xina before his concerned expression fell away into annoyance once more. Xina was laughing so hard her face had turned red, cheeks wet with tears as she barely held herself up against a nearby dresser.

“Oh, yeah, laugh it the shock up, asshole,” Miguel grumbled, though the words came out sounding half-hearted at best.

“You are- so bad!” Xina managed to get out through wheezes. “I don’t think I’ve heard you curse that much ever!” With a short yelp, her hand slipped off of her crutch, and she slipped to the floor – thankfully harmlessly – and her fist pounded against the carpeting like a lifeline as she started to laugh once more.

Unimpressed, Miguel squatted down beside her. “Hey, Xina.”

Taking a few more moments to learn how to breathe again, Xina only hummed, glancing up to him with tears still streaking down her cheeks and eyes crinkled in a smile.

Miguel jerked a hand towards the screen, giving her his own grin. “The game’s still going.”

All at once, her laughter died away, and she rocketed to her feet, nearly taking Miguel out in the process. “Fuck!”

Then, it was his turn to laugh as she scrambled to get away from the oncoming enemies, though Xina was certainly much more successful in the endeavour than he was, managing to make it through a couple more levels despite her setback before she finally took her first death.

With a grandiose laugh, she turned back to Miguel and grinned. “Beat that, bitch!”

Scoffing, Miguel took the joystick into his hand and leaned in close to the screen. “Easily.”

Unfortunately, he did not, in fact, “beat that,” bitch.

In reality, Miguel only managed to make it through the first level, then near immediately lost his last two lives at the very beginning of the second one while, in the intermission between his second and third life, Xina made it all the way to level twenty-six. Needless to say, she had not only beaten him but, also, thoroughly humiliated him in the process. Not that Miguel could possibly be frustrated with the loss when Xina was smiling at him the way she was. In that moment, it really was like nothing had changed, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel lighter than he had in years.

Leaning over her shoulder as Xina prepared herself for last life, she bounced on the balls of her feet and took a deep breath.

“What’s with the face?” Miguel questioned, startling her out of her focus and making her yelp, and he snickered a bit before whispering an apology. “You’ve already beat me, ámi. By no small number, might I, regretfully, add.”

Without so much as a glance towards him, Xina scoffed, the sound accompanied by the skillful flick of the joystick every which way. “Not everything’s about you, Miguel. I’ve almost beaten my highscore.”

A beat, as he remembered just how much effort she’d put into ensuring she beat him. “...You’re sure it’s not even about me a little bit?”

“Shut up,” she hissed. “I’m trying to focus.”

“Alright, alright,” he snickered, putting his attention onto the game right alongside her.

Pac-Man is, admittedly, not as much of a disappointment as Miguel had initially chalked it up to be. In fact, he might even go so far as to say that he was wrong entirely and that the game was actually rather fun, though he wasn’t sure that it would be entirely fair to attribute his amusement to the game so much as the person he was playing it with. At the end of the day, it was just a few pixels on a screen – something that was over a century obsolete and had long since been replaced with far more complex and involved experiences – but there wasn’t anything that could ever possibly equal the time he spent with Xina or make him feel the way her laugh did.

…He’d forgotten the way that she stuck the tip of her tongue out when she was focusing.

As three of the four ghosts closed in on Xina, Miguel couldn’t help but wince. “Uh… please tell me you’ve beaten it.”

“Fuck!” was all he got in response, then, “this fucking game is so… What the hell?! Oh, no, no, no… Get away from me, bastards! I don’t want you to touch me, please, I’ll die- Ah! No! Shit, shit- Fuck! Fuck!”

Yellow pixels curled in on themselves in death as Xina wailed at the screen, and Miguel could barely hold himself up from the force of his laughter, mouth wide open as he cackled unabashedly. His chest heaved desperately for air, only for it to come out in more snorts and snickers, and Xina, clearly just as amused with the situation as he was, turned to him with a poor imitation of a scowl, her lips pulled up wide into a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it the fuck up, asshole,” she chided light-heartedly.

Then, all at once, her smile dropped, and her eyes went wide. The suddenness of it all was enough to near instantly cut off Miguel’s laughter, too, though his smile didn’t quite fall away yet. It warped into something nervous, and a few more uncomfortable laughs fell from him, his brows furrowing into something concerned.

“...What?” he asked cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

Xina didn’t say a word, though she approached him with her own skittishness, taking his cheek in her hand and leaning in close, and Miguel’s face flushed bright red.

There was a moment, however brief, that he was sure that she was going to kiss him.

Then, her finger hooked his upper lip and pulled it upwards, her eyes widening even further as her breath hitched, and, even then, Miguel still didn’t quite get it. It wasn’t until she spoke, voice shaky and small, that he understood.

“Fangs.”

A terrified bolt of dread lanced straight into Miguel’s chest, getting lodged there and weighing him down; stealing his air. His body immediately went tense, his eyes wide, and a trembling hand reached up and ghosted Xina’s, gently pulling it away from his face.

“Xina.” His voice came out strained, equally as small as hers.

“Miguel, you- you have fangs,” she nearly whispered, as if it was some sort of horrifying secret that might get her into trouble if she said it just a bit too loud.

“Xina, I… I can explain.”

With a squeak, she pulled out of his grasp, and he let her. She held her hand close to her chest, as if he’d somehow burned it, and her mouth hung agape in abject horror. “What happened to you? Miguel, I- I know where you work. I know what you do. What did you… What did you do to yourself?”

“It’s not like that,” he breathed, though the truth wasn’t far enough off.

“Then what is it like?” Xina demanded, though the way her voice wavered made the command fall flat. “What happened to you?”

“It was an accident,” and that, at least, was the truth.

“An accident?” she echoed. The way that it was said made it clear she wasn’t quite buying it. “So, what, you meant to alter your own genetics in another way?”

“No,” Miguel shot back in horror, then, “well- well, yes, but-”

“Oh, my god.” Xina blanched. “Miguel-”

“No, no, it’s not-”

“Yes, ‘it’s not like that,’ I know.”

“No, Xina,” he cried. “Just-”

“I really thought you’d changed,” she muttered, trembling. “I really thought-

“Please,” he pleaded, taking a step forward, “just-”

“Miguel,” Xina interrupted again shakily, stepping back in kind. “How can you possibly justify this?”

Dismayed, Miguel backed away, too, hands raised. “I can explain, Xina. Please-”

“Then do it, Miguel!”

“I’m trying. Please, just-”

“Just what?”

“Just listen!” Miguel finally shouted, brows furrowed and hands gesturing in frustrated desperation.

A scream tore from Xina’s throat and she stumbled away, her hands shooting up in front of her as if to push him away, and Miguel choked away a scream of his own, his eyes going wide. Her gaze fixated on his hands, chest heaving desperately.

“Claws!” she screeched. “You’re- You’re a monster!”

“No, I-” Peering down to his raised hands where his talons had inadvertently popped out, he gasped and immediately retracted them, glancing back up to Xina with his own look of horror. He looked distraught, face screwed up in distress, and he stepped backwards once more. Claws, fangs, yelling just as his father had, and Xina looked just as terrified as he’d felt. He loathed himself at the thought. “I- I am. I am a monster.”

Xina’s expression shifted, though only minutely, as she remained poised for fight or flight, breaths still coming in short gasps.

“I’m sorry, Xina,” Miguel sobbed, and his hands moved to clasp over his chest to steady himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to scare you. Please, I… I wouldn’t hurt you, Xina. Never. Never. Not like that.”

There was quiet again for a moment, and Xina’s eyes narrowed, sliding over him in suspicion; over his hands, to his mouth, then, to his eyes. Her eyes met his through his shades, and he carefully, hesitantly, raised a trembling hand to remove them, giving her full view of his eyes and all of the ways they had changed. Again she gasped, met with bright red as opposed to the brown Miguel knew she was accustomed to, and his breath hitched once more. He hoped that his eyes didn’t hold the same agony he felt, though he wasn’t sure he was so lucky; pain never was something that allowed itself to be quietly hidden away. Maybe that was another reason for the sunglasses.

Seconds ticked by, and they simply stared at one another, words drowned by terror and uncertainty that stole the air from both of their lungs, then Xina’s brows furrowed, and her eyes softened ever so slightly. She took a hesitant breath and stepped forward, reaching a hand out.

Breathless, Miguel eyed her hand and shuffled a bit back.

With a frown, Xina once more approached him, fear replaced by determination. “It’s alright,” she said, kindness in her voice, so sweet it almost felt placating, and it probably was. “It’s okay, Miguel. I’m listening now. I’m sorry I didn’t before.”

This time, he didn’t move away, but he still hesitated to take her hand.

“Come on, Miggy,” she urged. “I was just… startled. I know you’d never hurt me.” She wiggled her hand a bit, frowning at him. “I shouldn’t have called you a monster,” Xina mumbled, her voice breaking. “You’re not a monster. Fuck, I’m so sorry, Miguel.”

With an exceptional amount of gentleness, Miguel inched forward and took her hand into his. He fearfully met her eyes, all of his hurt on full display, then, “What… What did you say?”

Her eyes shone with sorrow, and she gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Miguel. I should’ve never said what I did.”

“No, not that,” he gently corrected. “The other thing.”

Xina’s head cocked to the side, then, all at once, her eyes went wide. “Miguel.”

“The f-word…” he whispered with almost reverent horror.

Laughing wetly, Xina stepped forward and used her free hand to beat against his chest. “You’re unbelievable!” Her fist came to rest against him gently, and she frowned. “Fangs, claws, red eyes, and you really haven’t changed a bit. I should’ve known.”

“I’m Spider-Man,” Miguel blurted, and Xina made a choked sound, looking back up at him.

“Alright, maybe you’ve changed a little.”

A hand came up to ghost Xina’s cheek, and he gently wiped away her silent tears. “Is that a bad thing?”

She leaned into his touch, though her eyes remained fixed on his. “I… I don’t know. Is it?”

Miguel frowned, looking away. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I’m… I’m trying to be good; better than I was before.”

“Well,” she hummed, removing her hand from his chest and placing it over the one placed on her cheek, “that’s all you can really do, I guess. For the record, I think you’re better already. The old you never would have risked his neck for someone else.” A beat. “Or apologised. Or pretended to like some twencen stuff just because I do.”

“The game was fun,” Miguel confessed.

Again, Xina hummed, a small smile on her face. “You really think so?”

“I do.”

“Well, gee, how bad of a change could you have possibly gone through, then?” she teased half-heartedly. “Seems like it gave you better taste.”

“Har, har,” he huffed sarcastically. “Very funny.”

“Who said I was joking?” Then, before Miguel could respond, “I really am sorry, you know. For calling you a monster.”

Immediately, he fixed her with a frown, averting his eyes once more as all of the hurt from before returned. “Aw, shock. And here I’d thought my sly tactic had worked this time.”

With a sad laugh, Xina patted his hand, gently pulling it away from her face and holding it down by where their other pair were still interlocked. “On me? Never.”

Miguel glanced down at their linked hands, thinking of his claws and how terrified Xina had been of them mere minutes earlier. Aaron had been terrified of them too, back when the guy had tried to kill Miguel and gotten himself killed instead, and he’d had a right to be when Miguel had shredded his skin without even realising he was doing it. How many times could one person accidentally hurt someone else before it meant that he was simply something evil and wrong; a monster.

Exhaling shakily, Miguel’s face fell, his shoulders sagging as he tried hard to keep back tears. “Well, you were right. I am.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” Xina hissed, squeezing his hands hard; enough to make him wince.

His eyes met hers again, unwavering. “Xina Kwan.”

She didn’t speak, her expression screwing up into that same withering glare she’d fixed him with earlier, but Miguel still didn’t back down.

“You said it yourself,” he retorted to her silent disagreement. “I messed with something I shouldn’t have, and now I’m here.” The next words were spat, like venom. “A monster.”

“You are not a monster,” Xina seethed once more, as unwilling to give in as he was.

It was times like these that made Miguel less grateful how stubborn she was. It was also times like these that reminded Miguel why he’d left her for Dana; though, even more strongly, why he shouldn’t have. And, really, it was times like these that actually made Miguel all the more grateful that she was, in fact, as stubborn as she was. He knew well that he’d back down before she did. He always had. As arrogant and self-absorbed as Miguel may have been, he was also a coward. Xina had never been a coward.

“Monsters are scary, Miguel,” she continued, insistent as always. “You’re hardly scary.”

Scoffing, Miguel rolled his eyes, brows furrowed. “You seemed pretty afraid of me.”

“Startled,” Xina quickly corrected. “There’s a difference. I could hardly be afraid of someone who can’t even beat me in Pac-Man.”

He laughed shortly, glancing at her with narrowed eyes. “That’s your standard?”

“For you it is,” she smirked up at him, “because it’s never going to happen.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he said.

“Thank you,” came the response.

Looking about as pleased as he felt, Miguel gave in, his head falling forward with a sigh. “You don’t even know what happened,” he mumbled. “What if that changes your mind?”

“You said it was an accident,” she said, leaning her own head forward so she could still see his eyes.

“It was,” he immediately confirmed, a little too desperately. “It was, but…” He paused, teeth gritting as he struggled to get the words out. It was difficult for him to tell if he just didn’t know what to say, or if he was too afraid to actually say it. Both options were equally as likely, and, also, equally as frustrating. “I… If I’d been smarter- If I’d just been more careful in the first place, then I never would have needed to- I wouldn’t have had to- Because I had to, Xina, I swear. Or- Or I thought I did. You have to understand that I- I didn’t want to… But if I’d just- I don’t know. If I’d done better- If I’d been better I… I wouldn’t be…”

When he trailed off for the second time, lips pursed with frustration both at his past self for everything that had gone wrong and for his current self for messing this up, too, Xina hummed and graced his hand with another comforting squeeze, forcing him to look up at her and meet her gaze with misty eyes.

“It’s okay, Miguel,” she gently assured. “You don’t have to tell me. You may have been pompous-”

“I was not pompous.”

“-but you were never stupid, do you hear me? Arrogance or not, I don’t pin you as the kind of man to mess with his genetics just for fun,” Xina conceded, and a bit of the tension left Miguel’s shoulders. Then, she huffed, smiling teasingly and clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Especially since you so clearly thought you were perfect already.”

Miguel glowered at her, though it wasn’t very intimidating with his hands still gently held by hers and eyes still red with unshed tears. “Pushing your luck with the guy with claws. Not very smart.”

“Yeah, yeah. Beat me at Pac-Man, and then try threatening me again.” She laughed, meeting his eyes with her own sparkling with empathetic grief; there was a distinct lack of fear where there had been before, and Miguel couldn’t help but to let out a small breath of relief. She must have heard it because she gripped his hand tightly once more.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Xina repeated, firm. “It wasn’t intentional. That’s what I was really worried about. That would have been scary.” She brought their hands up between them, glancing to them and smiling. “Claws or not, you’re still the same old Miguel.”

Miguel’s eyes locked onto their hands, too, and he managed to return a small smile. The relief was both light and heavy at the same time, making his shoulders sag in exhaustion as all of the tension and adrenaline resided and left him with the familiar fatigue of the moment the fight ended and he felt safe once more. Although he’d never say it out loud – knowing well that he’d be teased for it – Miguel could firmly admit that none of the foes he’d faced as Spider-Man had ever scared him half as much as this, and, in turn, they’d never left him with half of the respite after the fact.

“Maybe I’ll tell you one day,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

“Whenever you want, Miguel,” Xina replied, genuine, then, after a beat, “I do have one question, though.”

Frowning, Miguel hesitated again.

“It’s really simple, I promise!” she reassured, shaking his hands with a bit of a laugh. “You don’t have to answer. Just hear me out.”

Only minimally soothed, he let out a long sound of dismay that ended with an exasperated, “fine. Shoot.”

Then, face beaming, Xina asked the most stupid question Miguel could have possibly thought of, “Are you a vampire?”

For a moment, he could only stare, too surprised to even remember how to show it. Then, his eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head to the side with a pointed look. “I remember you being smarter,” he deadpanned.

Finally, Xina pulled her hands out of his, raising them in surrender with a vivacious laugh. “I just had to be sure!”

“Oh, you just had to be sure. Of course,” Miguel echoed, unamused. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied with yourself, idiota.” He huffed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Quite satisfied, as a matter of fact,” she shot back, and how could he be mad when she was smiling at him like that.

Biting back a laugh, he tried harder to maintain his frown. “You’re the worst, do you know that? Just the worst.”

“Aw, come on,” she tutted. “If I’m so bad, then why were we a couple?” Xina smirked, quoting his own words from their reunion all those weeks ago.

Then, Miguel couldn’t hold back his smile anymore, returning her exact response. “Because I felt sorry for you,” he quoted. “And it bugged my dad.”

“As good of a reason as any,” she hummed, a hand resting on her hip. Then, her eyes narrowed as she seemed to realise something. “You know, I know I made fun of you for that wall crawling joke back then, but, knowing what I know now, it actually is funny.”

A short huff of surprise fell from Miguel’s mouth at the statement, and he was reminded again just how different Xina Kwan was from Dana D’Angelo; someone who certainly wouldn’t understand what had happened to him, and someone who had pushed him for the truth even when he’d begged her not to; not Xina Kwan; not the person who’d believed he could be better even when he didn’t want to be and encouraged him once he finally did. The realisation was a pleasant one – a rare moment of pure glee that he revelled in amidst all of the sorrow he’d been surrounded by as of late – and his face was overtaken by a wide smile, red eyes crinkling in joy and fangs on full display as he laughed once more.

This time, Xina didn’t even flinch, just laughing along with him.

#blaise writes #miguel o'hara #xina kwan #xinamiguel #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 comics #spider man 2099 #atsv #astv fanfiction #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #angst #i think about them so much #we never got to see xina find out that miguel was spider-man in the comics #and i think that's a travesty #but also miguel literally would have never told her #so i have to meet in the middle a little bit

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