#because no one is fickle like an abuser

[illithilit]

Vhaeraun's experiences in being turned against his family and consequently watching the way his parents' marriage broke apart, being groomed for coldblooded violence by his mother from a young age, and his relationships with both Sharess ( the mother of his son, in case you didn't know ) and Selvetarm ( aforementioned son ) have made him crushingly cynical of almost any kind of relationship, but especially romantic, so he aggressively avoids having anything to do with others divine, mortal, or otherwise for that reason. He fully expects any ventures in that area to become poison, sooner or later, and tbh, it's also true of almost every other type of relationship.

That said, however, he's still vm connected to his Fae roots, and so it's absolutely not outside the realm of possibility that he lets someone in on impulse. Might have to bite them about it later, but the point is that the only person he's fully and completely guarded against is Lolth. She will never be allowed back into his life ever for any reason.

And no, we don't support victims forgiving their abusers.

Actually, Vhaeraun encourages you to murder them about it.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* How to train your pet Human pt. 3 (Yandere!Alien x GN!Reader)

CW: Dub-con, mild psychological distress, mind break, dead dove fic

Part 1, part 2

Kirtch slumped over his friend's standing chair, miserable and mopey.

A tall creature, taller than even Kirtch, sighed dramatically, sauntering around their depressed friend with a smaller horned being crawling behind them.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong." Kirtch whined pathetically in Jaudna's native tongue. Jaudna made a gurgling sound with the soft spot on their head, the closest human equivalent being someone rolling their eyes. They sprawled across their lounging seat, motioning for their pet to stay on his knees.

"I'll tell you exactly what you've done wrong. You pampered them too much."

"I punish them!"

"You punished them for their escape attempt. That was it. You've allowed your pet to test your authority in plenty of ways after that."

The man on his knees pleaded with his eyes to be let up, but stayed perfectly still, like he wasn't alive. Kirtch noted Jaudna's pet's demeanor with discomfort. That discomfort only lasted until he imagined (Reader) in that same position, looking up at him with their large dewy eyes, waiting so patiently to be held by him... his discomfort was replaced by jealousy.

"You don't understand, (Reader's) such a sweet little pet, and whenever they struggle they're so cute about it. I just can't understand why they aren't happy."

"Humans' minds are incredibly flawed. According to the few psychological texts I have gotten my claws on over the years, their memory is not set in stone like ours, it is fickle and easily manipulated. One of my books referenced a case in the nation called 'The United States of America' where nearly the entire country fell into panic over an imaginary evil, because a few doctors used a phoney science called 'hypnotism', a practice they believed could help recover forgotten memories, on a bunch of children, but accidentally implanted false memories of abuse, leaving the children traumatized, believing that they had been victims of a horrific occult."

Kirtch looked to his good friend nervously. "Are you implying I do something nefarious to my pet's mind?"

"No, I'm showcasing an example of how stupidly easy it should be to train your pet to love you." They tossed a book into Kirtch's hands, the cover printed with a photograph of a wild looking man, with fluffy hair and dark, hateful eyes. "Hypnotism isn't the only creative way humans have learned to reprogram each other."

Kirtch almost threw the book back, but saw Jaudna's unnamed pet still sitting so patiently for his master, and the pain in his body where his heart may have been throbbed again. "Thank you.. Jaudna."

(Reader) had waited for what they assumed to be well over an Earth day, alone in Kirtch's quarters, waiting for his return. The only company they received were the employees who brought their meals, speaking down at them in a language they didn't know, but could understand the disgust. It had been over a month since their fight with Kirtch. Every day since had been nothing but hell, feeling like their heart had been ripped out, they laid in their bed cage, only moving when necessary, allowing themselves to hide away inside their own mind.

The main door opened again, and (Reader) could hear Kirtch's long, graceful steps as he passed through the study and into the bedroom. "(Reader)? Are you still in bed?"

In an act of defiance, (Reader) kept their mouth shut, pulling the blanket tighter around their shoulders. But it was of little use, as Kirtch easily lifted their purposefully dead weighted body out of the bed.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long, pet, but I had to see an old friend for advice." He carried (Reader) back to his desk, sitting them in his lap, fighting to hold them upright as they flopped about limply. "(Reader), please sit up so I can take off your shirt."

He began working on the wrists, the intricate metal cuffs with multiple buttons that almost acted like locks, and (Reader) subtly straightened their back to give him better access to the neck corset thing, thankful to finally have it off for a couple hours at least. (Reader) had grown to find it somewhat elegant the past few months, but it still was an incredible pain in the ass.

Feeling the air on their neck was bliss, and (Reader) immediately ran their fingers over their skin. (Reader) breathed a deep sigh, relaxing their body unintentionally. But almost as soon as their hands left their throat, a new collar was latched into place, a loud mechanism clicking as it tightened, stabbing the back of their neck with what felt like a fixed needle.

(Reader) cried out in pain, sprawling out their limbs on reflex, pushing themselves out of Kirtch's embrace and onto the floor, lying naked on their knees as they clawed at the collar, desperate to relieve the pain.

"What?? Why?" Their voice was barely audible through their sobs.

"I'm so sorry my pet, the pain will end soon, wait-" Kirtch pushed a button on what looked like a remote, and (Reader) could physically feel the rush of liquid enter their body, then the pain lightened, leaving (Reader) almost euphoric in it's absence.

"What is this? Why did you do this?" Betrayal laced their tone, and Kirtch looked almost on the verge of tears, but he stood still, refusing his urge to scoop up his little pet and beg for forgiveness.

"I know now that I didn't train you correctly, and for that I am sorry. I've given you too much leeway, and that is why you've been so unhappy." He took a ragged breath, thumbing the controller as he thought out his words. "I didn't want to do this, but I care about your happiness. This is for the best."

"So you put a shock collar on me?" (Reader) asked incredulously, spitting venom.

"No, nothing barbaric like that!" Kirtch looked hurt, flinching as he almost dropped onto his knees to comfort (Reader). "I just need to convince you that you're happy here with me, just as I did the first night you were here, to help you release your stress."

(Reader) remembered the shot he gave them, that first night when Kirtch used a toy to get them off, the hormones he artificially added to their body to make them feel pleasure, and then thought about the pain in the back of their neck. The color drained from their face. There were only two options; plead or double down.

"You can manipulate me all you like, I'll never be happy here." A tear escaped as (Reader) transformed their hurt into anger. "I deserve someone who will love me, not as a pet, but as an equal. Because I am a human fucking being. And we have partnerships. We don't jack off our pets, we do not love our pets like we love the people we have sex with, because that- that is not okay! Why did you.." (Reader) couldn't stop themselves from crying, looking up to try to at least slow the waterworks.

The silence between them was loud. (Reader) turned away, wiping away their snot with their bare arms.

"Pet, noun; a domestic or tamed animal kept for companionship or pleasure. Adjective; denoting a thing that one devotes special attention to or feels particularly strongly about." (Reader) looked up, horrified. "Your's may not be my first language, but I feel I had a pretty decent grasp on my understanding of what a pet is."

Kirtch placed a hand over his face to hide his expression.

"You'll be happier once this is all over. I promise."

"You son of a-!" (Reader) couldn't finish their sentence, more fluid passed into their spine, followed by an immediate sense of emptiness. Extreme anxiety flooded their body, causing severe stomach pain almost instantly. They collapsed, holding onto their midsection, their bare skin clammy. "What? Why?"

"No more talking back to me, pet." Kirtch kept his voice steady.

(Reader) cried out, rapidly becoming exhausted from heavy nothingness filling their body. "Please.. stop.."

Kirtch nodded, appearing relieved. He pushed another button, and the emptiness ebbed away, leaving (Reader) numb.

"I don't understand why you're doing this." (Reader) weakly grumbled, too tired to pick themselves up.

"Because I want you to be happy."

"I'll never be happy with you."

"Why?"

"Because! I deserve to be loved!"

"I love you-"

"Fucking liar." (Reader) snarled, knowing that this would cause them to be punished again, but needing to get in the last word. Kirtch looked so miserable, so crushed by (Reader's) words, but they felt vindicated by his pain. They needed to twist the knife deeper.

He smiled, so sadly, and grabbed a blanket, bending onto one knee as he covered his pet. "I love you, (Reader)."

Their heart clenched, and their face flushed. Immediately they searched his hands for the remote. "S-stop that."

"I love you."

Chemicals pumped into their neck, making (Reader) feverish and causing their thighs to ache. Their breath hitched, and tears of betrayal escaped. "I hate you."

"I know."

More pain gripped their throat, regret causing physical discomfort. "Why are you doing this?"

His smooth shelled fingers caressed their jaw, tenderly cradling (Reader's) face as though he needed them. Kirtch's touch sent shivers across (Reader's) skin, and they couldn't tell if it was because of the collar or their loneliness, but they wanted to pull him closer, make him touch them more.

"I will live for much longer than you. I will watch you grown old, and die. Even then, I will still love you. You are the most incredible creature I've ever met. I don't mind if you push me away, and slap at me. I just want you to be happy, at least most of the time." His head grew closer, his hardened face almost brushing (Reader's). "Let me make you happy."

'I need to fight back. Make him pay! I'm practically a slave! He bought me! I'll never see my family again because of him!'

(Reader) leaned forward, mind melting through their ears from the intense heat, and smashed their lips onto where his should have been.

All rational thoughts were drowned out by the intense need. They needed him, his love. (Reader) was aware of the sound of buttons clicking, but they couldn't stop, crawling onto Kirtch's body, feeling the edges of his joints scraping their back as his hands hungrily roamed their body, wanting to touch everything.

They would have felt ashamed, knowing how aroused they were, their exposed body touching Kirtch's stomach. Sweat was clinging to (Reader's) skin, and their eyes drooped stupidly. The only thing they could think of was relieving themselves, and wanting to see Kirtch relieved as well.

"Are you going to fuck me?" (Reader) whined between wet kisses, drunk on his touches.

"I will, if you want me to."

Their mood shifted, frustration beginning to surface again. "No. If you love me, wouldn't you want me?"

Kirtch sighed, fiddling with the remote behind (Reader's) back. "I do not have the same nervous system as humans do. We only engage in sexual acts for the purpose of procreation."

Shame shocked (Reader), sobering them up instantly. "Oh. I- I am so sorry." (Reader) moved to get off of Kirtch, but was held in place by the much stronger being.

"I will, to make you happy."

"No, I'm sorry! It won't make me happy knowing you aren't feeling good. I'm-I'm sorry, please let me go."

Kirtch pressed the button again, watching his pet's face darken and their mouth go from frightened to slack jawed. "Knowing you are feeling pleasure, from me, and only me, will bring me more joy than I can express." His cloak was ripped away, revealing his gorgeously colored exoskeleton. Kirtch gripped (Reader's) face tighter, forcing his blue tongue deep into their mouth, bursting with pride at the sounds (Reader) was making.

"What do you want me to do?" Kirtch asked, not intending on sounding like he was teasing them, but Kirtch craved the sound of their voice begging him.

"Please.." (Reader) swallowed their drool, feeling the hormones pumping into their brain, but too horny to care. "Please fuck me."

The spot on his pelvis where a human's genitals would be split open and a long, slimy cock revealed itself, growing behind (Reader's) back to a horrifying size. (Reader) only became aware of his erection when it fell forward, slapping against (Reader's) ass and lower back. In their intoxicated state, they turned back to look at what had suddenly touched them, and their eyes grew large in surprise. "Is that..? That's too big..."

Off balance and tipsy, (Reader) turned around, still sitting on Kirtch's abdomen, so that they were facing his exposed dick, and touched it experimentally. It was ridiculously huge, but because of the hormones being injected into (Reader's) neck, they were ravenous, using both hands to pump up and down on the shaft as they stuck the thin tipped head into their mouth, tasting Kirtch passionately. Kirtch was beyond elated, watching his precious pet so needy for him.

Kirtch picked (Reader) up, moaning at the popping sound as he pulled their mouth away from his body, seeing nothing but love in (Reader's) eyes as he spun them back to face him, and slowly began lowering (Reader) onto his naturally lubricated member. "Keep looking at me."

(Reader's) mind was hazy, and it felt like they were about to die, saliva and alien fluids leaking out their mouth and down their chin. Their internal voice had gone silent, the amount of tampering that had been done to their brain left (Reader) devoid of rational thought and intellect. "Yes sir." They barely got the words out as Kirtch entered their body, sliding into their needy little hole easily and without resistance, ramming himself in so their pelvis smacked into his shell with a wet plop, bringing (Reader) to a climax just from entering.

"Smile for me, pet." Kirtch cooed joyfully, loving how (Reader's) body spasmed, before slowly lifting them up, revealing the trail of their combined wetness stretching between their reproductive organs.

(Reader) smiled, reacting on autopilot as they rode out their orgasm, practically biting off their tongue when their sensitive body connected with Kirtch's again. "Ahhh, I already came! Stop!!" Their words cried for relief, however their voice and smile demanded more. It was too much, and (Reader) did want a break, but it also felt amazing, and that dirty little part of themselves that was desperate for love needed their body to be abused.

Kirtch bounced (Reader) on his cock, fucking them like a toy, regretting that he didn't have a camera rolling to capture just how adorable his pet was in his hands. "Look at how happy you are, pet! Don't you want to be this happy all the time? Don't you always want to be happy, with me?"

Kirtch greedily pushed the button again, peppering (Reader) with kisses as they came again, their sticky juices splattering on his stomach. The squelching sound of (Reader's) bruising body getting fucked by the hard as steel monster beneath them was music to Kirtch's ears. He had, embarrassingly, read the book his friend had lent him, and knew now how humans used pleasure to keep brainwashed people by their side. But it wasn't just pleasure, it was that feeling of connection. He had thought about what (Reader) had said, that humans don't jack off their pets, and that made sense, for animals that did not share the same level of intelligence as an adult human. What (Reader) needed, was to feel equal, to feel like they weren't just a pet, but a partner. So how would they feel, if Kirtch ejaculated so deep into their body they were still excreting his cum weeks later?

"I'm going to mark you as mine, (Reader)." It was a lie, his species did no such thing, but the look of unbridled joy on (Reader's) cross eyed face, the loopy smile that twitched as tears poured down to their chest, was a sight that made it worth lying.

"Are you cumming? Are you cumming in me?" (Reader) slurred, barely holding themselves upright in Kirtch's grasp.

"If you promise to be a good little pet." Kirtch could hold out for as long as needed. His species did not have sex for pleasure, so there was no sense of urgency when they needed to release. He could have continued going for hours, if he hadn't overdone it with the collar. (Reader) was on the verge of passing out.

"I promise! I promise to be a good pet! I promise!" (Reader) exclaimed, colliding their lips back onto Kirtch's as a string of hot sperm shot up into (Reader's) body, a fluid so thick it was practically glue, leaving (Reader) feeling physically full. Kirtch couldn't help but push the button again, seeing his pet overflow with adoration for him.

"I love you, (Reader), I really really do."

Kirtch whispered sweet nothing's into his pet's ear as they passed out, then carried them to his bed, tucking in their swollen body, not minding the mess. (Reader) really was the most beautiful and adorable little pet in the entire universe. He doubt that he would ever get another pet after (Reader) was gone. He sat on the floor, rubbing circles into their tear stained cheeks, smiling contently.

Of course, the next day Kirtch would have to use the collar, showing (Reader) how bad they truly felt inside when they refused to get out of bed, and while it was awful making them cry when they tried to refuse to eat, it was for the best. Kirtch knew it wouldn't take long for (Reader) to graduate from needing their collar, and that soon they would always be by his side, begging him to pick them up and play with them. It didn't matter whether (Reader) needed cuddles or needed to be filled with his seed, Kirtch would overuse that remote until they desired his touch all the time.

He didn't mind the glassy, doll like glaze to their eyes, the change in their speech, the way they began crying whenever it looked like Kirtch was unhappy, or how they stopped pushing him away. After months of flushing their system with artificial love, Kirtch knew that his pet was happy with him. And that was all that mattered.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Elemental (M) Pt. 1

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 17,287 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. Part I is here, and Part II will be uploaded shortly. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts. (also, if you haven't already realized based on the premise, Y/N does break up with Jungkook in the first part of this fic lol so, if that's something you don't want to read; fair warning!)

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

Magic, to you, has never been a boon.

Despite its romanticization in movies and stories, the reality of magic is messy and unpredictable. As dangerous as it can be fickle, your mom likes to say. Usually followed by a glance in your direction, swift enough for you not to notice, although you always do.

Either that, or an unconscious tilt her chin towards the photograph on the mantle. You aren’t sure she even realizes she does it, acting on instinct alone. The photo is of your dad, holding you on his shoulders with an ear-to-ear grin. He was the other Elemental in your family.

Even with only one magical parent, the Elemental gene tends to be passed on to children. Your dad’s magic was water, skilled in manipulating and calling forth the element. He was lauded for it, which was in itself unusual. More often, Elementals are run out of town by other humans. Although time has gone by since societal integration, there are still many who view your kind with suspicion.

You can’t say that you blame them – not really. Because again, the reality of magic is it can be dangerous. Based on experience, bad things tend to happen when you lose control.

Head tilted, you squint through the fog at your boyfriend’s apartment. For centuries, fog has been heralded as an ill omen and maybe there’s some degree of truth to it. Maybe the first speaker lived near a temperamental water Elemental, unable to keep their emotions from manipulating the weather.

Thoughts souring at how close to reality this feels, you shake your head once and some of the fog clears.

A pep talk, you think. That’s what you need to convince yourself to enter. Unseasonably chilly this late in the summer, your fingers curl into the ends of your sweater. Going inside would be preferrable to standing out in the cold, and yet you can’t manage a single step.

Better to stand in the cold than enter and shatter.

Again, you remind yourself you’re doing the right thing and again, this doesn’t help. If anything, it makes you clutch your sweater tighter. For once, you wish doing the right thing meant what’s right for you. Exhaling deeply, your eyes shut as a train passes and shakes the ground.

You began dating Jungkook three months ago and within a week, you knew it was different. You have a tendency to hide pieces of yourself, knowing most people won’t like what they find. Jungkook never allowed that to happen. The first time you ghosted, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop the next morning and asked what had gone wrong. Taken aback, you responded honestly and to your surprise, Jungkook listened.

He stayed. Stayed when others had run, cementing himself on a short list of people you can trust. Three months into dating, things have moved at once fast and slow. Fast because typically, you exit relationships long before feelings like these ones develop. Slow, because you haven’t given Jungkook every part of yourself.

Physical intimacy comes to mind. On several occasions, this has proved… difficult.

Eyes opening, you stare at the door. Memories of last night rise to the surface. For a long time, you’ve known this relationship has an end date. Knowing this doesn’t prepare you for the difficult conversation ahead.

The last time you saw Jungkook was after midnight. Fat raindrops chased your footsteps while you ran from his place, descending the subway at a record pace. The look on his face remains stuck in your mind and even now, you find the thought hard to revisit.

Imagining hurting Jungkook again is unfathomable. Stifling a gasp, you spin on your heel and march away. Halfway to the gate, you get a grip on yourself. Coming to a stop, you remind yourself this isn’t about you. Jungkook will hate you – there’s nothing to do about that now. Now, this is about Jungkook and ensuring he’s safe.

Slowly, you turn around and make your way forward. In the name of procrastination, you stop at a trash can to clean out your purse. Old receipts, gum wrappers and a crumpled-up napkin shake into the bin. You pause at the napkin, staring at the embossed name of the restaurant you work at. Or – more accurately – worked at.

Slamming the trash lid, you turn. You began work at Pierre’s Bistro two months ago as a temporary measure. Ideally, you paint but lately, inspiration has run dry. Waiting tables pays the bills, leaving time at the end of the day to stare at a blank canvas.

Pierre’s is an upscale French restaurant a few blocks down with semi-decent food and waiting tables would be fine if the owner – Pierre – weren’t a massive asshole. Now that you don’t work there, you can be honest about that. Pierre was the most sexist, elitist, capitalistic piece of shit you’ve ever had the displeasure of working for. While on his payroll, you tried to make the best of it but now, you have nothing to lose. Pierre was a dick.

A point he proved yet again last night, much to your mortification. You prefer working the lunch shift to dinner, and weekdays to weekends. Saturday nights are worst of all, and last night Pierre didn’t arrive until well after six. You were forced to cover the entire front section, picking up for a co-worker who called in sick.

Rushing from the bar, you nearly crashed into your boss removing his coat. Grabbing you by the elbow, Pierre steadied you, his hand lingering.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he joked.

You forced a smile. Experience has taught you the best thing to do in those types of situations is to smile and laugh.

“No fire. Lots of customers! Excuse me,” you said and tried to move past.

Pierre didn’t release you. If anything, his grip on you tightened until you turned your head.

“Yes?” you said, impatient.

Pierre didn’t respond, looking you slowly up and down. Eventually, he released you to take a step backwards. “Nothing,” he said carefully. “Be careful out there tonight.”

Trying not to gag on his words, you moved on. Unfortunately, it was hard to escape Pierre’s notice once caught. From that point on, each of your flaws were held under a microscope. First, it was that you didn’t fold the napkins correctly. Next, you took a wandering path from kitchen to table. Each time you entered the dining room, scornful words were covered by simpering smiles.

By the time your shift end approached, you could barely keep going. A large group had entered and, seeing the host occupied, you took it upon yourself to seat them at your last table. Fixing your apron, you hurried through the restaurant and into the kitchen.

Grabbing another table’s dishes, you thanked the cook and pushed open the door. Immediately, arms shoved you back in. Startled, you barely had time to recognize the host, Vanessa, before the doors swung shut.

“Vanessa?” you said, adjusting your grip. “What’s going on?”

Harried, she glanced over one shoulder. “Sorry,” she sighed, curly hair slipping from her messy bun. “I wanted to warn you before you went back out. Pierre is pissed.”

Your stomach sank. “Pissed… at me?”

She nodded, another dark curl escaping. “Something about saving the table up front for his friends? Bullshit, yes,” she said at your expression. “But you know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. Deciding there was nothing to be done but keep moving, you hefted your plates higher. “Okay, thanks for the warning. I need to get these to table ten.”

“No problem,” she said and stepped out of your way.

You walked inside with slightly less spring in your step. Pierre lounged near the bar, surrounded by a group of people you could only assume to be friends. Although you felt his gaze on your face, you avoided him the best you could while you made your rounds. Taking the long way to the kitchen, you passed in front of the window.

Which was the moment you noticed Jungkook waiting for you on the curb. He stood beneath a streetlight, light pooling around the ends of his dark hair. When he saw you approach, his face lit up and he smiled.

Cursing beneath your breath, you smiled back. You were supposed to be done a half-hour ago, but there hadn’t been a good time yet to stop. Waving back, you mouthed, just a minute, and frantically pushed through the crowd to the back.

Merely seeing his face lifted a weight from your chest. It was easy to be around Jungkook because he liked every part of you. You never felt the urge to pretend, to curve yourself into something someone else would find pleasurable.

Well, he liked every part except one – and you were working on telling him that.

Hurrying into the staff room, you forgot your plan to avoid Pierre. You nearly jumped a mile when a hand grabbed your elbow, spinning you to face your fuming manager.

Pierre stared down his nose. “Follow me,” he snapped, releasing your arm to spin around.

He passed tables full of patrons, leading you to the bar before turning. “Y/N,” Pierre said, his voice dropping. “Are things okay tonight?”

“Yes,” you responded, deciding one-word answers were safest.

“Then why, exactly, are you fucking this up?”

Your jaw tensed. “I wasn’t aware I was doing so,” you said carefully.

“The napkins?” Pierre made a tsk-ing sound. “How many times should I say that presentation is important? Not to mention your laziness. One of your tables had to flag me down to ask for a refill. And now, you gave away the front table.” His expression darkened. “What makes you think you, a fucking waitress, can step in for a host? You sat someone at the table I personally reserved for my friends!”

You shouldn’t have responded. You should have stayed quiet and yet –

“There was no name in the book,” you muttered.

“What’s that?” Pierre waited and, when you stayed silent, shook his head. “I hadn’t had time to write their name down, but I told Vanessa, who assured me it’d happen. Of course, she wasn’t taking into consideration Y/N, the wonder waitress! Taking everyone’s jobs and making them harder.”

At your sides, your hands balled into fists. It took a greater amount of concentration than normal to keep your emotions from spilling over.

Of course, there were explanations for Pierre’s accusations. The napkins were correct before he jostled the table. You had been circulating your tables and if you were unavailable, it was because of his poor staffing. Oh, and – he didn’t make a reservation for his friends.

Slowly, you exhaled and stuffed down the responses. Deep down, with other emotions and magic. Beyond Pierre, a glass trembled but once you relaxed, the water went still.

“I apologize,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll do better next time.”

Pierre sniffed. “See that you do,” he said, brushing past. Grabbing a beer from the bar, you heard his friends burst into raucous laughter. Apparently, your humiliation was entertaining.

Heaving a small sigh, you turned – and froze where you stood.

Outside, Jungkook stared into the restaurant with murderous eyes. Too late, you realized Pierre had pulled you in front of the window. Away from anyone dining, but in full view of anyone on the sidewalk. Like your boyfriend, who witnessed the entire spectacle.

For a moment, your emotions overwhelmed, and you felt magic crack the walls you kept hidden. Embarrassment crept past your boundaries. Humiliation. Fury. Stuffing everything back, you quickly turned to rush through the tables.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped towards you, his brow furrowing. Reaching the staff room, you paced up and down. Jungkook saw you. He saw Pierre’s outburst, which meant you’d have to explain. You’d have to explain to Jungkook – the only person whose opinion you cared about – why you allowed other people to walk all over you.

He’d start to ask questions. Questions like, when was the last time you really got mad? You’d have no good response. Not because you don’t get mad, because you do. But because you don’t ever allow yourself to act on the feeling.

Faced with the prospect of brushing him off, you buried your face in both hands. Your usual excuses wore thin in your ears.

Pierre isn’t so bad. It was a one-time thing. You promise you’ll talk to Pierre tomorrow.

None of it would be true, and you didn’t want to lie to Jungkook. People never understood why you wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but the answer was complicated.

Your last date said you lacked emotions, but you don’t think that’s it. Of course, you have feelings, but those feelings are buried beneath so many layers, they can be hard to see. It’s not that you don’t feel, it’s that you cannot.

When you feel, your magic reacts, and people get hurt.

That was the last part of yourself you kept hidden. Jungkook is normal and he doesn’t know you’re an Elemental.

You know that by now, you should have said something. Obviously, but the timing was never right. Twenty-five years old, and you still aren’t sure how to broach the conversation. Few people know what you are, so you haven’t had much experience with the explanation. Your magic isn’t something you use if you can help it.

Yet another lesson you learned from your mom.

Your dad, an Elemental, died when you were five. Before, you lived near the ocean on a flat strip of sand. Your memories from before then are faint, but whenever you try, you can hear his booming laugh. Can feel the salt sting your cheeks, your mom tossing you in the air while you spun around.

Everything afterwards faded. At five years old, a hurricane swept past the barrier islands and that, you remember. You recall your mom at the door, pleading with your dad not to go as he donned his jacket. You remember him holding her hand, kissing the top of your head, and saying he’d return soon. Not many Elementals lived in your area, and even fewer had water magic.

You recall the hours passing, stretching longer and longer until dawn approached. Flashing lights followed, a woman climbing from her car to speak to your mom. You recall the sound of your mom sobbing, the policewoman’s voice floating into the house.

The storm surge was stronger than expected, but your dad managed to divert the worst. He saved the town only to be hit by a bolt of lightning. Instant death, the policewoman said, her tone implying this might be a comfort. Chest tight, your fingertips dug into the railing. Comfort meant nothing when your dad was gone. The irony struck you even back then – your dad saved others, and no one came to save him.

For weeks following, your mom was a ghost. At first, neighbors stopped by to drop off casseroles and condolences. Soon though, their sympathy stopped, and the whispers began. You were young enough not to notice, too consumed by the enormity of your own loss.

Eventually though, you noticed something was off. Suspicious eyes followed you down the sidewalk. Mothers clutched at their children, hurrying them to the side of an empty street. One day, you traipsed downstairs and overheard your mom on the phone.

She sat at the kitchen table, facing away from the staircase. You paused on the landing, listening to your aunt’s voice blast on speakerphone.

“Nonsense,” she was saying. “Your husband was a hero, and anyone saying otherwise is cracked. He saved your town!”

“I know.” Your mom blew her nose. “But now, people are wondering if he caused the storm. They’re saying maybe he… made the hurricane. It’s this new mayor,” she said, frustrated. “He hates Elementals and keeps insisting our family orchestrated this to collect money. He says –”

“Oh, no.” Your aunt sounded furious. “Don’t you repeat a single word that hateful man says.”

“He has a point, though,” your mom said, her voice low. “Did you hear about Uniontown? A fire Elemental accidentally set their barn on fire. Nearly burned the whole town. Magic is dangerous. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen, and now –”

“When was the last time your husband lost control, though? Are you saying you think he caused a hurricane?”

“God, no!” You watched your mom straighten. “But there are people saying… awful things.”

“Some people aren’t worth listening to.”

“I know.” Wearily, she exhaled. “They’re talking about Y/N, too, though. Apparently, she caused a tidal wave at the pool last weekend.”

Hearing your name said out loud, you shrank back in the shadows. You weren’t aware your mom knew about that, or that she cared. Bobby Clemmons teased Judith Bryce about her hair until finally, you snapped. Bobby was swept to the other end of the pool, much to Judith’s relief. She thanked you repeatedly.

Bobby was fine, except for some water up his nose. From the way he carried on though, you’d have thought he broke his arm.

Your mother lowered her voice, as though magic was something to be mentioned only in whispers. For the first time, a sense of shame crept over you. Your dad had always been open about magic, though stern. Stern in his belief magic should help people, not hurt. Never once did your dad insinuate magic itself was the problem.

Magic is dangerous.

Your mom’s words on the phone sank in as, your head pounding as you turned around to run up the steps. Even at six, you felt panic. If magic was dangerous and you were magical – that meant you were dangerous, too.

Slipping beneath your comforter, you stared at your shaking hands. Rain hit your windows, snowballing your worry to full-on fear. By the time your mom rushed upstairs, you were rocking under the covers as a storm raged.

She helped to calm you down, got your magic under control and a month after, you moved far away from the sea. A version of yourself vanished as you passed the pier. Despite this, you felt instant relief at the thought of control.

You remember your mom smiling when you joined the highway. “This will be good,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “A fresh start, away from it all. You can be whoever you want to be, Y/N.”

Except for the person you actually were.

Her meaning was clear, even if she didn’t say it out loud. At the time, you found the thought soothing. If you didn’t want to use magic, you didn’t have to. You never had to become your dad, who all your friends said had caused the bad storm. Even the news had turned against you.

Earth Elemental suspected behind San Raoul earthquake!

Jailed air Elemental claims innocence against onslaught of tornadoes!

Fire Elementals flee after string of arson!

Always the exclamation point. Always the lurid fascination that blame could be pinned on a single person. New rules were implemented in the house. No magic, except in your mom’s presence. This soon became no magic at all, but you didn’t mind. Whenever you did use magic, it felt wild, chaotic – the opposite of how you wanted to feel.

Your early years were marked by the struggle to conceal your powers. Years passed without incident and then, something would happen, and you’d have to move. Your mom never begrudged you, simply packed the house to travel to the next city. Each time, you promised you’d do better but by the time you realized school wasn’t for you, you had moved no less than six times.

Art was a risk, though one you found necessary.

Creation meant tapping into emotion, but you found methods of coping. Painting was the only place you loosened the reins on your magic, and so it became an outlet of sorts. A release, preventing your emotions from spilling into unwanted places.

There were other strategies, as well. Deep breathing. Counting backwards from one hundred. Focusing on one point, then on another until the magic calmed in your veins. Until you forgot the dangerous and destructive water around you.

Some people proved more reactionary to you than others. With some people, your magic responded so strongly, you were forced to cut them out completely. The first person this happened with was your best friend, Katrina. You were fourteen when she confided in you her family was fire Elementals. In response, your magic surged.

For a glorious summer, you practiced magic in secret. Each morning, you and Katrina bounded through the woods towards the far creek. You summoned great waves of water for Katrina to singe into mist. Everything was fine until late one evening, your mom caught you. She witnessed the combined magic and lost her temper.

Dragging you from the woods, your mom slammed the front door in Katrina’s face. She sat you down at the kitchen table, delivering a scolding you’ve never forgotten.

Do you know how reckless you were? What if a tree had caught fire? What if you altered the town’s water supply? What if someone saw and the next time a disaster happened, they blamed it on you – or Katrina?

Stricken by these very real possibilities, you promised not to do it again. Although you begged not to move, your mom packed the next day – your fastest exit ever.

The second time you cut someone out was after high school. Elliot was an artist, a quiet guy who dabbled with oils. He saw you painting one day in the park and silently set up his easel beside yours. This happened for weeks until he asked you out. Your ensuing romance was brief and sweet, and your feelings grew within a short period of time.

When Elliot told you he loved you, you dissolved into panic. You could feel how your magic responded, reaching for water that surged through his tiny apartment. Tossing on clothes, you stammered apologies and fled into the night.

For weeks following, it rained. Enough for the reporters to forecast local flooding. The fact terrified you – imagining people trapped on top of cars, small businesses flooded, the Red Cross called in to ferry locals to safety. It took your mom flying out to put you at ease, clearing the skies and regaining control.

Since then, you haven’t let anyone else past your inner walls. Until Jungkook.

Swallowing hard, you stare at his apartment and wonder if you’ll survive. Breaking up with Elliot is one of your worst memories and you only felt a fraction of what you do for Jungkook. Maybe you’ll conjure a hurricane, bringing the events of your life full circle.

Shutting your eyes, you rub at them dully. There’s no point in wondering what-if. You need to end it now, before things get worse. All day, you’ve gone over the facts and arrived at the same conclusion.

As expected, Jungkook was livid about Pierre last night. He wanted to confront your boss himself, although quickly backed off when he realized this was your battle. This though, turned to confusion when you said your intent to do nothing.

Although you tried the usual excuses, none of them stuck. Even if it was just once, Jungkook argued, it shouldn’t go unnoticed. You snapped slightly at this, insisting you’d deal with things in your own time.

Getting angry near Jungkook was peculiar. Suddenly, you became aware of the water around you. Thick, leaden pipes lacing Jungkook’s walls. Moisture that hung in the air, in the clouds – within his very veins. The thought terrified you, wondering what you might do accidentally.

Your panic must have been visible, because Jungkook instantly softened. Crossing the room, he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s just… I hate seeing you hurt. Of course, you know what’s best. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

His grip grounded you, enough that your magic dissipated, and that you realized a truth you’d hidden for some time.

You were in love with Jungkook.

No one in your life had ever been like him. Someone who was always in your corner, who protected you when they could and lifted up parts they couldn’t. Someone who liked everything about you – even the parts you weren’t brave enough to admit.

Studying his face, you tried to ignore the sudden ache in your chest. Even last night, you knew the inevitable. Memorizing his face, you tried hard to hold on. Jungkook’s slightly rounded nose, his full bottom lip accentuated by two piercings. Dark hair fell over his forehead; strong features contrasted by a soft gaze.

Jungkook watched you as well, and you wondered if he felt the same. Wondered why he’d commit you to memory, since you were the lucky one. He was the miracle, and you were biding your time.

Bending, he lightly brushed your mouth against his. Instantly, you melted. It wasn’t your first kiss and prayed it wouldn’t be the last, but something about last night felt different. Walking the two of you backwards, Jungkook pressed you against the wall and kissed you harder. His touch became desperate, one hand sliding beneath the lines of your blouse.

Your breath hitched at the brush of his fingers, delicious and warm against skin. His touch unknotted a hidden, tangled piece of your soul.

Ever since you met Jungkook, you’d held yourself separate. When you asked him to go slow in the beginning, he agreed. Touching was fine. Kissing was fine. Anything more, and you lost control.

About a month into dating, you met Jungkook at a bar and got tipsy. Three drinks in, you were frantically making out in an alley outside. Jungkook panted, “my place?” against your mouth, and you nodded. The journey back to his place was fast and slow, pausing in every dark place to drag his mouth to yours.

The second his door shut, you found yourself stumbling – into his bedroom, his bed, the confines of his heart. Shoes were discarded with every step, and Jungkook couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. You returned his fervor in spades, nipping his lower lip to watch him smile.

When he fell back on the bed, you saw his pulse quicken. Staring up at you, Jungkook watched your clothing disappear with a gaze so dark, it bordered on onyx. Climbing onto him, you resumed kissing with a newfound reverence. Eyes falling shut, you did your best to stay present.

Each brush of his lips was combustive, each touch of his hands filling you with sharp, pulsing light. And then –

The sink and shower in his bathroom burst on.

Startled, you pulled away and realized it had been you. Your magic had caused it, flooding his bathroom with water. Swearing under his breath, Jungkook scrambled out of bed to hastily turn off both faucets.

You sat there on his bed, heart pounding with fear. By the time he returned, you were already dressed and mortified. Jungkook was all apologies, certain he’d moved too fast, but you assured him he hadn’t. Anything that happened, you were an equal participant – too much maybe, although you didn’t say so out loud.

Lying in bed that night, you stared up at your ceiling. For a moment, it felt as though you were six and under the covers at your old house. Magic was dangerous. You would eventually hurt someone. Dread pooled in your stomach, recognizing the truth. If you couldn’t control your magic around Jungkook, you’d have to end things.

Heartache chased the thought, filling you with so much panic, you nearly drowned. Pushing this aside, you simply resolved to do better. To be better and keep both Jungkook and magic. This was simply another challenge; you owned your magic, not the other way around.

Thus, began the two best and worst months of your life. The best, since you’ve been dating Jungkook and the worst, because at every moment, you’re terrified of hurting him. Walking a line as thin as a razor, you’ve fallen in love while trying your best not to feel.

Until last night, you thought you’d been successful. Life was mostly under control, but then the Pierre debacle took place. Then Jungkook kissed you with such intensity, you forgot who you were and why you’d been holding back. Two long months of restraint and suddenly, you came undone at the seams.

Before long, you were again in his bedroom. Jungkook stripped off his clothes, bare skin pressing to yours with a searing intensity. Pulling you over him, a low hiss escaped while he kissed your throat. Even through his boxers, you could feel how hard Jungkook was. How badly he wanted this; a need you returned.

The thought of him inside you made you frantic. Pushing Jungkook onto his back, you straddled his waist and rocked forward.

Jungkook lay underneath you, his hair a dark halo. Suddenly, you could feel water everywhere. Magic, everywhere – it was in you, around you, in Jungkook’s walls and molecules. Everything felt so utterly fragile, and your magic responded.

Ferocious, it strained at your self-crafted bonds. Realizing how precarious your grasp on control was, your emotions slipped into panic.

You had to leave. Now.

Sensing the change in your body, Jungkook paused.

“I – I’m sorry,” you blurted, scrambling off him. Bending for your pants, you pushed one leg through and hastily zipped. “I need to go.”

Jungkook stared, frozen in place. “I…” Shaking his head, he pushed a hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Stomach dropping, you roughly shook your head. Part of you ached to correct him but your magic was barely leashed, and you weren’t certain how much longer it’d hold.

Your magic wasn’t something you wanted Jungkook to see.

Frantically throwing on your shirt, you rushed towards his front door. His dog, Bam, whined from the couch and lifted his head as you passed. Yanking open his door, you escaped to the hall and downstairs. You heard Jungkook call after, but he didn’t follow, for which you were grateful.

Remembering his face broke your heart as you entered the subway. You kept your magic at bay until reaching your building, at which point rain swept the city in waves. Soaked through, you got in the elevator and saw Jungkook had texted. Shaking, you responded you’d talk to him tomorrow and turned off your phone.

Rain poured all night and you barely slept. By the time you woke, your mood had gotten worse. Work was torture. Even the lunch shift couldn’t save you, the looming specter of Jungkook impossible to forget. When Pierre showed up around one, you knew you were doomed. His glower could be felt all the way across the restaurant and no matter what you did, you somehow stayed in his way.

With little to no sleep and haunted by last night, the grip on your magic was tentative at best. Your entire shift, it hovered at the edge of your fingers. When Pierre commented you looked tired, the rain outside worsened. When a table of middle-aged men called you ‘girlie,’ their water glasses shook.

It was miraculous nothing happened until the end of your shift. That was the moment Pierre’s friends arrived, seating themselves at the table you gave away last night. One of them laughed as you poured them water, and you managed to push down your snide remark.

Glasses full, you turned around to go and the same one grabbed your waist.

You went still.

For so long, you’ve hidden your magic to protect others. You’ve kept them from hurting and there you were, broken, and no one cared about you. Just like no one cared about your dad, in the end. Teeth gritted, you whirled – and the entire water pitcher dumped itself at him.

At him, not on him.

You didn’t trip. Didn’t throw the water, although either would have been preferrable. Instead, the water leapt from the pitcher to slap the man in the face.

Horrified, you stared as reality sunk in. You had just assaulted a guest – a friend of Pierre’s, at that.

Shocked, the man wiped water down his visage. The entire restaurant fell silent, every eye in the room locked on you. Panic-stricken, you stammered an apology, flung a napkin on the table and fled into the kitchen.

The moment you crashed through the doors, you were hailed a hero. Izumi, your line cook, wistfully recalled the one time she punched a guy who grabbed her ass. Georgina added that once, she spit in the drink of a man who called her a bitch.

Both tactfully avoided the fact that you were an Elemental, which you appreciated. You were starting to feel marginally better – maybe you wouldn’tbe fired, after all – when the door to the kitchen swung open and Pierre stormed through. Seeing his face, your heart sank.

“You!” Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed. “Y/N – pack your things! You’re done here. Fired. You think you can insult my friend, pull some magic bullshit on him, and continue to work here? Fuck that. Get out – now!”

A pin could have been heard in the silence. Coming to your senses, you did exactly as asked and got your things. Pierre hadn’t mentioned pressing charges, and you didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.

Outside, you stood on the sidewalk and stared at the bus stop. Storm clouds brewed above, a visualization of your inner turmoil. Eventually, you turned and trudged down the subway.

Things had reached a point you couldn’t ignore anymore. You were beyond out of control. Emotions surged and strained against your internal walls, threatening everyone you held dear. The city didn’t deserve to be punished, even if no one within it knew of your sacrifice. Pierre’s friends were awful, but you could’ve just as easily lost your temper with someone you loved.

Someone like Jungkook, whom you couldn’t seem to be around without incident.

That was the reason most people feared Elementals. It was selfish of you to put your desires ahead of another person’s safety. The only way to protect someone you loved was to stay away.

Starting with Jungkook. You just wished he didn’t have to get hurt in order for that to happen.

Standing outside his building, you take a deep breath and press the buzzer. You wait for several long moments, wondering if he’s home and then –

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Leaning in, you press 316. “Hey. It’s me. Y/N.”

A weighted pause, and then –

“Come in.”

The door unlocks, and you push it inside. Climbing the steps to his place, your heart starts to pound. The last time you saw Jungkook, you were running away. The last text he sent was, ‘ok,’ in response to your message. If you were Jungkook, you wouldn’t be thrilled to see you.

Coming to a stop outside 316, you lift your hand and knock. A howl responds, followed by the patter of gigantic dog footsteps. Unable to stop your smile, you shake your head at the chaos.

“It’s just me, Bam!” you say, and he stops.

Bam’s howl is replaced with a whine and the sharp thwack-thwack of his tail on the door.

“Bam, out of the way,” Jungkook calls, his voice coming closer. A few seconds later, the door flies open to reveal your boyfriend.

You only catch a glimpse before Bam barrels out, nearly knocking you over. Legs and tail akimbo, he slobbers all over until you bend to pet him. Once satisfied, Bam turns around and trots back inside.

Silence falls between you, and you look up to see Jungkook. He’s dressed casually, sweatpants and a t-shirt bought at a concert you attended. He hasn’t moved aside, blocking you from entering.

Uncertain, you straighten. “Can I come in?”

Slowly, he nods and moves. You walk past him, trying not to focus on the heat of his shoulder. This might be the last time you see Jungkook, so you try to focus on that. Not the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Hearing the door shut, you take a deep breath and turn to face him. “I can’t stay too long,” you admit, digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

Jungkook regards you warily. His expression makes your chest ache, unused to him with such a stern expression. After last night, you suppose it’s earned. You should probably get used to it.

“Y/N.” His jaw works. “What’s going on?”

Deciding honesty is the best policy – up to a point – you force out your next words. “I think we should break up,” you say in a rush.

With a low whine, Bam slinks in the direction of the bedroom. Jungkook glances at him, distracted, before facing forward.

“What do you mean?” His head tilts. “Like, you want to take a break?”

Steeling yourself, you shake your head. “No. As in, I want to break up. Permanently.”

A train passes by the building, rumbling the floorboards underneath. Most people would avoid living in this building for that reason, but Jungkook was overjoyed by the prospect of discounted rent.

He doesn’t seem overjoyed now, though. Instead, he looks stricken.

“Walk me through this,” Jungkook says, walking closer. The set of his mouth has turned stubborn. “I don’t follow. Why are we breaking up again?”

The knot in your chest tightens. You should have known Jungkook wouldn’t make this easy on you. “We’re not good together,” you say, only to correct yourself. “I mean, I’m not good for you. I’m not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

He comes to a stop. “I can wait, Y/N. I don’t mind.”

Reaching for you, Jungkook’s brows crease when you take a step backwards. His hand falls between you, and he stares at the empty space. The crack in your heart widens, made worse by his silence.

“I mind, though,” you force yourself to say. “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Jungkook. That’s not fair to either of us. It’s too much pressure.”

The words make your heart splinter, reaching a point you aren’t sure can be reassembled. Maybe the pieces will simply lodge in your muscle, bruising your insides each time you draw breath.

“I won’t pressure you,” Jungkook says, automatic. His frown deepens. “Tell me what this is really about, Y/N. Is this about sex? It’s fine if we don’t have it.” Stepping closer, he takes your hand and you let him. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

Somewhat manic, you shake your head – and then nod.

Sex is a part of the problem, but it’s not the root cause. Sex with Jungkook is unthinkable. You can barely remain in control when you kiss, let alone allow more. With your past partners, this wasn’t an issue, but your past partners weren’t Jungkook.

Never have you met someone able to scramble your thoughts with a kiss. Whose gaze melted inhibitions and tore down every wall. You have little doubt that with Jungkook, you’d lose full control, and the thought is terrifying. Already, your makeshift barriers are weakened.

Rain splatters against the window, and your stomach lurches.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Jungkook says, returning your attention to him. “What’s this about? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

He takes your other hand, and you realize how close he stands. “Is it work?” Jungkook asks, a crease between brows. “Is there… some reason you can’t quit? You can tell me, Y/N.”

An odd zing of disappointment goes through you. For a moment, you thought Jungkook had guessed your secret, and this could all be avoided. If Jungkook knew what you were and that you lied to him – well, he’d end things for you. Hesitant, you consider revealing that truth but can’t seem to form words. It would devastate you, seeing fear replace love in his eyes.

“Work isn’t the problem,” you say at last. “It’s us, Jungkook. Or – it’s me. I don’t want to be together anymore.”

Disbelief flashes across his expression, and you idly wonder what will happen if Jungkook refuses. Even as you think this though, his expression shifts. Jungkook takes a careful step backwards, dropping your hands entirely.

He’s never been good at hiding emotion. Jungkook is your opposite in that way, revealing every shift of thought and desire. You watch confusion become anger, then bitterness a moment before he turns away. The set of his shoulders is still, staring out the window as yet another train passes.

Restless, he turns to drag a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe you,” he declares. “This is so out of nowhere, Y/N. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m telling you everything,” you say, panic rising. “And this isn’t out of nowhere! I’ve been telling you for months I need to take things slow and this – well, this is the opposite of slow, Jungkook!”

Jungkook stares back at you, heated. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, the tension thick in between you. Eventually, you look away first and pull your bag tighter.

“Right,” you exhale. “Well, I should go –”

Striding forward, Jungkook reaches you to cup your face with both palms. Gently, he lifts your face towards him, and all thoughts cease completely. Gaze searching, his breath fans across your parted lips.

Jungkook’s gaze intensifies. “I don’t believe you,” he murmurs.

Adrenaline zips under your skin, stirring your magic into a deadly storm. Entire body tense, you suppress the urge to fight or flee. So often, you’re the one running but right now, you feel more compelled to fight.

A knife in you twists, knowing you’re a coward. If you were stronger, you could keep Jungkook. No matter how understanding he is, the fact remains that if he stays with you, Jungkook remains in danger. Each passing day only worsens the pain.

His face blurs. With a start of surprise, you realize there are tears on your cheeks. The furrow between Jungkook’s brows deepens, noticing as well.

“You’re not listening,” you blurt. “I can’t see you any longer, Jungkook. It’s in your best interest, I promise – I can’t do this. It’s too much.”

Reaching up, you remove his hands from your face and head for the door.

Jungkook follows close behind. “Which is it, then?” he demands. “You want me to go slowly, or you feel too much?”

Pressure weighs every inch of your skin, demanding you answer. Anything that comes out now will only make things harder. Reaching the door, you feel Jungkook’s hand on your shoulder. Caving, you don’t fight when Jungkook turns you to face him.

He’s too close to you. Too much and too close, his one hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Slowly, his thumb strokes the elongated line of your throat. You swallow, hard, and his gaze follows the motion.

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to yours. “You keep saying you’re no good for me,” he says, his voice low. “But what if I don’t care? Don’t I get a say in this decision?”

The force of holding in your magic worsens, becoming near impossible. Hastily built walls threaten to collapse, and reality blurs between one moment and the next.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, your hand searching behind you. “I have to go.”

Finding the doorknob, you twist and stumble backwards. Jungkook watches you go, the look on his face physically painful as you turn around. Each second that follows is pure concentration, trying not to break before getting outside.

The ocean is only a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment.

Reaching the harbor, rain pelts your face in a way that feels punishing. Magic makes your limbs tremble, escaping your body in wisps of fog and rain. The moment you arrive at the harbor, you shatter, collapsing forward to grip your knees with both hands.

Eyes pressed tightly shut, you hear the storm howl. Waves churn the harbor, sloshing over the sidewalk in an attempt to get closer. No tidal waves, you plead in an attempt at reason. No whirlpools, no water spouts.

Your magic listens in this regard, at least. By the time your eyes open, a curtain of rain mingles with tears on your cheeks. Staring out at the ocean, each inch of your body is numb.

Jungkook will never forgive you for this.

The thought banishes all the rest. You can’t say that you blame him. Slowly, you exhale as you lift your gaze. The chasm in your chest widens, becoming something unbreachable. This is all your fault. You wish there was some satisfaction in knowing this, but there isn’t.

Eventually, the rain dulls, and you push yourself upright. Your sneakers squish with every step, the silence all-encompassing as you ride on the subway. Entering the building, you remove your shoes and collapse on your bed, fully clothed. Thankfully, your roommate isn’t home, so you aren’t forced to explain the events of tonight. Seokjin would have wanted to discuss, and you aren’t sure you can without breaking down.

Burrowing your face into the pillows, you manage to cry yourself asleep. Rain doesn’t let up the entire night.

“Tell me again.” Taking a seat at the table, Seokjin spoons yogurt and berries into his mouth. “Why did you have to end things with your boyfriend?”

Cracking open one eye, you glare from where you sit, slumped forward. “You know why, Seokjin,” you grumble. “Not all of us can be air Elementals in perfect control of their magic.”

“You could be, though,” he says, pointing with his spoon. “If you put in like, five seconds of training and embraced your water powers instead of running away whenever things got bad.”

“I am not running.”

“No.” Seokjin lifts a brow. “You’re cowering, which is far less attractive.”

“I’m not cowering, either.” Scowling, you bury your head deeper into your arms. “I’m wallowing. Big difference.”

Scoffing, his spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl. Pushing his chair back to stand, Seokjin heads for the sink and turns on the tap. The water itches a spot deep in your chest, almost taunting.

“I can’t be too hard on you, though,” Seokjin says as he cleans. “You did get fired and dumped in one day – that’s pretty rough.”

“Does it count as being dumped if I did the dumping?”

“I’ll allow it.” He opens the dishwasher. “But only because really, you didn’t want to break up with Jungkook. You’ve just convinced yourself the world is better off without you – something I highly disagree with, by the way, but can’t fault you for feeling. It’s too sad.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, and close your eyes.

Two days have gone by since your decision to end your relationship with Jungkook. It hasn’t been great, to put things mildly. On Monday, you barely left your room and rain poured from the sky. When you did enter the kitchen, the weather person on Channel 9 predicted local flooding.

Seokjin arrived from his business trip that night, took one look at your face and helped stop the storm. You sagged with relief, falling into a fitful round of sleep that only lasted three hours.

Seokjin is one of the few Elementals you know who embraces their power. Both his parents are air Elementals, and he was raised to take over their magical consulting business. Said business does well, leading Seokjin to own a gorgeous, three-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. He got bored last winter, decided to post for a roommate and here you are. One of the few people in the city willing to room with an Elemental.

You don’t care what Seokjin does with his magic, although his laissez-faire attitude can occasionally be unnerving. You’ve lived your entire life with the assumption your existence is dangerous. All you need is a quick Google search to reinforce this fact. But then there’s Seokjin, living his life, seemingly none the worse for the wear.

He discovered your powers about a month into rooming together. Coming back from a trip, Seokjin opened the door to stare, slack-jawed, as plates washed themselves in the sink. Glancing up from your book at the table, you immediately sent two dishes crashing onto the floor.

Seokjin stared at this for a moment, then looked up. “You owe me new plates,” he declared and walked into his bedroom. After a moment, he popped his head out. “Hey – you think if we combined my wind and your water, we could create a waterspout but on land?”

“That’s… a tornado, Seokjin.”

“Right.” He slapped the doorframe once and disappeared. “Well, something to think about!”

Months later, Seokjin still doesn’t understand your avoidance of magic, but respects the decision enough to leave it alone. At least, until something like this happens and he’s again at a loss.

“Listen.”

Turning around, he shuts the dishwasher with his hip.

“Oh, no.” You grimace. “What now?”

Seokjin raises both hands. “Nothing, nothing. Far be it from me to comment on your mistakes. I’m sorry – did I say mistakes? I meant, ‘learned life experience.’ Through mistakes.”

“Was there a question in all that?”

“No question.” Loosely, he gestures. “Just wanted to say you can stay here, rent-free, until you figure this out. You know I’m only taking your money because you insist. I don’t need it. This place is already paid for.”

“Only because you frightened the seller so badly, they cut the price in half.”

“Listen.” Seokjin’s smile turns slightly sinister. “If they were willing to let their ingrained fear of Elementals influence their selling point, that’s on them. Not me.”

“Fair enough,” you sigh and sit back. “But seriously – thank you. This will give me some time to come up with a plan.”

Seokjin nods, tracing the rim of his coffee. Absently, he glances down the hall at the empty third bedroom. “You know…”

“No,” you say, automatic.

His right brow lifts. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to suggest I use this time off to work on my art.”

“Okay.” Seokjin shrugs. “Maybe you did know. But seriously, Y/N – why not?”

Weary, you exhale. “Because every time I try to paint, I get this… block. I can’t explain it. Watercolors used to be the one place I felt comfortable using my magic. Now… I don’t know. I can’t seem to use my magic anywhere. Even my art.”

Seokjin tilts his head, thoughtful. “How long has this been going on?”

“Don’t know – a few months?”

“Not long after you started dating Jungkook.”

Staring at Seokjin, you realize he’s right. That’s exactly around when you began dating Jungkook. The block happened not long after. Thinking about the early days of dating are painful though, and so you choose not to.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you declare with a shake of your head. “Right now, what I need is a job. And to earn money. Preferably in that order.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “Let me know if the order changes. I know a guy.”

Before you can consider his offer too seriously, your phone rings on the table. Glancing down, your heart constricts at your mom’s name. It isn’t that you don’t want to talk. It’s that if you do, Jungkook’s name will come up, and you’ll be forced to explain why you two aren’t together. Right now, you’re managing to cope by avoiding the topic. You aren’t sure what will happen if you’re forced to confront it.

Not to mention the very real possibility your mom will be happy. She liked Jungkook, but she always worries whenever someone new enters your life.

Also glancing at your phone, Seokjin scowls. “Don’t answer it,” he says, walking past. “Whenever you talk to your mom, things get even worse.”

Seokjin’s not wrong. Your mom means well – really, she does – but talking to her tends to leave you exhausted. Still, you know from experience it’s better to answer now.

“I know,” you sigh and stand up. “But if I don’t pick up now, she’ll just keep calling. Hey,” you say, pressing answer. “One second, mom.”

Ignoring Seokjin’s sad shake of his head, you scoop up your coffee and head for your bedroom.

Closing the door to your room, you lean backwards. “Hi, mom,” you say, lifting your phone to your ear. “Sorry about that. I was eating breakfast. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” your mom says, and you can practically hear her smile. “Same old, same old. The better question is, how are you? I saw on the weather there’s some flooding by you. Hope you’re alright!”

Grimacing, you move the phone to speaker. You should have known your mom would check in. Reading between the lines of her question, you can hear what she’s really asking. Your mom wants to know if you caused the flooding – an answer which is undeniably yes, but she doesn’t have to know that.

Setting down your half-empty mug, you flop face-first on your bed. Less information tends to be more with your mom. You’re debating what to say when she solves the problem for you.

“I know you haven’t had a slip in years,” she continues. “But if there’s another water Elemental in town, you should try to steer clear of them! Being around them could set you off – that’s what happened to Becky’s nephew, she said.”

Fighting an eye roll, you roll on your back. Becky Mayweather is your mom’s best friend in the entire world and one of your least favorite people. She’s the type to bake cookies, offer a shoulder to cry on – and then promptly turn and gossip to the neighbors about it. She fancies herself an Elemental expert because a few of her friends married them. Funnily enough, neither you nor your mom have met these friends in person.

“Oh?” you ask. “I never noticed.”

“It’s true! You know that I worry, Y/N. All alone in the city with another Elemental for a roommate…”

Annoyance spikes in your stomach. “His name is Seokjin, and I’m an Elemental too, mom. His mom could say the same thing about me.”

Seokjin’s mom could be saying that, but she wouldn’t because Seokjin’s mom and dad are both magic enthusiasts. The few times you met them, they were nothing but kind.

“Oh, Y/N.” Your mom sighs. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Watch your tone,” she says. “I’m only telling the truth. You work hard on controlling your magic. Your roommate, on the other hand, uses his magic willy-nilly. In broad daylight! You two couldn’t be more different.”

Your mom isn’t wrong about that, although not for the reason she thinks. Seokjin does use his magic freely, but you’re the one at risk of hurting others – not him.

“Seokjin is a good guy,” you say tightly. “He’s letting me stay here, rent-free, while I search for another job.”

“Another job?” Her voice pitches. “What happened to the job at that restaurant?”

Cursing yourself for your own stupidity, you close your eyes. “Um… I was let go. Difference of opinions with management.”

“Oh. Well. That’s too bad, Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s probably for the best – you don’t want to be working for someone you don’t respect, right?”

Some of your anger lessens at her genuine sympathy. It’d be easy to paint your mom as the villain but truthfully, she comes from a good place. You know that she loves you; she just doesn’t want to lose you the same way she lost your dad.

Exhaling deeply, you reach to grab a pillow. “I’ve been trying to paint,” you say. “It hasn’t been going well.”

“No?”

You frown at the obvious joy in her voice.

“Yeah,” you admit.

“Well…” Your mom draws the word out. “We always knew art was a risky hobby, Y/N. Painting. With watercolors. Something could easily go wrong and put you in danger.”

“I know, mom.”

“Actually,” she adds, her excitement growing. “Maybe this is a sign. Y/N – what if this means your powers are weakening?”

Your entire body goes still. “What?”

“Yes!” she says, oblivious to the panic in your voice. “You always loved watercolors because they made sense to you, right? Because of your… well, magic. What if a block means your powers are growing weaker? I wonder if other Elementals ever lose touch with their magic. I’ll have to ask Becky.”

Irrational anger surges within, and you hear the faucet in your bathroom turn on. Hastily, you work to turn it back off.

“You don’t need to do that,” you blurt. “I’ll research it myself. Actually, I should get going – I wanted to apply for some jobs this morning.”

“Oh, yes – good call, honey. You go and apply. Let me know if you need help. Becky has connections with the local university. I’m sure someone could help you update your resume – or even apply, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Thanks,” you say, although it absolutely does not. “That’s a nice offer.”

“Have a good day, honey – I love you!”

“Love you, too,” you say before hanging up.

Dropping the phone onto your bed, you hug your pillow tightly. It takes several long minutes to relax, wading your way through an anxious sea of thought. Although your mom means well, conversations with her tend to leave you feeling drained. Since you were young, it’s felt like your mom has an idea of the perfect child, and they aren’t you.

Eventually, you stand to bring your mug to the kitchen. Seokjin is busy making another pot of coffee, the delicious scent wafting overhead.

Passing him by, you eye this warily. “Isn’t that your third pot this morning?”

“And?” Seokjin reaches for his mug. “You’ve had three cups yourself.”

“Touché,” you sigh, collapsing on the couch.

Minutes later, Seokjin enters the living room and hands you a mug.

Staring into the drink, you say, “Thanks.”

Settling onto the sofa, Seokjin examines you over the rim of his coffee. You ignore him, taking a long sip of your drink. A summer breeze wafts through the window, and with a flick of his wrist, Seokjin sends it back out.

A stab of envy goes through you, although you know it’s irrational. Seokjin always makes magic look easy, but you’ve never found it to be so. Maybe when you were younger, before the crippling fear and anxiety had a chance to set in. The only time magic ever felt normal was when you painted and now, you can’t even do that.

Thinking about painting makes you think about Jungkook though, causing the dull thud in your chest to become a sledgehammer. You miss him. Miss the easy way Jungkook made you laugh. How he insisted on constantly touching some part of your body.

Cupping your mug of coffee, you take another sip and sink into the sadness.

“Far be it from me to dole out advice.” Seokjin interrupts your tiny pity party. “But I think you’re going about this the wrong way.”

Too exhausted to argue, you merely exhale. “What’s the right way, then?”

His head tilts. “I don’t know. But I find it weird your block appeared around the same time you started dating Jungkook. You’ve…” Seokjin hesitates, and you recognize his how-do-I-put-this-delicately face. “You’ve given up a lot over the years, Y/N. Maybe this time, you gave up more of yourself than you realized.”

Silently, you wonder whether he’s right. For too long, you’ve gone through the motions of life without really living. Too scared of letting people in, scaring them off, of being yourself. Perhaps giving up Jungkook will be the final straw. The thought doesn’t comfort you, and you have no response.

After a moment, Seokjin turns on the TV. The morning slips by, though you can’t help but think about his earlier comments – could you control your magic if you tried harder? The moment you think this, you instantly banish the thought. You’ve been attempting for months, and nothing has worked.

With this cheery thought, you allow yourself to sink further into melancholy. Only this time, the water rushing overheard isn’t your friend. You aren’t sure it ever was.

Wednesday morning, you leave the apartment in a haze. You thought that by today, things would be better but if anything, the situation seems to be worse.

Missing Jungkook is painful.

It hurts more than you thought, which might sound stupid, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When you and Elliot broke up, it was sad, but you knew it was for the best and that lessened some of the pain. Now though, each beat of your heart prevents the wound from closing. A tentative scab in one second, only to be torn open the next.

Jungkook always sent you good morning texts. Not because he was up before you, but because he went to bed so late, it was only an hour or two before you awoke. His words were the first thing you read in the morning, smiling sleepily at his rambling. Sometimes, Jungkook would include a late-night snack recipe. Always, he’d end with something he liked about you.

His silence is deafening. Something not even your favorite coffee shop can fix, although you try. Standing in line, you aimlessly flip through songs on your phone. Today, you promised Seokjin you’d attend at least two interviews. The first one is in an hour at a sushi restaurant. Before then, you plan to load up on caffeine and organize your thoughts.

When the line moves forward, you flip to your messages. No new texts. Unsurprising, but it rends the scab in your heart anew.

Facing forward, you remove an earbud to order. “Hi,” you say, mustering a smile. “I’ll have an iced americano with rose syrup.”

“Got it.” The barista barely looks up. “That all?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want a receipt?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.” She nods. “That’ll be ready soon at the end of the counter.”

Nodding your thanks, you replace the ear pod. Cranking your music louder, you wait for your coffee and lean against the counter. The coffee shop is tiny, empty for a weekday after the morning rush. Aimless, you glance over the clustered tables.

Your thoughts are on Jungkook before they can be stopped. You wonder what he's doing, what he’s wearing, whether he’s blocked your number yet from his phone.

A talented graphic designer, Jungkook works mostly on commission and on his own time. He does well for himself – enough to afford rent on his own place. Your mutual creative streak was something you had in common. Not your sleeping hours, that’s for sure.

Jungkook usually slept until nine or ten, then went to the gym before he made breakfast. You used to tease him about that, saying he couldn’t call it breakfast if –

Your heart falters. Jungkook must be on your mind since you seem to have hallucinated him here, at the coffee shop. You blink once, and then twice, but the mirage doesn’t fade, and you’re forced to conclude Jungkook is actually here.

Unfolding himself from a chair, he heads in your direction. Panicked, you glance at the counter, then back up. Your coffee hasn’t finished, which means that you’re trapped. Straightening, you do your best to seem natural and are certain you fail. Jungkook doesn’t just look natural, he is so as he approaches. At least, until you notice his hands in his pockets.

Jungkook does this when he’s nervous. Likely, he’s playing with the inside pocket lining. It hurts, knowing him so well, and not being his. When Jungkook comes to a stop, you stand mere inches apart.

“Jungkook,” you say, his name punched from your diaphragm.

He nods. “Hey.”

Uncertain, you glance down at the counter to check for your drink. Still nothing and, looking back, you tilt your head. “What are you doing here?”

Jungkook’s hands go deeper, if possible. “Getting coffee. Is that allowed?”

Your lips press together. “Sure. Theoretically, you can get coffee. What I’m asking though, is why you chose this coffee shop, five blocks away from your place. Usually, you’re not awake before noon.”

His expression is inscrutable. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

The silence between you lengthens, and not in a good way. You know why you’re quiet but can’t tell what Jungkook is thinking. You suppose that it’s possible he woke up early, forgot this was your favorite shop and went on a long walk for coffee – it’s possible, but unlikely.

At last, Jungkook exhales. “Alright, fine. I wanted to see you.”

“Y/N?”

Both of you turn at the sound of your name. Glancing between the two of you, the barista seems to pick up a weird vibe, dropping the cup to hurry away. Grateful for the interruption, you reach for your coffee and attempt to reset.

It’s not fair of Jungkook, corning you like this. You were already forced to end this once – unfair, making you do so again. Breaking up with him once was barely possible; twice is unthinkable.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?”

His voice interrupts your train of thought and, gripping your drink tightly, you turn.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Like, I don’t know.” His brow furrows, frustration obvious. “Anything, Y/N.”

Behind the counter, the barista fills a tea kettle to set this on the stove. You watch it instead of Jungkook, unsure how you’re going to do this again. The pressure of the water boiling is near tangible, mimicking the internal state of your mind.

Biting your tongue, you decide a safe exit is best. Jungkook will get the hint without you being forced to break his heart. Counting backwards from ten, you exhale and attempt to walk past.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” you say in a murmur.

You’re nearly past Jungkook when you hear a soft swear. Only one more step happens before his hand grips your elbow.

“Y/N, please,” Jungkook breathes, turning you towards him.

Your gaze lifts and you start at his obvious pain. Staring back, Jungkook searches your face for something unspoken. Whatever he seeks, he must find it, since determination enters his.

You tear your gaze away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jungkook.”

“I want to know if you were serious about breaking up.”

He’s still holding your elbow.

You must notice this at the same time, but neither of you move. Your gaze returns to his, drawn like a magnet and you realize your mistake when you can’t look away. Romeo’s line about Julie being the sun comes to mind, making sudden sense. You orbit around Jungkook, whether you like it or not.

In the background, a tea kettle whistles. “I meant what I said, Jungkook,” you say, forcing yourself to speak first. “I’m not good for you.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “But why,” he demands, frustration seeping through. You can hear in his voice the long nights of desperation, of little sleep in your absence. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Y/N. What did I do?”

A chasm in your chest opens, hating how easily he jumps to self-doubt. Before you can think better of it, you move closer.

“Nothing,” you say, one hand on his arm. “You did nothing wrong, Jungkook. I’m just not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

“But why not?” His gaze sharpens. “Everything was fine between us until Sunday.”

“Everything was not fine.”

Jungkook pauses, then barrels on. “When you say you can’t be in a relationship… what you’re really saying is you can’t be in a relationship with me.”

“With anyone,” you correct, although you aren’t sure that’s the truth.

Your magic has never been this temperamental. Possibly because this is the first time you’ve fallen in love. Dating someone not Jungkook would be safer, but the thought is abhorrent.

If you can’t have Jungkook, you don’t want anyone. That will be your punishment. Jungkook will move on, fall in love, and be happy with another person. Not you. No one else will compare, and if you can’t now, you doubt you’ll move past this crippling fear.

“You keep telling me that,” Jungkook says, growing heated. “But I’m the one you’re breaking up with, so it’s a little bit about me. You need to give me something, Y/N. Is this about your past? I know you don’t like to talk about your childhood, but I want to know.”

A loud buzzing fills your ears, gaze darting around. You haven’t told Jungkook much about your family, not wanting to invite questions about being an Elemental. The thought of him guessing sparks panic again, and the tea kettle on the stove whistles louder.

“People in my past hurt me,” you say in a rush. Magic itches beneath your skin, begging for escape. “That’s part of it, but not all.”

“What’s all, then?”

Frustration seeps past the wall, and several things happen. Your magic lashes out, a loud noise makes you jump, and the tea kettle shatters while hitting the floor. Water sloshes across the tile, steam hissing as the barista jumps back with a yelp.

Startled, you whirl around. One barista turns off the stove, another grabs a towel while a third finds a broom. Luckily, none of them seem injured – the tea kettle missed their skin. Taking a half-step towards them, you force yourself to stop. Although you want to help, that might make you seem guilty.

Already, the guilt within you is rising. You felt your magic overpowering you and chose to stay. If a barista had been hurt, it would’ve been your fault.

Turning back, you find Jungkook staring at the mess. He looks similarly shocked, twisting the knife in your gut. If he knew you caused this, he’d look at you that differently.

“You see?” you blurt, and he glances in your direction. “Everyone around me gets hurt. I can’t hurt you, too, Jungkook.”

Shoving open the door, you’re halfway outside when his words reach your ears.

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” he says softly. “You already have.”

The door shuts behind you, and you almost make it home before starting to cry. The skies open again above the city.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” you mutter, staring through the window.

The slightly dilapidated Ramen-rama tables stare back at you until the owner walks past. Catching you standing there, he motions you on.

Somewhat chagrined, you trudge down the sidewalk. Reaching a playground two blocks away, you collapse on a bench and attempt to be rational. Four different interviews. Spread across two different days. Each one ending the exact same.

One crappy interview, even two, and you’d understand. But four crappy interviews in the same way? Something weird is happening. Each interview, you arrived, greeted the owner, answered a few questions, and were thus informed the position was filled.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t gotten a job. It was that your interviewers seemed nervous, staring hard at your resume and never your face. They seemed relieved when you left, as though you were liable to break something for fun.

“Hey. Did you interview this morning at Ramen-rama?”

Startled, you turn and find a stranger beside you.

You don’t recognize him; certainly you’d remember if you met before. Dressed in a Ramen-rama t-shirt, his dark hair is gathered in a bun on his head. His hair makes your chest ache, since Jungkook used to wear his like that.

“Um, yeah,” you say, yanking yourself from your daydreams.

He smiles and nods. “I thought that was you. Listen – I overheard the manager talking this morning on the phone while I was unloading the truck. I think he was talking about you, so I thought I should tell you what I overheard.”

Concerned, you straighten. “Uh, okay. What was he saying?”

“He was talking to your old boss – Pierre? Apparently, he’s calling around and warning people not to hire you. Said that you stole from him, or something. Not sure if it’s the same story for everyone, or if he’s making up shit up in the moment.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” The guy’s smile turns wry. “I’m assuming none of it’s true. You don’t look like the thieving type, but the boss is running a business, I guess. Can’t be too careful.”

“Right.” You pause, then shake your head. “I didn’t steal, just so you know. A guest was an ass to me, so I dumped water on him – on accident,” you add.

Laughing loudly, the guy clutches his bicycle. “Wow, I’d love to hear that story. Especially the part about it being an accident,” he adds with a wink, sticking out his hand. “I’m Wooyoung.”

“Y/N,” you say as you shake. “So. Pierre is calling people?”

Brow furrowed, Wooyoung pulls back. “Yeah. Sorry I had to tell you like this. Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to know, but figured I should.”

You push yourself to stand. “I do appreciate it. Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.” Sheepish, he glances down the road. “I should actually get back if I don’t want to lose my job. Delivery,” he explains, nodding towards his bike. “Need the extra income.”

“Makes sense,” you say, forcing a smile. “Good luck.”

Wooyoung nods, then pauses in a way that feels familiar. He’s checking you out, you realize after a moment. Although flattering, it’s instantly followed by a rush of guilt. Wooyoung is cute and in another life, you’d say yes, but in every life, it’s hard not to want Jungkook.

Waving goodbye, Wooyoung climbs onto his bike and takes off. You head in the opposite direction, needing to put distance between you and Ramen-rama. If Pierre is shit-talking you across town, you’ll be hard-pressed to find another job at a restaurant. Owners are notoriously clicky and for how many restaurants there are, there are surprisingly few out of the loop.

Maybe you can ask the coffee shop if they’re hiring. Although you should probably avoid work with water for a bit. This drops your mood, your thoughts turning desperate. You’re so deep in an anxiety spiral, you nearly run into an open door on the sidewalk.

Jerking upright, you stare at faded, golden letters. Creative Courage is spelled in looping cursive over a frosted window. Art supplies fill a display case, while the other is clustered with art of all kinds. You spot sculpture, pottery, painting, and sketches before losing count.

Before you can chicken out, you push open the door.

Stepping in, tiny bells chime to announce your arrival. Soft, ambient light fills the space – a shop that’s two-fold, you realize now that you’re inside. The front sells art supplies while in the back stands a classroom. There’s a class in session now, several artists seated on stools before easels.

“Can I help you?” someone asks, stepping into your path.

Blinking, you focus. “Um, no – thank you! I was just looking.”

“Of course!” The woman beams, reaching up to arrange a clip in magenta hair. “That’s what we’re here for. If you do change your mind, let me know – we’ve got art supplies out front, and classes are held daily in back.”

“Classes?”

“Mhm.” Crossing her arms, the woman nods. “Mostly still life and figure drawing, but we’re hoping to add some more soon. Are you an artist?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

Immediately, you stiffen. “No. At least, not right now.”

Her lips twitch. “Not sure it works like that, unfortunately. Who you are can’t come on and off like a jacket. I like that, though,” she admits with a laugh. “Might borrow it the next time the muses aren’t singing.”

You can’t help but grin. “Exactly.”

Her head tilts, surveying you with unnerving intensity. “My name is Taryn. I co-own this place with my partner, Micah. They’re the one teaching right now.”

“Oh,” you say, somewhat wistful. “That’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Her smile widens. “So, what was your preferred medium? You know, ‘back when’ you were an artist.”

You can’t help but laugh when Taryn lifts her hands to use air quotes. Some people have a way of making you feel included in their jokes, and Taryn is one of them. She teases you in a conspiratorial way, letting you know she understands. People often call art a labor of love, which can be true but more often, it’s a complicated tangle of love, pain and frustration.

“Watercolors,” you admit. “And my name is Y/N.”

Her eyes brighten. “We’ve been meaning to add a watercolor class for ages. Some of our regulars have asked, but Micah and I are both hopeless. Potter,” she explains, gesturing at herself. “And Micah prefers charcoal. Sometimes sculpture.”

“Wow,” you say. “Those are very different.”

“You don’t say.” Taryn laughs. “Micah likes to keep things fresh. What about you? Have you ever taught be– hang on,” she blurts, her eyes going wide. “Did you say that your name is Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N?”

Your cheeks heat. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Whirling, Taryn hustles through the front room to duck behind a counter. Digging through several drawers, she pulls out a print to hurry back.

“Is this you?” she demands, thrusting this in your face.

Even cross-eyed and close, you recognize your most popular work. A watercolor series on the majesty and destruction of sea storms. Looking at this makes you feel raw, and so you look up.

“Yep,” you admit. “That’s me.”

Pulling back, Taryn looks at the print reverently. “You’re amazing. Micah was trying to do something similar but couldn’t capture the right feeling.”

Shuffling awkwardly, you shrug. You’ve never felt as though your work deserved acclaim, although it’s nice to know the series resonated with others. One of your favorite aspects of art is how it can be intensely personal but once shared, takes on a universal quality. You find it constantly surprising; how many people seem to share the same burdens.

“Seriously.” Taryn shakes her head wryly. “If you ever wanted to teach a class, let me know. We’d be lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you,” you say, stuffing both hands in your pockets.

You hadn’t realized your desperation was obvious. Or possibly Taryn is just incredibly good at reading others. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you stepped foot in the art world. Even before dating Jungkook, you felt your passion lagging. It’s been a long time since you wanted to connect with your inner voice, although merely the act of being here calls the tide in your blood.

Dangerous.

Recognizing this, you reinforce an inner wall. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’m not really looking for something right now.”

Taryn nods. “Sure. If things change though, just let me know – before next week,” she adds. “We try to publish our class schedule on the first of each month.”

“Will do. Thanks, again.”

“Anytime!” Beaming, Taryn spins to restock the next shelf.

Realizing your conversation is finished, you continue down the next aisle. The shop’s materials are superb, and your fingers are itching to reach out and touch. Reaching the front, you notice a quote painted over the register: Creativity takes courage – Henry Matisse.

You stare at this for a while, unsure why it hurts. Courage isn’t something you’ve thought about in a long time. When you were younger, you pushed people away because it was safe, but now you find yourself wondering who was that for – others? Or yourself?

Maybe the reason you keep yourself separate is because you are afraid people might leave you. Like Katrina. Or Elliot. Or even your dad.

Suppressing magic was hard at the start. Everything about it felt counter-intuitive but you reasoned doing the right thing often took effort. This is what you told yourself, anyways. It made said effort more bearable.

When you first began painting, the relief you felt was immense. After so long spent ignoring your emotions, you found a space to be free. Your series about the sea was oddly therapeutic, working through complicated emotions; your love for the ocean, coupled with fear of its wild beauty. Similar clashes within yourself about magic. And always, always, the desire for more.

For a few hours though, those feelings could be a part of you. Magic could be a part of you, so long as you remained in control – and with brush in hand, you were.

Only now does it occur to you that maybe, this wasn’t healthy. Maybe you shouldn’t feel the need to compartmentalize, as though certain pieces of yourself can only exist in certain spaces.

Tearing your gaze from the words, you exit the shop and gently shut the door. Pulling your jacket tighter, you head down the sidewalk and let your thoughts drift. Jungkook only saw you paint once, but the memory is hard to forget.

You had just started dating, barely past the stage of calling him ‘boyfriend.’ The constant influx of emotion was difficult to manage, and after a few weeks, you were exhausted. Most of your time spent without Jungkook was seated before your canvas. After one particularly frustrating session, you set down your paint to stubbornly stare at the canvas.

A throat cleared from behind.

Startled, you spun and found Jungkook standing there. His gaze moved quickly to yours, but you realized he’d been staring at your half-finished work. Normally, you felt panic at the thought of someone seeing a work in progress. That night though, the look on Jungkook’s face eased your concerns. Awe; pure and clear.

Yanking down giant, over-ear headphones, you hastily stood.

Jungkook lurched forward. “No!” he blurted, only to halt. “I mean – you don’t have to cover the painting. I liked it.”

He seemed flustered, which made you slightly flustered, but you took a slow step sideways. Eager, Jungkook’s gaze traversed the canvas.

Eventually, he looked back. “Sorry about that,” Jungkook said and walked closer. Warm hands found your waist. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“How did you get in?” you laughed, burying your face in his chest.

“Seokjin.” He paused. “Did he not say I was here? I texted you a half hour ago, but you didn’t respond. I figured I’d stop by, and Seokjin said to come up.”

Softening, you made a mental note to chastise Seokjin later. Tightening your arms, you lifted your head and smiled.

“So.” Jungkook glanced over your shoulder. “This is you.”

This sent a thrill down your spine. He spoke as though he’d known you before, but only on a surface level and now, he understood. Jungkook knew your art was part of you, as much as your heart or your soul. You had often felt the same, but never said so out loud.

Magic swelled, and you pushed it back down, but it was difficult. When Jungkook bent his head, you forgot to be scared and let yourself feel. The brush of his lips. The tightening of his hands. The current within you, swelling against your highest walls.

Loudly, someone knocked on the door. Breathless, you jerked backwards and found Seokjin in the door.

“Hey.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Wanted to let you know our dishwasher broke. Flooded the kitchen.” Pointed, Seokjin looked at you. “Everything is all good, but I’m calling a plumber tomorrow. Carry on.”

In a flurry of embarrassment, you abruptly ended the evening and sent Jungkook home.

Remembering how the night ended, you stifle a groan and walk faster. Once more, you couldn’t control your magic and put Jungkook in danger. Hardly the creative courage Henry Matisse imagined.

You always assumed suppressing your magic was the best choice. But the best choice for who? Certainly not for you, who lives isolated, inert and in fear of yourself. Your dad used to call your magic a gift, but it’s been a long time since you felt that way.

This memory brings with it a sharp stab of pain. Since your dad passed, fear has replaced any joy your magic brought. Fear of falling victim to the same fate he did. Of others’ rejection. Of failing to live up to your father’s example.

You have little doubt that if your dad could see you now, he’d be confused by your actions.

You push others away in the name of saving them. Again, you think of Jungkook and for once you allow it. The entire way home, you wish that he’d call.

He doesn’t though and eventually, you stop hoping.

By Friday, the threads keeping your feelings at bay are nearly worn through. Intrusive thoughts push against fragile bonds, threatening the haven you’ve carefully crafted.

With more force than needed, you toss clothing into the washer. Your usual laundromat was closed, forcing you to walk five blocks to the next one. Sweaty from suddenly sweltering temperatures, your arms sore from the hamper, the situation does nothing to improve an already crappy mood.

Wiping your forehead with one arm, you slam the door and press start. The machine whirs to life, laundry tumbling in a way reminiscent of your inner turmoil. Up, you did the right thing by ending it with Jungkook. He’ll swiftly move on and find someone else. Down – but you don’t want him to find someone else. You want him to find you.

Teeth gritted, you turn and grab your hamper from the floor. Placing this on the washer, you wearily tug your cell phone from your pocket. By the time you walked home, you’d have to come back, leaving you with forty minutes to kill. You could read more of the book you just started. Or submit your resume to a couple of restaurants.

After yesterday’s disaster at Ramen-rama though, the interview process has stalled. Instead, you’ve found yourself thinking more about Creative Courage. For a brief moment, you even walked into the third bedroom to paint.

You immediately walked back out again, but merely the act was more than you’ve done in months. The thought of creation brought mostly panic, since it’d involve you being honest. Something you haven’t been with yourself in a while.

Because if you were honest, you know what you’d find. You would regret breaking up with Jungkook. Maybe even find that, deep down, you want to be selfish. You want to keep dating him, even if Jungkook gets hurt in the end.

After all, you saw what loving an Elemental did to your mom.

Putting down your phone, you scan the laundromat and find your gaze catching on the person in the next aisle.

No. No, no, no – absolutely not.

The universe – or whoever’s writing your story – must be cruel and unusual, since standing beside you is Jungkook. You’d recognize his head anywhere. Straightening from his hamper, Jungkook turns to face you and goes still.

Eyes wide, he seems stunned until someone slams shut their dryer. Both of you jump, breaking eye contact and time seems to reset. Pressing start on his machine, Jungkook grabs his gym bag and hoists it over one shoulder. He strides towards the exit, halfway there when you spring into action.

Dashing towards him, you cut him off at the dryers. Footsteps slowing, Jungkook meets your gaze with visible confusion.

“Sorry,” he says, tugging his gym bag behind him. The thick, grey strap of it cuts across his hoodie. “I was just leaving. I can come back later if you want to finish your load.”

Again, he tries to move past you, but something inside of you snaps. You aren’t sure what possesses you, but somehow, find your hand gripping his sleeve.

Startled, Jungkook stares.

Equally swift, you withdraw. “I, uh…”

Head spinning, all your words seem to fly out the window. Nothing about this was planned. You have no idea what to tell Jungkook besides I’m sorry, and even this would be woefully inadequate without explanation. Which you can’t give.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” you say at last.

A singular brow lifts. “No? You didn’t seem to think that way on Wednesday.”

You suppress a wince, although you try your best to hide it. “I know,” you admit. “It’s just… this is your usual laundromat. I don’t want you to leave because of me. I wouldn’t even be here, expect the one near me is broken and –”

“Got it,” he interrupts, the words tight. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to be.”

Swallowing hard, you stare down at your shoes. You know you deserve this, but it’s just so hard to see Jungkook hurting. He deserves to be happy, not wasting his energy on hating you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your eyes start to burn, and you squeeze them shut to prevent a reaction. You absolutely cannot cry in front of Jungkook. Not when you’re the one who started this; the very last thing you want him to feel for you is pity.

“Hey.” Something in his tone shifts, and you hear Jungkook step closer. When you open your eyes, he watches you intently. “What’s wrong?”

A tiny fissure within your chest splinters.

Anyone else could have asked those words, and you would have been able to answer. For Jungkook to do so is unthinkable. You’re the one who ruined this. The one who hurt him, who ended this and still, Jungkook is concerned about your well-being.

“I was fired on Sunday,” you say in a rush. “Before I came to see you.”

He blinks only once before his face hardens. “Before you broke up with me, you mean.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, Jungkook glances away. His expression is taut, and you feel a sharp pang of envy. It’s so easy to read Jungkook. You’ve spent so long hiding your emotions, it strikes you as luxurious how easily he feels.

A muscle in his jaw tics. “Y/N,” Jungkook says, turning back. “What are you doing?”

“What… do you mean?”

Fear spikes your heart, wondering if Jungkook has finally pieced the facts together. Maybe he saw more than you realized at the coffee shop. Maybe he finally knows what you are.

“Why are you… torturing me?” he clarifies, a slight rasp to his voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You were fired? That sucks, but it doesn’t make this okay. It doesn’t make us okay,” he adds, gesturing to the air between you.

“I – I know,” you stammer, nearly blurting out something you’ll regret.

Like that you’re an Elemental teetering close to the edge. One who can feel every pipe, every spin cycle within the walls of this laundromat. All of them churning, pulsing, begging for your magic to release the water inside.

“You know?” Jungkook stares at you, incredulous. “Again, Y/N – what do you want from me?”

Since you started talking, you’ve moved several steps closer. Another breath, another reach and you’d be in his arms. Glancing down, you notice how quickly Jungkook’s chest rises and falls.

He’s afraid, you realize. Jungkook’s fear isn’t the same one as yours, though. He isn’t afraid that you’ll see him, but rather that you’ll destroy him.

Realizing this, a barrier within you crumbles. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, somewhat desperate.

“You keep saying that.” Determined, he steps closer and somehow, your hand entwines with his to press against his chest. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but you won’t tell me why. Won’t tell me anything, Y/N – you were fired, and this is the first time I’m hearing it.”

“I couldn’t tell you!” you blurt. “I can’t explain it, Jungkook, but I couldn’t tell you when it happened.”

His gaze sharpens. “Then, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we are better off broken up.”

Releasing you, Jungkook brushes past you and heads for the exit. You stare blankly at the wall before you, your whole world caving in as your head starts to spin. Magic seeps beyond your fractured walls, flooding your veins in desperate search for an exit.

“That’s not true,” you protest, spinning around. “I’ve told you more than anyone else in my life, Jungkook. I’ve let you in in ways no one else has.”

Jungkook stiffens at the door, his entire body taut. For a single, long moment, it seems as though he might reconsider but the longer you stand there, the more you watch the fight drain from the lines of his shoulders.

“I don’t doubt that’s true,” he says, hand hovering above the doorknob. “But that’s not the same as letting me in.”

He starts to go.

Everything around you becomes white noise.

When you were ten, you passed a famous dam on one of your cross-country moves. Your mom took you to see it, swinging your hand while entering the viewing platform.

The moment you saw it, you went wholly still. Trillions of gallons of water, trapped behind concrete, constantly pushing but unable to break. It felt like your magic. Raw, untamed power contained by a solid wall. You stared for longer than any other visitor, until your mom pulled your arm and said you should leave.

The entire way to the car, your mom was silent and once you were buckled in, she twisted around to see you. “Listen to me, Y/N,” she said, her voice serious. “That dam will only work if the wall holds. If the wall breaks, do you know what happens?”

Silent, you shook your head.

“The water will flood the whole valley. Everyone in its path, all the forest – they’d be gone. The wall can’t break, or bad things happen. Do you understand me?”

Solemn, you nodded because even then, you understood. Although your magical dam was intangible, it held equal importance. You had to hold in the magic, otherwise bad things would happen. So long as the wall was in place, you were safe.

Now though, you squeeze your eyes tightly as the wall starts to crumble.

Emotions break with the force of a tidal wave, racing ahead and drowning all in its path. Memories you thought were long buried continue to rise, crushing you further. Your walls are destroyed in a matter of seconds.

You remember your dad, kissing you on the head before leaving the house. Katrina’s stricken expression when the door shut in her face. Jungkook, asking you what he’d done wrong again.

Each memory drags you under, and you shudder against the onslaught. It takes everything you have to remain standing while your restraint dissolves.

Hands grip your arms.

Surprised, your eyes fly open to find Jungkook before you. His neck muscles strain, yelling to be heard over thundering water. You try your best to focus, to rein your magic back in – only to realize with horror, it might be too late.

The laundromat around you is in chaos. Several ceiling pipes have burst, water crashing down in torrents of water. Already, waves lap at your ankles. Noise filters back in, flickering before solidifying to something substantial.

People are screaming, abandoning their hampers in an attempt to get out. The door has stuck though, unable to open under the onslaught of water. Jungkook yells again, and this time you hear him.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, close to your face.

You stare upward, stupefied. Another pipe bursts, and you think that was you, but it’s hard to be sure. Hard to understand which parts are in control and which parts are not. What particular emotion is holding the reins at any moment.

Determination replaces fear in his face, and Jungkook bends before you have time to blink. In an instant, you’re tossed over his shoulder. A yelp escapes, upside-down but he’s already wading through the aisle of washers.

Jungkook shouts at people to move, but no one is listening. After a moment, you feel him exhale and surge forward. Although you can’t see, the people seem to be moving, so Jungkook must appear confident.

Grasping the door, he pulls on it, hard. Nothing happens. Exhaling, Jungkook grips your waist tighter and mutters, “Hold on.”

You don’t have time to ask why, since he yanks harder and the entire frame shudders. Jungkook does this again and another pipe bursts, drawing your gaze. By the time you look back, the door has budged an inch and water is pouring out. With a final wrench, Jungkook yanks open the door.

People shove past him, rushing into the street with the tide of water. Spinning around, Jungkook shields you with his frame from the wet crush of bodies. His grip never wavers, feet anchored to the ground as though they’ve rocks themselves.

With each breath, your pulse slows until finally, you locate the faint threads of magic. Before, you felt too much at once. The crush was overwhelming but now, you manage to breach the surface. For the first time, you see your panic influencing the tide.

Realizing this, you reach inward and try to – turn. With great effort, you identify the source of your power and disconnect. Water in the ceiling slows to a trickle, and then, nothing.

Exhaling against your neck, Jungkook’s hand moves lower.

You can’t help but shiver. “Jungkook?” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Could you… you know, set me down?”

“Oh.”

Somewhat sheepish, Jungkook lowers you to face him. He doesn’t step away, and neither do you. If this is the last time you see him, you want to be selfish and make it as long as possible.

He stares back at you, waterdrops caught between his lashes. In the background, water continues to drip from a pipe. The soft plink-plink echoes the thud of your heart.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Jungkook’s hands remain on your waist, his touch scrambling all semblance of sanity. You aren’t sure how to answer without being honest.

Truthfully, you’re not okay.

An okay person wouldn’t break up with their boyfriend and then, six days later throw themselves in their path. An okay person wouldn’t be hiding their magic, they wouldn’t be lying to the person they love and most of all, wouldn’t continue to place that same person in danger.

Silent, you survey the aftermath of your outburst. Deep down, your magic itches in response to your panic. Seeping outward, it seeks to mold to the fear, but you manage to stop it. Something about the wall being gone makes your power less alien. No longer an unknown variable, but a constant.

“No,” you exhale. Steeling yourself, you take a step backwards. “No, Jungkook, I’m not okay. I… this is exactly why you should stay away from me. Bad things happen, and I can’t control them. I’m so sorry.”

Again, you brace yourself for his anger, but it never comes. Jungkook is unusually quiet, head cocked to one side. He sees right through you, a sensation unnerving enough that you drop your gaze.

“I should go,” you repeat, stepping around him. Reaching your washer, you hastily unload your soggy clothing. “I have to go.”

Jungkook says nothing, although you feel his gaze on the back of your head. Hefting your hamper, you slam the door shut, and turn. The water level at your ankles has dropped, no more than a centimeter remaining in the room.

Sirens wail in the distance, likely on their way to investigate. Your stomach lurches, recognizing the cost of your magic. As soon as possible, you should reach out to Seokjin. His company might be able to cover the damage if the laundromat can’t.

Nearing the exit, you look anywhere but at Jungkook’s face. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, unsure what else to say. “Really, I am.”

Again, he lets you move past. Water rushes out when you open the door, seeking the street, then the gutter. Hurrying past, you can’t shake the feeling something has changed.

Not only with you and Jungkook, but with you and your magic. Silent, you prod the place deep within from which your magic stems. You’re used to a wall, feeling closed off but now, it seems your mom was right.

Once shattered, the dam can’t be rebuilt.

A weightlessness accompanies this that you didn’t anticipate. Despite the terror of your outburst, there was a moment near the end when you stopped it. When you felt what was wrong and controlled your outburst of magic. You haven’t done that before.

The thought is followed by regret, remembering Jungkook. When you broke up, it was supposed to save him. Instead, you’ve only put him – and yourself – in greater danger. Maybe because you’ve continued to see him. Everything would be fine if you moved or kept your distance.

But then, another part of you wonders if you were wrong from the start. Maybe instead of providing distance, you should have come closer. Should have allowed Jungkook to decide whether he wanted to stay. After all, today, he experienced the worst of your powers, and he didn’t run. If anything, he moved closer.

Suddenly exhausted, you hail a cab. The driver grumbles at your wet clothes but allows you inside, and you tip him extra upon reaching your place. What you should do is find another laundromat and finish your load, but there’s an itch in your fingers you haven’t felt in some time.

Dropping your hamper at the door, you shutter yourself within the third bedroom. Not allowing yourself to second-guess, you sit down at your easel and pick up a brush.

For the first time in a long time, you allow the magic to flow. You paint.

 © kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: thank you for reading so far! Continued in Part II, here.

[allpiesforourown]

Goodnight this may be a controversial take, but I really don't understand why people think Bingge's wives don't care about him.

He's gone on incredible adventures with these women, saved their lives by curing their ailments, and had children with them. In fact many of his wives, like Yingying and Mingyan, are explicitly said to have very good character, so why would he have a harem of women who only use him??

Even the palace mistress, as bratty and entitled as she is, cared for Luo Binghe in her own way. Yes from our point of view, we hated her for hurting Shen Qingqiu. But for her, all she wanted was to deliver justice for Binghe’s 'suffering'. If a girl sneaks into a prison to beat the shit out of your abuser because she's so heartbroken about your alleged mistreatment, that's NOT fickle crush behaviour.

I thunk it's easy to excuse Bingge's actions by saying, "Oh he was always lonely and unloved, that's why he turned out like that!" But there's really nothing to suggest that's true. If anything, it's said that Bingge is the one who uses his wives.

Maybe Bingge is just a lonely emperor and all his wives are just gold diggers who would abandon him at the drop of a hat. Or maybe, he has a large amount of people who love him and genuinely would help him, but were never allowed into his heart. Maybe his selfish behaviour is his own fault.

Bingge’s wives couldn't provide him the love that he needed to be happy, but that doesn't mean they failed as wives. Sometimes people can't fill the holes in our hearts, and that doesn't make their role in our life any less valuable.

[xo-cori]

Ellie is sooooo into sneaking around and secretly fucking you in public but Abby is a complete opposite she just wants you all only because only her can hear and see you because you’re hers. Idk how I think Dina would be!!!

kissing and hope they caught us

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: the best way to prove that somebody is yours is to show them off.

warnings: smut (MDNI), exhibitionism, ellie being a cocky little shit

a/n: lord forgive me

All you can feel is her hands, everywhere.

Her fingers reach somewhere deep inside you as the palm of her hand covers your mouth, muffling all of your pretty noises only because she’s not sure how it’d sound to an outsider. After all, the two of you are cramped in an almost pitch black laundry room, the dim blue LED lights from the living room barely creeping in through the slits of the unlocked door. She’d been staring at you all night, though. She could bear not seeing you for a few minutes.

“Gotta be quiet,” Ellie mutters, “don’t want anyone walking in, do you?”

She expects to get some sort of reaction out of you, but you only clench down around her fingers at the thought of it. You grasp at the edge of the washing machine for some support, knees barely holding you up now, and Ellie doesn’t even try to hold in her laugh. “Oh, you would fuckin’ like that.”

You let out a low whine, though she can still hear it over the loud music just down the hallway. She moves her hand from your mouth so she can bring her lips to yours, working to swallow all of your moans that couldn’t be held back even if you tried. You weren’t trying, though. Not one bit. You gasp into the kiss as her fingers curl up, thumb pressing down onto your clit in a steady rhythm that has you seeing stars behind your eyelids. It’s embarrassing how close you are after just a few minutes alone with Ellie. She does unspeakable things to you, and seems to have a habit of making a mess out of you no matter where you are.

Bathrooms, closets, backseats. It’s a thrill that she chases, that gives her just as much pleasure as she gives you– if not more.

You haven’t been caught, yet, but you’re starting to think that it’s only a matter of time. Luck runs out quicker the more you abuse it.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, grabbing onto her hair in a vain attempt to ground yourself. Your heart pounds in your ears to the beat of the music and she swears she can feel it against her own chest.

“Remember what I said, yeah? Quiet.” Ellie says. Regardless, her thrusts have somehow gotten faster and the speed dizzies you. Your head falls forward into her shoulder, pressing your mouth into the fabric of her sweatshirt to cover up the sound of another whine– it’s her name, she realizes, still quite loud despite your efforts.

She fucks you through our orgasm until you reach down to grab her wrist, halting her thrusts, mumbling something about it being too much, and she finally pulls out of you. You keep yourself tucked safely in her shoulder as you try to catch your breath.

Ellie lets you rest for a moment and takes the opportunity to lick the wetness from her pruned fingers, suddenly wishing that she’d taken you to a more secure area so that she could’ve tasted you properly– a regret she finds herself having often when you find yourselves in these situations.

After a few long moments, she gently grabs your chin and makes you look up at her, just barely able to see her eyes through the darkness. “Damn. I’m ready to go home if you are.”

Though you normally would’ve felt bad for leaving a party so early, you can’t imagine anything here better than what awaits you back home (or, if Ellie’s feeling to impatient, right there in the car). “I’ve been ready since we got here,” you huff.

“Do you think Dina’s gonna be mad?” She asks, eyebrows furrowing with a fickle concern that could easily be erased.

“Jesse brought Fireball, Els. She’s probably not gonna remember she even had this party.” You reply, to which she hums in agreement. Your friend isn’t exactly known for being able to handle her liquor, and you’d both seen her drink quite a bit of it within the span of a few hours. If she isn’t hunched over a toilet bowl by now, she’s probably going to keep drinking until she is.

So, Ellie kneels down to help you pull your shorts back up as you readjust your shirt to look more presentable; to make it look like you’d been doing anything but getting fucked in a laundry room.

You know, deep down, the thought of anyone finding out is only turning you on more.

[lieslab]

Waiting for us

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Seungmin X gn reader

Summary: After going to a carnival and getting stuck at the top of a ferris wheel, you crumble in your boyfriend's arms.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 5K

Trigger warning: Heights, anxiety, depression, mentions of nausea, parental issues, child abuse and neglect, self-hatred, self-harm, and mentions of not eating.

A/N: To whoever requested this, I don't know how you feel about carnivals. I don't know how you feel about ferris wheels and heights either, so I guessed. One of my most precious memories is my local county fair during warm summer days. I hope this warms your heart as much as it warms mine <3

_ _ _

You were playing pretend again. You were like a dancer frozen in time and trapped in a music box. Life cranked the knob and the music twinkled in the background. You spun, not because you wanted to, but because you had to. 

Life was hard, it always seemed to be. The weight of mental issues on your shoulders made it worse. Around and around you went playing the game of life. However, lately, it was just…different. 

The gears in your music box had rusted over time. They creaked and your music was beginning to warp. Years of endless dancing made you grow fatigued. You could barely find the effort to keep going and yet, you continued on and on. 

You were supposed to be happy today. You were trying your best, you really were. Your boyfriend had the whole day free and the two of you were supposed to enjoy the carnival together. He met you at the door with a grin and you tried to return it, but something was off. 

He noticed how defeated you looked instantly, but he ignored it. Feelings for you were fickle and you tended to struggle with them a lot. Talking about them was difficult and it made you uncomfortable. 

He didn’t know what it was, but he knew that you were off. The brown bags beneath your eyes had shifted to plum purple. Your cheeks seemed a bit more hollow than usual. There was a lingering darkness that surrounded you, but he didn’t know how to bring it up. 

Feelings for both of you, it was a bit of a struggle. Neither of you wanted to be a bother towards the other. It was one of the things that you both needed to work on in the relationship. 

When you arrived, you had high expectations. You thought the situation would cheer you up, but it didn’t. Carnivals were supposed to be filled with bright colors. Laughing people and screams from carnival rides. The oiled scent of fried food and the bubbling of excitement flowing through your veins. 

Everything felt entirely different this time. The colors were more muted and the background sounds seemed faint. The scent of fried food made your stomach churn with nausea. You couldn’t imagine eating a single bite without throwing up. 

You felt empty on the inside and you’d felt that way for a while. After a slew of personal issues, it was difficult to find your happiness. Things tended to control you more than you wanted them too. You didn’t know how to stop it. 

There were eyelets in your limbs with strings laced through. You were pulled in different directions and none of those were in the direction you wanted to go. A puppet on a string, you struggled with everything. 

Beside you, the warmth of Seungmin’s hand clutched yours firmly. He let you through the entrance after the two of you paid and he stopped on the path that led down the way. 

“So what do you want to do first?” 

Your eyes scanned the area as you debated. The more you saw, the more you just wanted to go home. Your anxiety was growing with the more people you saw and it was overwhelming. 

“What do you want to do?” You asked. 

Seungmin clicked his tongue and glanced around the area. “Well, I suppose we can go on the ferris wheel if you’re not a chicken.” 

“I’m not a chicken and I don’t mind heights.” 

“That’s what they all say.” 

“Are you challenging me?” 

“It’s not a challenge if you cop out.” 

“Fine, let’s get wristbands and then we can go on the ferris wheel. Just for that, we’ll go on it more than once. I’m not a chicken.” 

“You’d look cute with tail feathers.” 

You rolled your eyes and walked with Seungmin towards a ticket booth. Since you planned to spend a few hours here, you both decided it was a better option to get wristbands. Who knew how many rides the two of you’d go on. 

After retrieving your wristbands, the two of you headed to the ferris wheel. Since the carnival was in a larger city, the ferris wheel was bigger too. Small colorful enclosed baskets went high up into the setting sun before they curved and came back down. 

Soon, the neon lights in the place would be turned on. Seungmin specifically brought you here for that reason. Everything looked better in the evening at carnivals. The neon colors popped and the air was electrified.

When neon colors clashed together with upbeat pop music and laughter from everyone, it was otherworldly. To experience something by yourself and yet everyone was experiencing the same thing around you in their own little bubbles, it was magical and he loved it. 

The cabins looked like hot air balloons. The wide tops bulged out with the help of curved titanium rods and the supporting frame. The baby blue frame had been detailed with royal blue shadows to create the illusion of a basket. 

Neon lights wrapped around the whole piece and glittered neon blue when the time was right. Other baskets were created similar and with different colors. The whole thing was much larger and more sophisticated than the average county fair ferris wheels with metal bucket seats. 

When it was your turn, Seungmin gently led you in front of him and let go of your hand. The attendant held open the small metal gate for you to climb in. Once you were in, Seungmin moved to the opposite side and sat down. 

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. You lied to Seungmin, you hated heights, but you knew that he liked the ferris wheel. Seungmin liked anything with beautiful detailing and photographic qualities. He was probably going to take photos of the view and upload them to Bubble later. 

A round table sat in the center of the two of you. You let your arms rest on it and let out a soft sigh as the two of you were slowly eased up. The soft breeze was enough to catch your hair and pull it back. When Seungmin realized it, he let out a small laugh. 

You pulled up your arm and let your chin rest on your hand. Trying to ignore the growing fear, you let your eyes shut. Seungmin pulled out his phone and began to snap photos. 

“I think I was wrong about you. It’s clear that you’re not a chicken.” 

“I told you,” you mumbled. Your stomach churned and the beginning of nausea was beginning to creep up. You forced yourself to suck in a deep breath and try to calm down. 

The ride kept going up and then stopping as more people got on until it finally began going up and didn’t stop. Your eyes squeezed shut tighter and you eventually shifted. Your palms dug into your eyes as you buried your head in your hands. 

The movement caused Seungmin to glance over. He frowned and spoke up. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“I hate heights,” you mumbled. 

“Then why did yo-” 

“Because you wanted to see the view and I didn’t want to let you down. You were teasing me and I didn’t want you to think I was a coward.” 

“Baby, you know I was just kidding, right? If you would have said something, I wouldn’t have made you go on the ride. I could have gone by myself and gave you some money to go get a snack or something.” 

“I don’t want your money!” You snapped. The situation wasn’t such a big deal, but with everything going on in your life recently, you were upset. Things kept going wrong and the pressure gauge was beginning to crank up. How long were you going to keep things to yourself until you blew? 

Seungmin stared at you for a moment, unsure of what to do. There was more tension between the two of you. He couldn’t see your face as you hid it with your hands, but he knew you were struggling. 

The longer the silence went on, the more he realized he needed to say something. It was clear that you weren’t going to address the elephant between the two of you. Something was going on with you and if he had to, he was going to pry it from you. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but a loud creaking sound interrupted. Down below, someone screamed. Your hands jerked from your face and you looked around with wide eyes. The ferris wheel halted with you and Seungmin stuck at the top. 

Gears ground together and shouts filled the air. In the middle of your panic, you slipped your hand into Seungmin’s and he squeezed it back lightly. You sucked in a shaky breath and squeezed your eyes shut again. 

“What’s going on?” Someone shouted at the ride operator down below. 

The ride operator had hit the emergency stop button when things started to go wrong. He cupped his hands together and yelled back, so everyone could hear him. 

“I don’t know, but hang tight. Don’t worry, we’ll get it figured out soon enough. You guys might be stuck for a bit.” 

Around the wheel, there were a plethora of different responses. Below you, someone complained and another one groaned. Someone else tried to see the positive side of things and complimented the view. Your heart pounded in your chest as you kept hold of Seungmin’s hand. 

“Are you okay?” Seungmin spoke softly. 

All you could do was frantically shake your head back and forth. Seungmin shifted in his spot and the cabin began to rock slightly. Your panic grew until the comforting scent of Seungmin’s cologne filled your nose. 

“Don’t worry, I’m right here, I’ve got you.” He wrapped an arm around your neck and tugged you closer. Comforted, you buried your head into the side of his shoulder. 

With his other hand, he reached over and gently began to loop his fingers through your hair. The soft gesture always comforted you when you were struggling. You buried your head further into his shoulder, but it wasn’t enough. 

You wanted to block the world out and forget this entire thing happened. You wanted to be back on solid ground. You wanted the comfort of your bed. You wanted your heavy limbs to find comfort in the cotton sheets and silk pillowcases. 

“Come here.” 

You didn’t fight it when he gently pulled your body closer. The way he moved you around, you felt like a small child. His fingers found your hips and he pulled you onto his lap. Your legs straddled his and the table behind you pressed against your back. 

Seungmin shifted back and you fell back with him. Your head landed on the curve of his collarbone. His arms wrapped around the small of your back. Despite the horrific scenario, you found yourself being comforted. 

“Is that better?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

His left hand began to lightly draw patterns on your back. He could feel how tense you were in his arms. You were worked up about everything. 

“It’s alright, I’ve got you and I won’t let go.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

The breeze picked up and swept your hair off to the side. Seungmin’s head rested back against one of the metal poles. In the distance, birds were happily chirping and unaware of your predicament. 

Seungmin was nervous, but he wasn’t outright terrified. He knew the ride operator was trained and the carnival had protocols in place. He knew that they’d know what to do to get them out of the situation safely. Besides, being worked up about it would only add to your stress. 

In his chest, your eyes were squeezed shut. You sucked in deep breaths trying to find rhythm in the madness. Your fingers clutched the back of Seungmin’s shirt. After a while, he began to hum, hoping it’d calm you down. 

When you began to relax, he let out a sigh of relief. He let his eyes shut and continued to find comfort in you. You were his warmth. You were there for everything for him and he wanted to be there for you too. 

“Baby, I think we need to talk about something.” 

You shifted your head with your eyes shut. Instead of being buried in his chest, your cheek pressed against it instead. You kept your eyes shut, so you didn’t have to see the staggering view down below. 

“Hmm?” 

“I don’t want to ruin our day, but I really think I need to talk to you about some stuff. I know feelings are uncomfortable for you, but over the past few weeks…no,” he shook his head. “It’s been longer than that. I should have brought it up, but you like your independence. I know you find it hard to lean on me.” 

A lump began to fill the back of your throat. Despite the closed eyes, you could feel the burn of tears welling up. You thought you were doing a good job, but clearly not. He knew something was wrong. 

“I don’t like seeing you suffer alone. You mean everything to me, you know? I’m sorry I don’t say it enough, but I mean it. I’m not good with words, but you make me feel mushy on the inside.” 

“Everyone says you’ll come around when you’re ready, but you haven’t. You just slowly keep getting worse and worse. I’m afraid for you, baby. I’m afraid something is seriously wrong and I know how you struggle. You’ll drown silently before you ever reach out for help.” 

“It’s partly my fault, I should have brought it up sooner. I just…” He trailed off and squeezed his arms around you tighter. “I’m so afraid of saying the wrong thing and losing you. So please, please tell me what’s on your mind. Maybe I can’t fix it, but you don’t have to do it alone.” 

Your breathing hitched as your fingers curled into him tighter. You weren’t sure how to get the words out. You didn’t know how to say it, but you had to try. He was right, you were tired of drowning. 

“Do you ever…do you ever just feel like everyone’s against you?” Your voice came out shrill. You tried to swallow to hide it, but it stayed there. “Like no matter what you do, you just can’t win?” 

“Sometimes, yes, but I remember all the good in my life and I focus on that. I cherish the little things I have and the relationship I have with the people around me. I have my band, my fans, and my family. Plus, I-” 

“They hate me,” you weakly got out. 

“Huh?” 

“My family.” 

Your eyes finally opened to view the scene down below. Your teeth sunk into the soft skin of your bottom lip as you tried not to sob. Below you, friends and families were gathered and laughing. 

You could see them now. The mothers on the carousel holding their kids up and making sure they’re okay. The fathers clutching the handles of the rides and screeching in delight as their child giggles beside them. 

The sickly sweet artificial taste of bright pink cotton candy melting on the tongue of a three-year-old. Above them, their parents beam and ask how it tastes. It’s the first time they’ve ever had something this sweet before. 

On the other side of the carnival, a grandparent is playing skeeball with their grandkid. The two are laughing and the grandparent feels like a kid again. The potential of winning a large prize makes them aim carefully and try their hardest. 

A couple is announcing their pregnancy to their parents right before they play mini golf. They’re all so thrilled, the parents are hugging and kissing. The soon to be parents are ecstatic and clutching tightly to each other via hands. 

Parents are everywhere. It’s the adopted kid who happily runs and leads his adopted father towards his favorite ride. It’s the stepkids who are warming up to their new stepmother. They’re nervous and looking over at their father for reassurance. He breaks the ice by buying them all lemonade and sprinkled candy apples. 

Families and parents were everywhere. Compared to what you went through with yours, this was like a mini trip to hell. You couldn’t help, but feel stung by defeat being here. In front of Seungmin, while admitting this, you felt three inches tall. 

Your limbs were weighed down with sadness and melancholy. The scene was beautiful up here and yet, you couldn’t help, but feel blue. The sky was filled with swirls of lavender and citrus oranges. Some god had blown the sky full of confectionary kisses, but you couldn’t focus on it. 

There was an ache in your bones and a longing. A longing for a life of love. Being in a romantic relationship didn’t fill the void left behind by parental issues and it never would. You could be in the happiest relationship and the hollowness could still creep up. 

Everyone wants to be nurtured and loved. Every kid deserves to be loved, but not every person deserves to be a parent. There are no regulations as to who can be a parent. For some, it’s the best thing to ever happen to them. For others, it’s a life-long burden. 

“Am I difficult to love?” You went on. “Is there something wrong with me? I don’t think my mother loves me very much. I thought I meant everything to her, but lately with her actions, she just…” You trailed off, unable to finish. “I just want to be good enough.” 

Seungmin’s heart cracked in his chest at your words. The ooze of hurt surrounding you filled the air and it curdled his marrow. You were the love of his life, how could someone not love you? 

It was like someone had gotten out the scissors and began to snip through his heartstrings. Every word you uttered, it was another snip and another gust of pain. How could your parents not love you? 

“Is that how you feel?” 

“I can’t handle it, Seungmin.” 

The use of his name and not a pet name was like a slap to the face. 

“It’s killing me and I-I can’t deal with it. How do I become someone else?” Tears started to drip down your cheeks. “How do I become better? How can I be a better kid? What am I missing?” 

“Do I need to act differently? Do I need to get plastic surgery done, so I can look better? I feel like my mother’s little barbie doll. She controls me, but she doesn’t really love me. I want to be loved. I want to be needed. I want to be wanted, and I-” 

Your voice broke off. Seungmin shut his own eyes trying not to cry at your words. He knew you had issues with your family, but he didn’t know it was this bad. You hid everything so well. You kept it from everyone and kept it locked away because that’s what good children did. 

Good children shut up about the abuse and neglect they received for the sake of their parents’ image. They uphold the look that their parents have conjured up. They do such a good job, you’d never know. 

You’d never realize those bags beneath their eyes are from lack of sleep. You’d never know how much they’ve been screamed at. You wouldn’t know how much they’ve destroyed themselves to keep their parents happy. A child will do anything to please a parent. 

On and on it goes until a child breaks. The moment you do, there’s a target on your back. You’re not strong enough, you’re not brave enough, you’re not smart enough, and you’re not good enough. Just wanting their approval, you believe them. How could you not? You just want to make your parents happy. 

But bad parents deserve to be outed. It is a privilege to have a child. You are creating the next generation. You have a choice in playing a role in what type of person you want your child to become. 

How dare you break them down into bits of self-hatred and disgust when somewhere out there, another mother would kill to have a chance to lift their child up. Someone out there dreams of telling their child that they are precious. Someone strokes the face of a child in their dreams and they will never have it. 

“It hurts. It hurts so much and I feel like I can’t do anything right. I can barely eat and I’m either not sleeping or I’m sleeping all the time. I feel like I’m slowly rotting from the inside out. I don’t know how to escape it. It got so bad the other day that I…I…” 

The words got stuck in your throat and they wouldn’t come out. It hurt to admit that everything got so bad that you needed some sort of release. Shaken like soda, you were ready to explode. Self-harming had always been a release for you. 

It made you feel like you were doing something right. You were punishing yourself for everything you weren’t. For not being good enough. For not being able to endure the pain. For not being strong enough. For being unloveable. 

Your blood was tainted with sadness. It oozed out bright red and all you could do was watch with a sigh of relief. For once, you were finally doing something right when everything else seemed to be wrong. 

You didn’t have to finish the sentence, but Seungmin knew. His arms tightened around you and he pulled your body towards him even more. He wanted to take it all away. He’d embody this sadness and soak it up like a sponge if he could. 

Your breathing grew ragged as you tried not to cry. You were outside, but there were people below you on either side. If you started to sob, you knew you’d gain their attention. Plus, it might stress out the ride operator down below. 

“Hey, hey, hey, shhh.” Seungmin’s hand comfortingly rubbed your back. “It’s alright, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” 

Your voice tightened again, “I just want to be loved.” 

“And loved, you are. It seems like I need to do a better job at showing you that because you don’t feel like it. You mean everything to me and I’m sorry your parents are that way.” 

“You’ve grown up and turned into such a wonderful person. It’s shitty that they can’t see that. Despite everything, you have turned out amazing. You have a golden heart. You’re precious on the inside and out.” 

“Do you really think that I’d fall in love with just anyone?” He continued. “I’m so picky with who I date that Lee Know believed I was destined to be alone for the rest of my life and then I met you.” 

“I’m a burden.” 

“If you mean making me stutter like an idiot and making my heart flutter, then yeah, you’re a burden. You’re a burden when you send me those goofy selfies and make me blush so hard that I can’t help, but smile because you look cute.” 

“You’re such a burden because every time you text me during rehearsals, I blush and look like an idiot in front of my band members. Do you know how many times I’ve been teased by the old man?” 

You sniffled. 

“Every time he teases me, I tell him that it must be hard for him. Not a single person has looked his way. Why do you think he’s always flirting with the fans on Bubble? He’s like a dog in heat. When he’s horny, everyone knows about it.” 

The sudden confession made you snort. Seungmin smiled and kept talking. “You’re my pride and joy. You know how you have your photocards of me in your wallet? Yeah, well, I made some of you.” 

“Really?” 

“Duh! I’ve gotta be ready to show off my significant other at all times. I could talk about you for hours. You know what?” 

“What?” 

“You’ve got me so smitten that I asked Hyunjin for date recommendations. You know how he’s the romantic one? Yeah, I caved. You’ve got me wrapped around your little fingers.” 

“Really?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

You sat up with teary eyes and another sniffle. Seungmin stared at you and gently brushed his thumbs beneath your eyes. “Oof.” His face scrunched up. “Crying doesn’t look the best on you.” 

You ignored his teasing comment. “And what did Hyunjin say? What was his suggestion?” You reached up with your palms and rubbed the wet tears away. 

“Look at me.” 

You pulled your hands away and glanced up at him. You didn’t have time to react as he cupped your face. Before you knew it, he tilted his head and connected your lips. 

Up above the world, the two of you shared a soft kiss. Your lips were seeped in salt from your tears, but he didn’t care. All your previous negative thoughts began to fall away. 

So wrapped up in everything, you forgot about the person who meant the most to you. You forgot about the joy he brought. You forgot how he seemed to melt away every bad thought and warm your heart. Your arms wrapped around his neck and he tugged your hips closer. 

“I got it!” A voice called from down below. There was a creak and the ride began to boot up. Around the two of you, there was a faint hum and the neon blue bulbs around your basket tinkered to life. 

You pulled away from Seungmin wide-eyed and breathless. The two of you glanced around and the ride began to descend. Seungmin’s arms stayed wrapped around your waist. 

“We’re going down?” 

“We’re going down,” he echoed. 

“Thank, fuck.” 

He leaned back when you let your chin drop to his shoulder. Your arms wrapped around his back and you let out a final sigh of relief. His hands found your back. 

“I know I’m not perfect and I won’t be able to give you what your parents couldn’t. I just hope you realize how good you are and how much you mean to me. Your parents are assholes and you deserve the entire world. I’d do anything for you.” 

“I just wish things were better with them.” 

“I know. The next time you feel like hurting yourself, please talk to me. I don’t want you to feel like that ever again. Even if you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll make an exception and let you cuddle me.” 

“Really?” You pulled away from him with bright eyes and a smile. He nodded with a fluttering heart. You looked good with a smile. 

“Um…” Your smile fell. “I’m sorry for ruining our date. That was a lot and I-” 

“No worries, it’s okay. I’m glad we got to talk about it. You know how I said crying doesn’t look good on you? Your best look is the one where you’re smiling.” 

“What if I was wearing something ugly?” 

“Doesn’t matter, the smile brings it together.” 

“You’re being cheesy now.” 

“Hyunjin said being cheesy was good.” 

“You should stop getting dating advice from Hyunjin. I don’t want to date him, I want to date you. We should just do whatever you want to do.” 

“I’m so sorry this happened. Please forgive me!” The ride operator was incredibly apologetic as he opened the small metal gate. “Were you crying? I’m sorry!” 

“It’s alright,” you smiled at him and shifted off of Seungmin. 

The two of you left the basket and you were happy to finally be back on the ground. Seungmin linked his hand through yours and shook his head. “You’re right, I’m never listening to Hyunjin ever again.” 

“What do you want to do then?” 

“I want to go get us our favorite slushies. Try not to cry and season yours with your tears. I highly doubt salty slushies taste good and I’m not buying you another one.” 

“Touché.” 

He led you through a path of people and towards a slushie stand. As you passed a stand with fried food, your stomach loudly rumbled. Your cheeks went bright red as you mumbled an apology. You hadn’t eaten in so long that your hunger was finally starting to come back. You felt a million times better after the conversation with Seungmin. 

“Scratch that, we’ll get food and then we’ll get slushies. I bet I can eat more fried food than you.” 

“No way!” 

Seungmin smirked, “then prove it.” 

“I will!” You stuck your tongue out at him. 

Seungmin instantly jerked his hand up and gently pinched the tip of it. You pulled away and gagged. “Ew! Gross! You’ve got cooties!” 

“And now you’re infected too. Boo-hoo. Whatever shall you do now?” 

“Another kiss?” 

“Only because I feel bad for you. My kisses are rare, you know? My lips could warm the arctic if I traveled there.” 

“I hope you never read any of Hyunjin’s poetry again.” 

“Just for that, I’m telling Chan you want to call him grandpa from now on. Since you need a new family, he can be the first one to test it out on. Just wait until he hears about this. You’re never going to hear the end of it. I’m texting the group chat and maybe you can call Lee Know ‘kitten’ or something.” 

“Seungmin, no!” 

“Last I checked, I was your baby.” 

“Baby, no!” 

He grinned and took off into the crowd. You screeched and sprinted off after him. He pulled out his phone and dodged and weaved. You yelled after him, not caring that people were staring at the two of you. 

As you flew by an elderly couple, the pair watched you dart down the path. The woman laughed as she squeezed her lover’s hand. “I remember how those days were.” 

“We were just two young kids in love. I’m glad that it’s still playful and timeless as ever. I can’t remember the last time I ran that fast.” 

“Me neither. I treasure those memories a lot. We might not be able to run, but we sure can fly. I’ve heard they're letting adults ride on the carousel. Want to give it a shot for old times sake?” 

“Of course I do, darling. If it’s with you, absolutely. I’ve said it years ago and I’ll say it again, I’d do anything for you.” 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡|

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[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 1 (Alastor x Reader)

Banner Alastors done by @blobin456drawz <3

Human Alastor x married reader Rated Adult for adult themes, triggering content and sexual content. I wouldn't say this is dead dove but it's dead dove adjacent. Series Trigger Warnings: Adultery, stalking, Sexual assault, Rape, smut of undetermined sorts, Domestic Violence, Time period accurate views on women and domestic violence and skin color, Alastor is a serial Killer, there's murder, there's angst, there's dark content.

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you?

And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

Onto more important matters- Please be mindful. This story is dark and triggering at times. I've written portions to elicit an emotional reaction. As you should always do with dark content, even if you're not at risk of being triggered, please step back and take a breather when needed. The story will always be here when you get back. I am so tickled by the excitement this story has generated ahead of its release. We're looking at tentatively between 20 and 30 chapters (A note from future Kit: Ha! That was a cute prediction... I'm drafting chapter 37 rn and looking at 50...(Another note for future-er Kit...we're writing chapter 51 rn... we're not passing 60) posted once a week on Fridays.

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Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord, all are welcome!

Audio by Nyx Productions, Part 1, part 2

To the world, you appeared nothing more than a simple woman with a placid smile, gliding through town. The rhythmic click of your sensible black heels echoed against the sidewalk. To a trained eye, your gait could be categorized as slightly staggered, stiff, and just a little uneven, but to an untrained eye? There was nothing to see, but a modestly dressed woman, impeccably put together though just slightly out of fashion, performing the role of the ideal well-to-do wife with the precision of a clockwork automation. 

You could have taken a bus, but you would rather walk, or at least that was your story, but it wasn’t totally true. You tried to focus on the positive, a lesson your parents had instilled in you from an early age. If you couldn’t focus on the positive little bits of your life, what else was there?

It was nice to get out of the prison of your home. That is what you’d tell anyone that asked, though you wouldn’t call it a prison to anyone but yourself. They would smile and nod, like was polite and they’d make small talk about how mundane the life of a homemaker was and assure her that as soon as little ones landed her days would be filled with excitement and joy. 

What wouldn’t be said was how you wished she could brave the bus because your simple heels hurt your feet or how the idea of falling pregnant terrified you. You couldn’t, wouldn’t really, brave the bus because it would jostle you and you’d surely bump into someone or something. This time of day, the bus would be crowded and people would bump into you.

Today you couldn’t have that. 

Today you needed to protect yourself.

Stepping into the tailor shop you thanked the man on his way out, holding the door open for you on his way. With a sigh, you let the relief of an errand half done wash over you as you stepped up to the counter. Behind you, the bell above to door jingled, announcing another new arrival to the small shop.

Glancing over your shoulder, you hardly registered the tall man with tan skin and fluffy brown hair as he held the door open for his short blonde companion. An odd pair, you thought before turning back to the counter, showing the woman where the sleeve on your dress was torn, seam along the shoulder ripped and explaining your fabricated story of how it happened. 

She smiled at you with pity. This was injury to clothing she knew well though she would never be so bold as to talk about it. You were not the only woman in town to frequent the tailors with ripped shoulder seams or dark rust colored stains. These were the secrets she kept, a professional curtesy that was expected from her but always unsaid. Did the people of the city even realize the things she knew?

“It’ll be ready in a few days, Mrs. Latimer.” The shopkeeper was quick to take the dress from you, doing the work of holding it up and examining the rip. 

It was a small mercy, to not have to raise your arm much at all. The woman folded the dress neatly away and slipping it below the counter before motioning you aside while she wrote out your ticket. She was a master at multitasking, finishing your ticket as she greeted the newcomers who seemed less eager to step up to the counter than the shopkeeper was to serve them.

“What about that one?” the blonde woman whispered to her companion as you thanked the shop keeper as she handed you your ticket. The newcomers lingered, taking their time making their way to the counter. 

“Mimzy, we are here to pick up your dress,” the man’s rich voice sounded familiar but you couldn’t place it. Glancing at him, you tried to place where you could know him from but came up blank. That was just as well, Laurence didn’t let you really socialize much outside of your day to day tasks.

The blonde, Mimzy you had gathered her name was, wiggled her fingers to you in a wave as she caught you looking their way before directing her attention back to the man she was with. 

“Yes, yes. And you need the lining of your coat restitched,” She made a show of rolling her eyes, performing for an audience of only a handful, “You’re no fun sometimes.” 

“A dreadfully dull time, that’s me,” the man laughed lightly.

“I’m just saying,” Mimzy continued as you stepped toward the door, “You’re a good man. A decent man. You should find someone, is all. You don’t gotta settle down but you don’t gotta be alone all the time either.” 

You cringed, struggling to push open the heavy door, trying to not listen in on the pair’s clearly private conversation. You had been too eager when you pushed on it and your shoulder didn’t hold up to the stress well, pain flaring. It was easy enough to forget how painful your shoulder was in the moment. 

It wasn’t so bad, as long as you didn’t overdo it. Pushing open the heavy door yourself was clearly enough to count as overdoing it today. 

“Here, allow me.” The man pushed open the door for you, holding it open with a palm high along the edge of the door, giving you plenty of space to exit. 

You ducked under his arm with a mumbled word of thanks. It didn’t matter, he didn’t seem to really be listening for it anyway as he directed his attention back to his companion as he let the door begin to fall closed as soon as you were out of striking range of it.

“And why should I-” the rest of his words were lost behind the closing door. 

Alastor sat in the empty lounge, sipping his rye as Mimzy talked on and on while she changed. The dress surely would fit her just how she wanted, it was custom fitted but that didn’t stop her from putting on this whole production every time they got back from the seamstress. 

He knew the song and dance well enough, having known the woman for the past few years. She would change. He would complement. She would complain. He would reassure. She would blush and call him a flirt. He would move on with his day. 

“Oh!” Mimzy interrupted herself, earning a raised eyebrow from Alastor. “I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what, my dear?” 

She popped her head out from between the curtains, “I think I found myself a new juice supplier. You’re off the hook.”

“You think?” Alastor downed the rest of his drink in one smoothe gulp.

“Ya- Laurence’ll be able to take over soon and you’ll be off the hook again. I know you ain’t eager for that amount of risk. Told you it was only temporary.” 

Alastor hummed in acknowledgement as Mimzy went on and on about Laurence. He was tall, not as tall as Alastor, she assured him, but still tall and handsome. He tuned out her ramblings, mind instead turning back to the woman Mimzy had pointed out at the tailor shop. Such a timid little thing, fashion just outdated enough to stand out. 

Mimzy smacked his shoulder with a bar towel, leaning across the counter to look him in his eyes as she demanded his attention, “Yes?”

“You’re distracted,” she stated simply. 

“Just thinking about tomorrow’s broadcast.” Alastor answered simply, running his finger over the rim of the empty glass. “That’s all.” 

“Mhm,” she narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned back from her. “You sure you ain’t thinking about a pretty face?” 

“Haven’t seen any prettier faces than yours today.” 

Mimzy laughed loudly and teased, “Flirt! But I know it ain’t my face that’s got you distracted. Was it the doll at the shop? She was cute!” 

“She’s got a man,” Alastor countered. 

“And how the hell would you know from not speaking to her at all?” 

Alastor shrugged, “Just got a feeling about her.” 

He could tell Mimzy that she had that hollow look in her eyes that a woman got when she had a partner that got a bit too rough with her. Hell, he could point out the way she couldn’t manage to open the door to the shop, her shoulder weak from strained muscles. Did the man that called her his toss her around by the arm last night? Yank her a little too roughly?

He wouldn’t though because it didn’t matter. It wasn’t worth having Mimzy ask questions about his past or worse, assume the reason he had no partner of his own was due to any reason beyond him not desiring to be weighed down. 

“I bet a charming lad like yourself could sweep her out from under whatever man she’s caught up with anyway. Want another?” Mimzy pointed at the empty glass as melting ice settled in the bottom. 

“I’m good, Darling- It’s early yet.” 

Your feet were killing you as you made your way home. Still, you couldn’t help but take your time. If you were out, you were not home cleaning, cooking or waiting for your husband to return. While you were out, you could pretend to be your own person and it was alright, you had to keep up appearances as long as it was the right appearance. 

Lingering in front of the newsstand, you let your eyes run over the papers and magazines each with bold words on the covers, fighting for the eye’s attention. 

The headlines were polar opposites in many cases. Some celebrated the progress and change made in the 24 months since women had been granted the right to the vote. Others bemoaned the change and the influence women could now have on the world around them, pointing at any little thing as a sign of the doom this would spell for society as a whole. 

The idea made you laugh. Two years and while you did your best to learn, you hadn’t even come close to a polling center. Your husband wouldn’t allow it. Whatever change there may have been for better or for worse, you had no part of it. 

You knew which of the papers your loving husband would pick up and celebrate. It wasn’t the same ones you would but that didn’t matter. Women may have had the right to vote but you knew you were little more than an accessory in the world you lived in. 

Moving on with your walk home, you tried to force yourself to relax your shoulders and back. The pain was starting in from tensed muscles, telling you that while you hadn’t been watching your posture well enough, you had curled in on yourself. 

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your parted lips, slowly as you pulled your head up and your shoulders back, trying to ignore the way the muscles screamed in protest. You forced your spine straight and winced at the pain in your shoulder as you worked your fingers into the tense muscle, trying to convince it to relax. 

It would pain you for a few more days yet and if you were lucky, that would be it. You just needed to be good until it had a chance to heal. 

“Good Day, Mrs. Latimer.” A man you should have known tipped his hat at you in greeting, startling you out of the thoughts you hadn’t realized absorbed you as you walked slowly down the sidewalk. 

He was closer than you had expected when he snatched your attention, causing you to gasp and flinch back, shoulder twinging in pain. You didn’t like people in your space, at least not without warning. All it would take was someone saying you were getting too close to a man to your husband and hell would rain down on you regardless of the truth of it. 

Your shoulder banged into the light post behind you. You didn’t know it was there, having lost track of your surrounding as you walked in the haze of thoughts. A gasped yelp slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

Appearances. You had to keep up appearances. Swallow the pain, don’t let anyone know. Don’t let anyone see. 

“You alright?” The man asked as he steadied you, large hand gripping the outside of your shoulder only making the pain flair more. 

Shrugging out from under his grip, you painted on a false smile as you willed the tears in your eyes back. 

“I’m fine,” You looked away as you saw pity cross the man’s face. How much did he see? Surely not more than what was normal, what was acceptable?

“You be careful ma’am,” the man nodded wisely to you. “Didn’t you hear? There’s a serial killer running around. Probably not good for a lady to be out alone till they catch the bastard- pardon my language.” 

“Oh my,” you tried to play the unsteadiness on your feet as being from the terrifying news. Would be believe it? Did be believe it? “I’ll be sure to be mindful, thank you.” 

You didn’t need his pity but what you needed even less of was him seeing any real reason to pity you. Forcing your hand from your shoulder, you tried to ignore the pain, to will it away. 

There was nothing to see here. Just Mrs. Latimer making her way home from the tailor shop. There were no bruises. No torn dresses. Nothing wrong. 

Life was perfectly normal, a storybook where you were married into a family of means with your family having so very little to offer. 

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Next?Masterlist

[slowd1ving]

Hiiiii can u write Kim Dokja x Goth!Male!reader this sponsor constellation is Apollo and The reader is a simp for Dokja ( I love this man )

LOVE LIKE BLOOD ・゜゜KIM DOKJA

“The life is short, and I’m running faster all the time, Strength and beauty destined to decay, So cut the rose in full bloom.” By chance you meet him, by chance you become his friend, by chance you stay by his side; until it cannot be called fickle, capricious chance any longer, but an example of the inevitable law of universal attraction between two starving masses. art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! also thank you anon this ask was so big brained I yapped on for like 5k words (very sorry if you wanted headcanon/drabble form I got the most profound inspiration for this at like 3am :3) also damn you have no idea how many song titles I was perusing trying to find a suitable one for this... pairing: kim dokja + male goth reader warnings: pretty graphic metaphors, child abandonment/implied parental death, child neglect + abuse, alcohol, smoking, depression + bullying, hurt/comfort, injury, violence (as it's orv), does 10+ year long pining and oddly tense homoeroticism need a warning, anon I hope you ENJOY reading because I enjoyed writing wc: 5.6k (YAP because i love this silly man, I've never written so much for a request before lmao)

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Fundamentally, you and him are the same. 

There’s a sense of loss that’s too heavy for either of your bodies to comprehend. Rather than a heart, there’s a black hole right where the organ lies; so greedy, so hungry for acknowledgement. Born blue into this world—deprived of oxygen yet wailing, screaming for your voice to be heard—it’s little wonder you’ve always been avaricious for the love your parents could never give. The hands cradling the babe were never loving; they were clinical, they were covered in sterile blue gloves and they smelled only of caustic antiseptic. There was no kiss on your slimy, puckered forehead. There was only the sting of alcoholic sanitiser. 

Kim Dokja is similar, yet his parents wouldn’t (rather than couldn’t, for in your embittered mind the two concepts were so different as to be alien) spare him scraps of care. Rather than press a kiss to their son’s awaiting cheek, only bruises blossomed where the love should’ve been. No flowers were given for Children’s Day—only oily blood spilling and macerating against his chubby hands as a last, vibrant gift for their son. 

These two black holes sputtered on their axes while they spun round each other: gluttonous, esurient for care that didn’t come with bruises and wailing grief. 

Seoul had been unusually cold; blue afternoons spanned across the school rooftops. They were frigid and foggy—perfect for avoiding detection. Thus, the boy without kisses (only contused skin) encountered another like him on the rooftop that day. Against the haze, your own cigarette smoke had dulled the edges of what he saw—a boy canted against the railing with rippling earphones and a head tilted so far back he could taste the polluted mist. 

A merger had occurred. 

And though neither of you said it, there was an unspoken recognition of each other’s greed in that moment. Your eyes, ghosting over his injuries while the heavy bass played and the prussic wisps trailed around him: deep reverberations sounding a bit too like his careening heartbeat—as he made sure no one had followed him up here, that he was safe. And his umbrous eyes—honed in on the cigarette wedged between your lips, now stained black from the gloss decorating your humourless smile.

Maybe it was just that inherent feeling of kinship that came with avariciousness: a snarling sort of camaraderie that snagged at your skin with its claws. The wounds left behind were tender, but tender was precisely the adjective you were looking for—as was he. 

And so, Kim Dokja found himself coming to this particular rooftop the next day. When his breathing came ragged and his vision began to swim, he instinctively sought the numbness the frigid azurine firmament would bring. Like a wounded animal, he sought safety. Flight over fight—a lesson he’d learnt too late. Bruised fists would never save him. 

There you sat—eyes closed and lips still glossed in modest black. There were silver rings on your hands; rings he’d seen flashing before his eyes before he was hit, that those people no longer sported. Quietly, he matched up the scrapes on your own knuckles to the ones decorating their faces: to their unusual sullenness today. They’d furtively sequestered themselves in a club room all break, touching their swollen lips and eyes with bruised fists. Bruised fists. Like trophies, the achromatic metal glinted against the cobalt haze, and for once, his heart didn’t skip any beats at the sight of the gleaming metal. Neither did you acknowledge his presence nor their sins, but still, he sat on the same bench you were sprawled upon: hugging his bag to his chest while he scrolled the hallowed pixels of Ways of Survival. 

There was no grand exchange of words, no heartfelt conversations between Kim Dokja and the boy with a messed-up uniform. 

This was how tentative company was kept for a fragile week. 

Tuesday was the day that fragility finally shattered. He still remembers every detail about it—down to the particular cigarette brand you’d purchased that morning, down to the chips in your dark nail polish, down to just how many rings you’d worn on your left hand (three—it was three rings). Tears had spilled down his cheeks that afternoon; they warped and distorted the words that had saved him thus far, evoked from the pain in his purple ribs and his empty stomach. Somehow, the salt he’d kept tightly bound had been coaxed by your cold presence—perhaps, knowing your indifference made it easier to cry pathetically in front of you. 

You still didn’t speak, but you did hand him a tissue. You still didn’t speak, but you did press your shoulder to his own trembling one: smelling of caustic smoke, and something rich and sweet lingering beneath the plumes. You still didn’t speak, but your rings clinked on your left hand as you unhooked the earbud in your pierced ear and offered it to him: fingers brushed against his palm as he was forcibly shocked out of crying any further, like a blubbering child faced with such a conundrum that their little brains focused entirely on that rather than the reason for their tears. 

Melancholy had streamed out of the device. Doleful chords twined against threnetic voices—which he could not translate nor understand but could feel in pulsing waves. 

In that short whorl in the great machine of time, in the chill of the blue hour, he could not help but feel warm.

And thus, that Tuesday changed the trajectory of this merger somewhat. A deafening hum had finally blossomed from the gargantuan event; your presence could no longer be described as distant. 

When he went to class the next day, you were in the seat next to him: a mirage brought on by his lack of food, no doubt. He limped to his desk, but there your corporeal form remained: this time with silver chains lining the base of your throat and a dry, sharp grin decorating your face. Sure, he knew there was a student that never showed up in his class, but he wasn’t expecting it to be you: your name now a permanent fixture in his mind. 

There was a new name for this phenomenon: friendship. 

The boy, with the pensive music and trophies stolen from Dokja’s tormentors, smiled up at the reader staring at him. It was an inviting gesture: the proverbial hand reaching out, the hand which he took.

You weren’t a particularly talkative friend at first: preferring to simply share your music rather than speak much. That was fine with him—it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to reading alone. Then, you started bringing boxes of food alongside your cigarettes: containers that lacked the refinement of store bought meals. One for you, and one sheepishly thrust out to him with a smile bright as burst yolk and as messy as it too. Consequently, he returned a wobbly, unsure smile back at you—not mentioning that the vegetables were slightly burnt, slightly too salty. But that was fine. The more lunches you brought, the more skilled your hands became—until he never felt truly full unless he was eating what you gave him. 

In return, he cracked open his soul: pried its rusted walls with bleeding fingernails in a gesture never before seen, not since his childhood when he still knew what hope meant. Dokja for once didn’t blubber apologies and pleas for mercy—but became a teenager rather than a groveller. He complained about teachers, he discussed Ways of Survival at length (noting how you listened even when you showed no particular interest in reading it), he finally developed his own, modest aspirations for his own life. Lying in his bed in his lonely apartament, it suddenly didn’t feel so claustrophobic (yet somehow far too big for one) when you were there with your shoulder just brushing his own. 

You were not as cold as you seemed: though this was always obvious from that fateful Tuesday. You made fun of and empathised with the eternal regressor; you diligently stood at his half-broken stove frying meat and vegetables; and you talked at length about whatever band you were currently into—“I’ll take you to one of their concerts when we’re older,” leaving your lips, for your dense black-hole hearts did not conceptualise a future where the other was not present. He saw your loneliness—heard the rumours of you bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage, roaming the streets and working nights rather than return to that boreal home. 

So, more nights than not, he woke up from his nightmares to see you sleeping on the small couch in his home—legs just about peeking over the armrest, for your avarice didn’t only cover the abstract but the heaps of food you swiped from the canteen (and over the past two years he’d known you, you got your growth spurt far more obviously than he had). It partly contributed to almost skittish aversion his tormentors had of him—one you never did acknowledge, and so he learnt quickly to not mention it either. In this way, he too never mentioned why he invited you to sleep over more nights than not. And so, neither of your selfish hearts ever spoke a word of pity, but rather conveyed an unspoken understanding that bound the two of you in this merger. 

This routine continued.

He enlisted after graduating from the local university, and so did you—suffering the eighteen months of hazing with the smoke lingering on your skin and that same, humourless smile he first saw on your face. Frigid mornings turned his own lips as blue as the sky, yet he found it was harder to feel the chill when he saw you. Just like back then, you wore the same smile that brimmed with such colour it was practically incandescent with its heat. 

Two outcasts. It was hilariously terrible. Two outcasts, still sharing a pair of earbuds that had seen better days—blaring out the dolorous music that had grown on him, that described this situation perfectly. Stars were strewn in the fabric enveloped around you: memories that would continue to shine even after the world slowly marched towards its apocalypse. 

In that cramped bunkroom, it had been just like school—blue nights with the moon just barely peeking through the window, with your leg still hanging off the side of the bunk and within his field of vision. And he still found the steady rise and fall of your breathing far more comforting than any white noise: like a guard dog, almost, you still shielded him by his proximity to you throughout the brutal eighteen months of mandated service. 

Adulthood had crept up unbidden. In his single-room apartment, he sat on his couch with your legs sprawled just as lazy as they had been eight years prior. Though, your appearance certainly had changed—beneath the loose material of your tank top, he could see the ink seeping and decorating your skin. He’d gone with you to the underground artists right after the discharge: worriedly biting his lip while you simply grinned at him as if there wasn’t a needle pressing into you. And despite his initial concern, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away—sneaking glances even as he browsed through job sites since the winding patterns under the fabric and silver jewellery was oddly entrancing to the eye. 

In the end, he applied to the same company you had done on a whim: Minosoft, where you carefully wiped off the black residue on your lips and the smudged pencil round your eyes. You still shared your earbud with him on the subway (though you’d sent him your playlist aeons ago), you still smoked the same brand you did eight years ago, you still occasionally put on those rings you’d kept as prized trophies, you still made two sets of lunches for work. You still listened over drinks while hammered Dokja updated you on the latest update of Ways of Survival. You still angled your body just so, so that you would bear the brunt of Han Myungoh’s scolding rather than him. 

You hadn’t changed. 

But in some ways, he could no longer see the same boyish guy who’d awkwardly offered him his earbuds nine years ago. The look in your eyes was far more intense, the messy smiles splitting your cheeks were sharper, more overwhelming, and there was no longer any clumsiness in your movements from your sudden growth spurt from years prior. Even the very hand that occasionally clasped his shoulder, even the legs that you still casually flung over his on his beaten old couch, were far more scorching than he remembered. 

You had changed. 

And in the end, it was him who was left behind. 

Eternal loser, Kim Dokja. 

Though, he could never find fault with you for that. Not when you leaned over the tangle of limbs on his couch, not when he caught the thread of oud lingering beneath the smoke on your throat, and not when you thrust your phone screen at his face with that stupidly boyish grin that only peeked out when you brimmed with excitement—with a “look, I finally got us tickets for this festival!”. And he knew at that moment that you weren’t leaving him behind: stretching out your rough palm just like you had more than a decade ago. 

He let you tousle his hair to give it more spikes. He let you dress him up in your clothes—they sat too large on his frame, but he found himself unconsciously burying his body in the fabric that smelled like your laundry. He let you slip your rings onto his fingers: slender digits jolting at the sensation of the cool metal and the action itself. 

Finally, he let you rub your dark pencil on his lashline—lids fluttering up at yours while he did his best to not avert his stare. His gaze traced the bold lines of your brows and eyes, and finally onto the dark stain on your lips as you bit them in concentration. “There,” you’d murmured, gently grasping his chin. “That looks pretty.” 

And just like the loser he was, he felt his chest tighten at the casual compliment, for seemingly no reason. 

Over the din of the hall, he could barely hear the ebb and flow of music. Goth chords jostled him, weaving past the throes of post-punk and metal as band after band took the stage. In this crush of people, he was more focused on how your index finger threaded through his left-most belt loop; linking the two of you just enough that he wouldn’t get thrown into the mosh pit. No doubt the buzz of cheap liquor contributed to his distracted train of thoughts—he never was the best at handling alcohol. His hazy gaze distorted his view of your side profile; in the dim lights, obviously the wide smile (yolk-like, as was your grin years back) couldn’t possibly be that bright. 

It was at this moment that sentimentality got to him. He was thankful that his friend had stuck by his side for so long: gazing so softly at your happy expression he was unaware of his look himself. 

This was the night before the apocalypse began. 

When the crowds trickled out, when the reverb of bass still played through the club, you hugged him tight for coming with you. Outcast with the outcast, you’d thought introspectively. There were cheap spirits clouding your mind that night—a hangover would surely strike you come morning—which was why you weren’t as reserved as you usually were. As you leaned down to press the man into your arms, your lips had brushed past his cheek accidentally, and you could feel the black hole in the centre of your chest constrict. 

Profanities had whirled through your mind when the dark smudge remained on his cheek, and especially so as he made no move to wipe the umbrous gloss off on the subway back. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed—not with the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. There was a terrible, discordant crescendo to your pulse as you gazed at him. The gloss, from where it smeared slightly past the boundaries of your lips, burned your skin. But you made no moves to wipe the corners either—for this night only, there was something linking Kim Dokja to you. 

Thus, for the first time since he was a mere babe cradled in his mother’s arms, there was a kiss planted on his cheek that wasn’t from a fist. An accidental one, but one that could not be considered devoid of affection. And though neither of you remembered it after the hazy stupor faded, it did not change the fact that it happened nonetheless. 

A small snippet of joy in the bleak landscape. A caesura found within the long, winding elegy of this world. A reprieve before tragedy. 

It was a fitting conclusion for the night before the end. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

[The free service has now been terminated.]

Back in the carriage, wedged between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja, the two of you had shared a glance confirming the unspoken truth. Minds intrinsically linked together—he did not need to speak for you to understand his thoughts immediately. And Yoo Sangah had recognised this—as did she remember the devoted gleam in your eyes whenever you spoke to or of the man seated adjacent to you. Yet ultimately, her lips would remain closed. 

When the scenarios began, it was Kim Dokja’s turn to repay you. He would be your shield moving forward—protecting your messy smile even as the world burned away. He vowed this to himself, and though the promise was heard only by him, it did not change the fact that the constellations watching him and his companions could see the oath brimming from him as he put you first. 

[Almighty Sun has sponsored you.]

Even when Apollo chose you as his incarnation, even when you were just as capable as you had been before the cataclysm occurred—he could not help but feel his fists clench as you put yourself in danger. 

“Hold on,” you’d murmured, rings flashing as you’d caught his wrist in your firm grasp. Even with his coins improving his stats, he still felt so much weaker than you—still the boy who ran to the rooftops while your fists bruised against the faces of those who tormented him. 

Had your touch always been so scalding?

Privately, he thought Apollo had chosen the right person—smile bright as the sun, skilled fingers deft enough to play the electric guitar you’d bought on a whim, presence practically a healing balm for his soul. 

“You’re injured, Dokja-ya.” And the words had made him shiver as the syllables ghosted over his flesh—your face was too close to his chest where he’d been slashed by a monster, while the affectionate tone added to his name made this situation far worse than it was. Secluded like this, in an abandoned corner of the station, it was easy to misread the situation; this was the only reason his face flushed red. His friend was far too close. When those aforementioned fingertips brushed over the wound—just grazing the wounded flesh—he jolted. From the pain, of course. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire has sponsored 200 coins.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire would like to see more action.]

“Steady.” You eased him against a pillar while ignoring the message—ignoring how your pulse was now leaden in your mouth, how the golden gleam stitching flesh back together seemed far more shaky than usual. Though, you couldn’t ignore the pain you felt as you saw the rise and fall of his torso grow shallow; you were useless when it counted—arrows meeting their target far too late. 

“Dokja-ya,” you breathed, sweeping the hair that plastered to his clammy forehead. He didn’t meet your eyes, and the heavy feeling in your chest grew more burdensome. He was supposed to tell you what was wrong; as his best friend, you duly heard his complaints and dealt with them where you could. More often than not, you could intuitively tell what bothered him; much like you had from the very first day you saw him all those years ago. And as time passed, the object of your adoration only grew easier to read. 

But he was never avoidant like this. 

What happened? As you watched him leave with heavy steps and not a glance spared back, you could feel the crushing weight of the sky drop back down on your shoulders. Fuck. Burying your face in your hands, you barely registered the message that popped up. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire expresses her sympathy.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire says she knows how the two of you can make up.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire sponsors 69 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun tells the Demon-like Judge of Fire to not be stingy.]

[The Almighty Sun sponsors 6969 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun empathises with a lover’s quarrel.]

“Shut up,” you seethed, and the bad mood carried on late into the night. It was obvious to anyone with eyes; the conjured lamps lining the perimeter of camp had seethed with you. Gold had been interspersed with bleeding red—crackling like true fire, though it was anything but. Even the tattoos that lined your skin had begun eroding into ember-like patterns, as though lava was breaking through the dermis of your skin. 

Unsurprisingly, it was Yoo Sangah that had approached first: past the harsh glow of your lamps, gracefully weaving through the brightness with the light steps that belied her nebula. She’d taken a glance at the incandescent splintering of your body, your hands furiously working away at the guitar plugged into your practically-bulletproof earphones, and finally the imposing frame of Yoo Joonghyuk only a few metres away as he stood guard tonight. 

But when you paused, when you hastily yanked the buds from your ears, she could also see the wobble in your lip. The furrow in your brows wasn’t angry, it was anguished, while the fearsome glare in your eyes contained only pain. If she was being honest, it was hard to approach you at work and even nowadays—with ease, you picked off enemies from a distance and your longbow conveniently morphed into two curved daggers when it came down to it. You were a maelstrom with the capacity to take lives—stained with blood as you bared your proverbial teeth at any threats to Dokja. But it was precisely that that allowed her to see your stupidly blind adoration of this man. 

(“Your devotion will only hurt you,” she says, as if that will dissuade you. You’ll take whatever feeling he gives you: greedily swallowing each and every morsel of emotion. Tender is your heart, but tender is good. It means you aren’t going mad over the situation you’re in.

“Yoo Sangah, I appreciate the advice,” you reply politely—you do respect her, after all. “But I do not mind that.”)

Yoo Joonghyuk had bemusedly watched as she left: staring the the dim red tattoos strewn across your body as if they could possibly help him decipher the fool in front of him. His Sage’s Eye flashed as golden as your lamps for a brief moment—detecting that your statement had, in fact, been true. 

Fool, he’d said as your hands flew over the fretboard once more. Fool, as you disappeared up the stairs to the rooftop. Fool, when your lips had pressed together tightly against one another. 

You did mind, even when you thought it was the unequivocal truth that you didn’t. 

Maybe it was futile to even think it, but he thought that idiot didn’t deserve the long-standing care in your hands, and the veneration in the timbres of your voice. It was pointless to get attached to someone like that—especially when the end of the world was upon you. 

But you wouldn’t know that, since you could not read his mind. But you wouldn’t know that, since he would never explicitly say it. But you wouldn’t know that, since you’d long-since accepted your self-torture as perfectly and utterly a part of what came with knowing Kim Dokja for as long as you did. 

The rooftop was like all other rooftops. Similar. The same. Azurine fog was at your fingertips: just like that day all those years ago. Except this time, Kim Dokja was not in your sights, and you were left alone with wisps of smoke trailing from your lips and no other company save the glowing stick in your fingers. Just like it had been; before you met the boy with a heart as greedy and all-consuming as yours. Before the merger between two black holes occurred. Before he ran up to the rooftops with bruises on his face and placed new stars in the endless vacuum of your universe. 

There was no charge in your phone, but the song that played that day still rested heavy in your neurons as you sprawled out on the bench. Mindlessly, you summoned the lyre-turned-guitar: doleful chords germinated, flourished and withered away once more under distressed fingertips. It was a night between scenarios; another caesura in this ceaseless tragedy. Though those days were filled with an empty stomach and an endless struggle, they were your halcyon days. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, it was a blue Monday once more. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, you didn’t hear the heavy run of footsteps through the heavy burr of music. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, Kim Dokja’s black hole heart pulsed with each discordant twang of chords—though this time the link was acutely clear to him. 

The boy who once tasted the mist and tilted his body into oblivion was no longer there: replaced by a man who’d faithfully stayed by him for more than a decade. Though you hadn’t changed, not at all; not when he could still see the rings you took off his bullies, gracing your fingers just as they had back then. A trophy, dedicated to his protection. When his plans involved his sacrifice, you were the first to reach him. Your face was the first he saw, tears brimming from your lash line. For despite how you’d grown into your looks, you wore your emotions clear on your face. Your heart had been taken from the cavity in your chest and replaced with a dense core that greedily always wanted; yet it had been sewn messily onto your sleeve rather than discarded. 

Kim Dokja suddenly remembered another interlude. A club, where the amorphous ebb and flow of bodies could not sweep him away from your side—since you kept him there, treasured his presence enough that you hooked your finger firmly into his belt loop and rooted him there. An anchor: you’ve always been the rock beneath his shaky feet, after all. He remembered that, and not the endless churn of music that made your face glow with happiness. 

(A black smear of gloss left on his cheek. His hands, carefully wiping eye pencil away yet not touching the remnants of your lips—not until it smudged away on its own, forgotten for all of time but this day.)

A sun of his own. The reader trod his slow orbit around you long before he could conceptualise the gravity that drew two masses towards each other. Newton’s theory of universal gravitation be damned; you were the only centre of the universe, the only body that ever existed to draw others towards your brilliant light. 

His eyes flickered over the smoke in your lips: the dim embers of a glow from the lines in your skin made it seem as though you were alight yourself. Instinctively, physically, he was compelled towards the patterns just like he had been all those years ago: your music, your stupid piercings and your stupid discussions about bands and the stupid way you listened attentively to his yapping about Ways of Survival. Stupid, because why did you do that? Why did you convince him to make a shrine for you in his heart? Stupid, because why is it only now that he can see what exactly lays atop the stone altar?

“Kim Dokja,” you spoke through your plumes, formal in the way he knew you spoke when you were upset and trying to keep it together. He swallowed, and he could feel the same pitter-patter of his pulse as he did all those years ago—heartbeat colliding loudly in his ear drums while he steps towards you, unsure. You didn’t let up with the strum of strings: electric in the drizzle of rain and wind and cold Seoul air. 

For once, he was the one looking down at your impassive face. He was the one brushing his fingers through your hair, he was the one whose hands made themselves comfortable on shoulders—for it’s always been you wrapped around him, you whose legs wedge on top of his domestically on his shitty couch in his shitty studio flat. 

“It’s Dokja-ya,” he corrected: tongue thick and leaden. It constricted his larynx and made his cadence oh so small at this moment. Tentative. Because he was your close friend and you his. He was the one who knows all your expressions—even the ones you deliberately tried to hide from everyone. He was the one who’s been with you the longest: always staring up at the muscle of your back while you act as his shield. He was the one who’s been blind. 

Your fingers halted against the strings and the instrument dissolved into the wind; the concert for two had reached its conclusion, just like it had all those months ago. For despite being packed full of people, the club only ever had two people in it for him. 

Lazily, those same hands that have bruised for him—but somehow had a touch that was far more painful than any torment that was physically inflicted on him—wrapped round his own that rested neatly on your shoulders. 

“Dokja-ya,” you answered, and the axis the world tilted on is finally righted. This man, Dokja thought—and his umbrous eyes traced down the warm lines of your face, stopping on your lips. Bittersweet. 

“Don’t leave me,” he all but begged—voice only a whisper. Don’t die on me, the black hole wanted to say instead; selfishly wishing for you to always be by his side so he doesn’t see you depart this world first. That would end him more than anything else. 

“I can’t leave you,” you murmured, and oh, the hand brushing his tear-stained cheek suddenly made more sense. “Dokja-ya, I should be telling you that.”

He pressed his face into your warm palm—scorching even with the boreal damp settling over his skin. There was something twisted within him that revels in your admission: that you, too, feared him abandoning you just as he feared you leaving him behind. 

“Idiot.” And he twined his fingers in yours, seeing the surprise on your face bloom—for he’s already established that you’re ever so easy to read. Idiot, because it’s ludicrous to even think that he’d ever willingly walk away from you like that. 

“You’re the idiot,” you whispered as your phantasmal hand ghosted from his cheek to his collar, yanking him so he fell onto the firm sprawl of your legs—in a way he’s never felt. So warm, he thought through the haze as he straddled your languid body—fit so right against you that there was none of the tension nor the anticipation that he might’ve felt. His hands splayed out onto your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart, tracing the glowing lines he adored on your body. 

So warm, he thought as your hands gently cupped his face—for you’ve never been anything but soft with this stupid man perched on your lap. 

So warm, as your lips met his and he melted into your body. He could taste the acrid smoke on your tongue, but he could also taste the food you’d prepared earlier for him, and the traces of whiskey you’d scavenged. All traces of you; his insatiable heart could not help but want to merge into you. 

So warm, as your tongue melded against his and he could feel the seam of his mouth against yours grow ever more ragged and messy. His hands desperately curled into your shirt, and he could feel your palms pressing harshly against his waist and canting his torso into yours more—something which his avaricious heart eagerly swallowed. 

On a blue Monday just like this one, two boys met for the first time once more on a rooftop just like this one. 

Again. Like and like created a merger for the second time, or perhaps it was already the third. Or fourth. Or the thousand-eight-hundred-and-sixty-third time this has happened—over and over and over and over. 

Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, or maybe it’s just the intrinsic law of gravitation that binds two black holes in a binary system. 

Blue Monday. What a silly notion, when the man beneath Kim Dokja is as warm as the brilliant sun. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

Fellas is it gay to pine after your best friend for over ten years and have oddly homoerotic moments with them

✦ . 　⁺ 

EXTRAS

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire returns from her work and asks what she missed.]

[The Almighty Sun keeps his lips shut.]

[The Abyssal Flame Black Dragon stays silent.]

[The Prisoner of the Golden Headband, perhaps not fearing his imminent hair loss, opens his mouth.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire promptly goes catatonic and explodes.]

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Monster

Heian period!Sukuna x fem!Reader

warnings: heavy angst, blood, gore, misogynistic thinking

You would do anything.

You're begging, crying, pleading, doing everything in your power to showcase your genuine obedience, to prove yourself to be a truly spineless bundle of nerves, cowering at his feet. Hoping and praying he will relent that he isn't such a grotesque monster, that he just isn't a hollow black hole consuming everything only to spit it out foul and rotten.

But he is. And you know that he is.

That's why your begging wasn't enough, nothing was, nor ever would be enough for him, because human emotions were fickle, to be played and abused to his own enjoyment.

So he did what he did best, being a monster.

Flicking his wrist he sealed the fate of the only thing dear to you, ripping it all away from you in just one nanosecond.

He didn't even allow screams to ripple from her throat, as he slashed her fragile body in half, letting crimson paint your lap, soaking your nightgown in this ugly despicable red that painted you like a warning.

A warning.

That was what this was.

He had ended the life of the crying and screaming little bundle of joy, so oblivious to everything, innocent with big pooling eyes that could have reflected the stars, as a warning.

Sukuna had ended your daughter's life to prove a point.

To warn you to bear him a boy or your limps were the next to be snapped in half, with your gaze as bleary as hers.

Silence engulfed you, a painful agonizing one.

The room already reeked of blood—of that metallic note, and sweat, because just hours prior, you were in the process of pushing her out of your womb, eager to already welcome your little darling into the world, you were too blinded by your own eagerness to embrace her, that you failed to see the truth.

He didn't even allow her to suckle on your breast, to taste her first meal out of the safe heaven that was your belly, to gaze upon you with heavy eyelids and sticky lashes, all weary and exhausted, coming to find rest against your soothing heartbeat.

Her skin was still an odd colour, bright and vivid, with her head shaped like a cone, alien-like and yet so familiar, he hadn't even allowed her to adjust to her new life, hadn't allowed her anything.

He robbed your daughter of everything there could be to be robbed of, her first taste of milk, of water, of food, her first word, first time walking, first time feeling the sun graze her features, first time making friends, first love, first heartbreak, first time experiencing a relationship, marriage, perhaps even her first time of being a mother herself— and all you could do was only cower and mourn, fat tears running down your face, sweat-covered, cradling what remained of her.

Sukuna had robbed her, he robbed her and you had been powerless to go against him.

What a fool you had been to be excited, to feel joy, fantasizing about being a happy family, blissfully ignorant about the fact that he was a lunatic.

You had failed her.

All you could do was regret ever allowing her to escape the safety of your womb. You should have kept her inside, safe, away from the monster hovering above you, his sheer size casting a shadow on the little heap of misery you were on the floor.

“That will teach you.” Sukuna exclaimed, as if it was your fault and he was in the right. Well truth be told it was, it was your fault for lying to yourself that he wouldn't be cruel to you, or to his own flesh and blood. It was your fault for ever seeing him as a man instead of the abomination he was, it was your fault.

“We will try again. This time I know you won't disappoint me.” he uttered, so devoid of remorse, of any ounce of guilt, as if he had a clean conscious. All you felt emitting from him was endless coldness, an icy flood threatening to drown you beneath its strength. He had swallowed you whole, and allowed you to wallow in an illusion, all up until this point, he took off the mask off—only he never wore a façade, you were just too blinded by your own delusions to take notice of his true nature.

He didn't even spare you another glance, neither caring for the limp body of his daughter in your arms, her body sliced clean in two— nor the state you were in, exhausted, tired and just having witnessed something so soul-crushing, fom which you knew you could never recover from.

He just didn't care, you were only a body, a means to an end, another piece of meat that would grant him his wish for a male heir—and if you didn't he would just discard of you like you were nothing but a lamb to be slaughtered.

So it wasn't unsurprising, nevertheless did it only plunge the knife deeper and twist it as he spun on his sole, turning away, leaving you there all by yourself, letting maids rush in through the door, causing the world around you to halt and fall into an inescapable endless silence as your gaze focused solely on him.

They were all fussing over you, one more worried than the other but all you could do was blankly stare at his back that was becoming smaller and smaller as he further moved away, descended away from the crime he just committed, only if it was the King of Curses, it wasn't a crime, but god-given and to be accepted, it was the truth he would force down everybody's throats.

And in that exact moment that's when you felt it for the first time.

Such a raging fire clawing up your insides, squeezing your heart, that you might have recoiled from the intensity in any other situation, but not in this moment, no. You embraced the flames, let the thirst for revenge, for vengeance, swallow you whole and hopefully when you burned enough, it would spit you out as a changed woman, ready to gift Sukuna his heir he desired so dearly, only to meet death in the hands of his own flesh and blood.

Because you would do anything for your little bundle of joy.

You would do anything.

[genericpuff]

Hello, brazilian anon here! So I have been following criticisms of LO for a while now, and Psyche and Eros caught my attention in special, because their relationship is legit a racist trope commonly applied to indigenous people: Woman of color is put in a arranged marriage or pressured into marrying a guy from her village/tribe but "falls in love" with a white dude who "saves" her from her abusive and "uncivilized" family. Think of Disney's Pocahontas. This trope is commonly used to dehumanize non-european/anglo-saxon cultures and portray them as barbaric, and is rooted in colonialism and its direct heir, imperialism, as a means for colonizers to justify and sugarcoat raping and forcing women of color to marry them. So not a good look for Rachel.

OH YEAH IT IS

(you just opened Pandora's Box by mentioning Pocahontas around me LMAO)

It's even more egregious when you consider how Rachel changed the original myth from Psyche undergoing trials on her own to her ... being turned into a nymph servant for Aphrodite. Like huh. Is that really your final draft, Rachel? Have you thought this through?

I made a very spicy post about this like a year and a half ago and honestly I think it's still worth talking about because it's incredibly telling that Psyche had her entire story uprooted and replaced with a version where she's transformed into a non-POC character to disguise herself as a servant to a woman who's already racist towards nymphs. It's got that issue of "take the black character and transform them into an animal/other being that isn't black so that we don't have to have a black character onscreen for more than 10 minutes."

And yeah, you can tell how much Rachel is absentmindedly taking from Disney without challenging what those stories were portraying or asking deeper questions to get to the heart of their messaging. Pocahontas is rightfully panned for being a very white-washed version of a story that was written in the blood shed by Native Americans at the hands of colonizers. "Pocahontas" herself, even, was not some independent native woman who fell in love with the "one good white guy" on the boat, she was a teenage girl, whose life was spared but made worse when she was forced to travel overseas to be used as a prop to justify their continued actions in murdering and colonizing the "savages" overseas; she was then forced into marriage and had to carry the children of her captors, all while being treated as an exotic spectacle by the people around her who would undoubtedly kill her at the first sign of disobedience.

Her name was Matoaka. Her life and story is not something that should be romanticized. It's a tragedy and much of what instigated it is still alive and well today. She only lived to be 21.

I don't know if Rachel intentionally referenced or ripped off Pocahontas in Lore Olympus the same way she clearly has with Hercules and Beauty and the Beast. But it's incredibly telling in how she treats the racial divide between nymphs and gods and how she's twisted the Eros x Psyche myth into what it is that even if she did watch Pocahontas, she probably never realized how problematic it is at its core in the way that it's told.

In the original myth, Psyche is a woman who's meant to represent the fickleness of vanity - the loneliness it can make one feel to be admired and not truly loved, and the destruction that can be brought about in jealousy - and her pursuit in finding genuine love in Eros, a journey she travels alone, thematically with the rest of the story.

In Lore Olympus, she's an illiterate woman of color whose only purpose is to be Eros' wife, robbed of all agency so that she can be a trophy for him to earn, a test for him to pass. It's boring and really icky when you really peel back the layers of it with Psyche's character design in mind. Even when she finally does get more agency in her task to bring down Apollo - or at the very least, keep an eye on him - it's still at the behest of Zeus who gives her immortality not as a reward for overcoming the trials she set out to pass, but so she can be his errand boy. So once again she's not capable of doing anything motivated by her own best interests (especially when she already knows how dangerous Apollo is, why is she the one who has to follow this guy around?)

So yeah, no, not a good look at all LMAO

[azurillzz]

Tw: Discussions of incest and non-con in fictional settings

Yeah breaking my silence here and admitting that I am pro-fiction.

Listen, I know writing about incest/rape is a genuinely concerning and serious topic but I am sure the writers are aware of that and dont condone it irl at all.

These fanfics are just an outlet for these thoughts and don't glorify it. It sexualizes these concepts yes, but it isn't depicted as something good, and is usually just written only for sexual gratification or to explore a dark topic.

These fics aren't made to encourage abusers, they are written in the view of the victims. They are not catered to people who could do these things, and usually don't even justify these actions because the authors know that they cannot be justified, they just want to write a scenario they can indulge in.

Its completely valid that many people are uncomfortable with these things and that is the normal reaction, but when it gets to the point of harassing real people for writing about fictional scenarios, you have to think about what you're really fighting for here.

Hell, most works actually even have sizeable disclaimers and very visible tags so you can avoid the work at your own discretion. *You* are the one that decided to read despite all the warnings. Seeing all the tags and still choosing to read is just illogical. It's like if you knowingly read angst when you were looking for fluff then getting mad and commenting about why the author would write that. The content isn't for you, thats fine, but you cant just go and harass people over it.

As long as a work is properly tagged and bears the proper warnings, it should have a right to exist in fandom spaces just as much as everything else, especially in fanfiction since you're easily able to filter out and block tags or people you do not want to interact with here on tumblr and on ao3.

I have more thoughts and feelings about this but my brain is a very fickle thing, but these are just my two cents on the subject.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 27, Unhinged - Pt. 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of violence, death, mild kidnapping, human trafficking.

Word Count: 942

Previously On...: Bucky left to see if he could get some info from Chloe's stepfather, asking you to stay put in the safehouse.

A/N: It's coming, guys. It's coming.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

You spent the rest of the day busying yourself around the safehouse, tidying up, though Bucky had done a thorough job of cleaning it after bringing you home from the hospital. You took a shower, watched some mindless TV, and did some research into Chloe’s parents’ online lives, which proved to be fruitless, but you needed to keep your mind occupied somehow. Your brain kept replaying snippets of Jade’s Hydra massacre, interspersed with the images of Chloe’s abused and discarded body and your own childhood memories of trauma. All these girls, Jade Carthage included, used and abused, manipulated for the sake of… what? The sick whims of corrupted men? It was all so wrong. It was wrong, it was unfair, and it enraged you.

You paced the length of the apartment’s living room, pulling at the roots of your pink hair. Pausing before the dining annex, you stared up at the case board. All those women, erased from their own lives without a second thought, the police dismissing their disappearances because… why? They were broken, damaged? Less than? As if their actions and misfortunes had made them any less human? Any less deserving of dignity and respect? Of life? Any one of them could have been you, if not for Tony’s miraculous intervention into your life.

You heaved a sigh. You could save every single one of them, and it still wouldn’t matter, wouldn’t make a dent in the endless tide of suffering brought on by greed, selfishness, and cruelty that people were capable of inflicting on one another. You could devote every single moment for the rest of your life to trying to save women from that fate, but it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough to tip the scales. 

You closed your eyes, afraid that you were letting your pessimistic thoughts get the better of you. You need to remain calm, focused on your goal. You couldn’t save every single victim in the world, it was true. But even if you could save just one, you’d be giving her world back to her, and that was reason enough to keep going.

You felt the buzz of your phone going off in your pocket, and found yourself hoping it was Bucky, calling to let you know he’d uncovered a lead. Instead, you were surprised to see a local number flash across your screen.

“Hello?” you asked, raising the phone to your ear.

“Ah, little dove!” Dimitiri’s booming voice echoed down the line. “How are you feeling today?” That’s right– you’d nearly forgotten you’d told him you’d had a bad reaction to drugs you’d bought at the club. 

“I’m feeling a lot better, Dimitiri. Thank you for asking.” You nibbled on the sensitive skin at your thumbnail. “Is everything alright?”

Dimitri chuckled. “Yez, yez. All iz good. Dimitiri iz calling with promizing propozition. The Gidra bossez are back to ze Viggle Room, and de are vishing to zee Kozlov’s best girlz again. Kozlov haz asked for little dove to come dance.”

Fuck. “Um, that’s really kind of Mr. Kozlov, Dimitiri,” you hemmed, not wanting to blow your cover, but also not wanting to leave the safehouse without Bucky. “But I’m afraid I’m still feeling under the weather. I don’t know how good I’d be at dancing tonight, and I don’t want to disappoint Mr. Kozlov in front of his important friends.”

“Dimitri iz not thinking little dove understandz,” he said, his voice a shade colder than you were used to hearing it. “Kozlov doez not request little dove’s attendance. He iz insisting upon it. Dimitri iz already outside little dove’s apartment, waiting to bring her to ze club.”

“What?” Your eyes widened as you moved to the front of the living room. Peering through a gap in the curtain, you were disturbed, but not surprised, to see one of Kozlov’s cars waiting for you, its driver standing patiently beside the rear passenger door, as if in anticipation of your imminent arrival. “Dimitiri,” you pleaded to the man, “I’m really not up for it tonight.”

“Iz not for negotiationz,” Dimitri said, voice hard now. “Little dove will come out on her own in five minutez, or Dimitri will come up and take her out. Iz diz understood?”

You swallowed thickly. So much for Dimitri being decent. “Yeah, of course, Dimitri,” you said after a moment. I just need a moment to get ready, and I’ll be right down.” 

“Do not tally, little dove,” Dimitri said. “Grida have asked for you especially tonight. Kozlov will not tolerate embarrazzment from you again.”

“Again?” you squeaked.

“Kozlov saw how little dove believed she waz saving little Birdie by taking party favorz dat were not herz to take. Kozlov let little dove’s transgression slide, but he will not be so generouz next time.”

Shit, fuck, shit-shit-fuck. And here you thought you’d been so fucking smooth. There was no point in denying it now. “I’ll grab my bag and be right down,” you said, instead. Dimitri ended the call without another word and you scrambled about getting your things together. You made quick work of sending a text to Bucky, letting him know you’d basically been forced into the club against your will, and contemplated grabbing the gun he’d left behind the nightstand. You decided against it, though. Bucky had been right– where would you hide it? And you highly doubted Kozlov would let you go meeting Hydra higher-ups while carrying anything that could conceal a weapon. 

Making sure your distress bangle was securely fastened around your wrist, you looked around the apartment one more time, wondering if you were walking into some truly deep shit.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[misty-metropolis]

People with complex dissociative disorders often have difficulty processing or expressing emotions. This can look like any number of things. For example:

Emotions being dramatically dissociated into individual parts, such that a host part feels limited to no emotion, but there exists another part who does nothing but cry, and a part who feels such incandescent rage that they are unable to function properly

Emotions being muted and difficult to parse from each other; alexithymia stemming from trauma / abuse

Emotions being largely dissociated, with random bursts of emotion that are scary and overwhelming

Emotions being very sharp and present, but jumbled and often in combination with each other. This may create an impression of being flaky, fickle, or difficult to please

Emotions cycling too rapidly to properly identify them or process how they are affecting individual parts or the system at large

This is a non-exhaustive list. Feel free to add on your own experiences.

For those who are interested, I also have some resources for emotion regulation, as well as some free strategies shared by my therapist, under the cut.

First, I know this has been said before but it really does work wonders, you need to pay attention to your vulnerability factors. Vulnerability factors are elements of your environment or internal experience that make it more difficult to self-regulate. A somewhat common community term for these is forks (in relation to the spoon theory). Common vulnerability factors include lack of sleep, hunger, and needing to use the restroom. Adequately caring for your body's physical needs allows for more complete emotion regulation and more energy to go toward emotion processing when it's needed. If you are sleep deprived, for example, and then become triggered, you're already expending so much energy just to maintain functionality that you're less likely to be able to prevent yourself from doing something you'll regret, like snapping at a partner.

I'm also happy to provide an overview of a few emotion regulation tools from Dialectical Behavioral Therapy.

Positive Psychology has a set of three emotional intelligence worksheets (link) that are a good jumping-off point for exploring where you're at in that regard and strengthening your emotional intelligence skills. The emotion regulation questionnaire (link) is a clinical tool that can also provide some insight.

First, there's the STOP skill. STOP stands for Stop, Take a Step Back, Observe, and Proceed Mindfully.

When you feel overwhelmed by your emotions, or think they may be at risk of controlling you, force yourself to freeze in place. This prevents you from acting impulsively and doing something you'll regret. Try to name the emotion(s) you're feeling as descriptively as possible.

Then take a step back and give yourself some time to contemplate the situation with a little space from it. It's not often that you have to make a split-second decision based on limited information, so don't try to force yourself to do so.

Take in as much information as you can about the events taking place around you. Ask questions of other people in the situation with you. Try not to jump to conclusions, or listen to your automatic negative thoughts, which are based on an outdated belief system.

Use questions like "what are my goals in this situation?" and "how can my decisions impact the outcome?" to guide your decision-making process as you proceed.

Then there's the Opposite Action skill. This is the one that I use the most in my daily life, as a person with Borderline Personality Disorder. Opposite Action encourages you to reject the impulses you feel when you experience a strong emotion, and to instead do something that is the opposite of that. A few examples (mostly dealing with anger, because that's where I use this skill the most):

When I feel frustrated or angry with a console video game, I want to throw the controller, so the opposite action I choose is to press the buttons very gently and deliberately, without force. (Consequently, I also notice more success when I do this!)

When I feel angry with my partner's behavior, I want to yell at xem or say something that will hurt xem, so the opposite action that I choose is to gently explain my feelings and ask them to explain what happened from their perspective.

When I feel ashamed of something that has happened to me, I want to isolate and hide from the world, so the opposite action I choose is to share my feelings (and the event, if I feel capable) with someone I trust and love.

The last skill I want to overview is Cope Ahead. This is a skill in which you practice ahead of time to figure out how you'll deal with a situation when it arises.

Step 1: Identify a situation that may cause you discomfort or strong emotions. I generally prefer to be more on the vague side, because details will vary and that allows me to get more mileage out of my cope ahead, but you should do it however is most helpful for you. Make sure you check the facts and carefully identify the emotions that might arise and interfere with your skills.

Step 2: Pick out your coping and problem-solving skills ahead of time. This is where Cope Ahead gets its name. You identify a situation and then decide in advance how you're going to react to it, allowing yourself to rehearse the possibilities and decrease the chances of acting impulsively*.

Step 3: Imagine yourself in the situation. Picture yourself going through it in the first person, not as though you're watching a film about yourself.

Step 4: Rehearse your reactions to the situation and any strong emotions it may bring up. Rehearse your thoughts and behaviors. Practice coping effectively until you feel like you can ace it. Do this in as many sessions as you need.

Step 5: REST! Do something that brings you peace to care for yourself after each session.

*Impulsive behavior is something with which many people with BPD struggle, and DBT was originally developed to treat BPD, despite its applications in other fields.

Sources:

DBT Tools (link)

Positive Psychology (linked above)

My therapist (can't link that one, sorry)

Also, I've taken DBT twice through and am licensed to teach it.

[soberpluto]

Astrology Notes: What Binds Opposite Signs Together

Hi everyone! I haven't been here for a while, so it's good to be back again.

Little announcement: visit my site for Tarot and Astrology readings with a 25% off throughout November!

Here's a little piece on general knowledge about the 12 signs as a way to understand them better without having to memorize all their specific qualities... you can think of this as having 6 coins, each sign describing one side and its counterpart the other.

Aries-Libra (axis of the self and others): both seek reassurance and worth through people and they are good at making things happen (these are Cardinal signs). Aries wants to lead, conquer and be recognized, while Libra wants to connect, harmonize and be cherished. Both need people to feel fulfilled, and both are equally entrepreneurial even though one engages from instinct and embodies the active principle, and the other engages from the brain and embodies the receptive principle to achieve their goals.

Taurus-Scorpio (axis of value and power): both seek power, are very sensual (and sexual), private and deep, even if one is not aware at first impression. They are quite relentless and stubborn in their ways because of their Fixed modality. Taurus seeks respect, comfort and safety in his own ability to make money and from physical pleasure, while Scorpio uses emotional depth, sexuality, other people's resources and spiritual transformation to achieve the same. Both can be pretty obsessive, greedy, vindictive, hedonistic and visceral if unevolved.

Gemini-Sagittarius (axis of the mind and information): both are adaptable, love learning and teaching, and they are inspired by knowledge and movement. Gemini needs stimulation from their close surroundings and feels transcendence from drilling down information and from their ability to network, while Sagittarius likes to look at the big picture and uses his insights to pursue his own truth. Both see travel, information and interactions as highly valuable, but can be a bit fickle and non-committal because of their need to be constantly on the move.

Cancer-Capricorn (axis of family and patrimony): both are highly dependable, trustworthy and traditional. They value stability, family and lasting relationships, even if they have only a few. Cancer focuses on protection, emotional depth and nurturing to feel fulfilled (female archetype) and Capricorn feels safe through structure, provision and industriousness (male archetype). Both have excellent financial, organizational and managerial skills, and are quite proactive when they are invested in something. Both are sensitive but dislike appearing vulnerable... emotions can be their undoing.

Leo-Aquarius (axis of entertainment and society): both signs are inventive and find a sense of meaning through creativity and uniqueness. None of them like to follow, as they feel entitled to (and proud of) their authenticity and own mindset. Leo loves the expression of its spirit and desires admiration as a form as validation, while Aquarius seeks for righteousness and belonging through the appraisal of its mind. Both communicate what's inside in brilliant ways but can be quite headstrong and proud at times.

Virgo-Pisces (axis of service and wellness): both are humble, modest, gentle and adore being of service and utility. Since they sit in the axis of health, both are healers, although Virgo does it through his brainpower and dexterity, while Pisces from a spiritual, imaginative and intuitive place. Both are selfless and subservient, and because of this, they can suffer from abuse or mistreatment often than other signs, but one of their greatest assets is their ability to help and empower others through service.

That's all! Hope this is helpful 🥰

Written by @soberpluto

[tara-the-star]

elodie and jean moreau thoughts

when jean left home, he never got to say goodbye to her, he left thinking elodie would hate him for no longer protecting her from their parents' abuse. she was ten at the time and jean was convinced he was leaving her to face hell alone.

jean tried to fight against riko and tetsuji's abuse, perhaps clinging on to the hope that one day, one day he might just get to see elodie again. but of course, he could hold on to that distant memory for only so long. so he put his head down, he gave up any hope he had and accepted whatever the nest had in store for him. he buried all his memories of marseille, concluding that they should remain in that past, whether good or bad. It wasn't like ravens were allowed to have families anymore.

except

jean left the nest. his memories stayed buried after years of repression, but for how long? eventually when he did start remembering him, he could feel those memories tainted by the mental scars of his mothers abuse, though the physical marks had long since faded under the remnants of his time at the nest.

it had been so long since jean even saw elodie, he doubted that she was the same girl he had unwillingly left under the questionable care of his father's violent business and mother's unpredictable temper. so jean didn't dare think of reaching out to elodie, fearing that she would hate him for abandoning her.

but that didnt mean he stopped caring for her. when stuart mentioned that his family was going to take the hit in the moriyama's stead, jean only wanted to know what would happen to his sister. and then he found out that she faced the same fate as him, and in his words, that moment felt worse than anything riko had ever inflicted upon him.

and then, just like that, the only person he loved, who loved him back uncondtionally was dead.

his baby sister, a mere child, was dead because jean was unable to protect her from their parents' wrath. at the end of the day, his love couldn't shield her from them because they were moreaus. born to serve. it was written in their fate to exist solely for others. and if they lost their lives in the process, there was nothing they could do about it.

and thats why elodie moreau would never cross the age of twelve, ten in jean's memories, to which her existence was limited to. but the mind is a fickle thing. jean would eventually forget the exact hue of her eyes, the exact sound of her voice, the way she smelled curled up next to him, her favourite colour, and finally, inevitably, her.

[vitanithepure]

Can we talk about Gale again? And Mystra, one last time? Or at least let me vent? I know it seems like I can't shut up about it, but deal with me this one last time?

It's a long one, an fervent one, and possibly the last one on their relationship because there isn't much to tell for me after this. I just want to lay it to rest on my part, it's too emotionally draining, but I wanted to do this.

Spoilers for them ahead.

It was some time ago I did the talk with Mystra and Gale as an origin character and I needed some time to process this and gather my thoughts. Because I was left reeling with how personal it felt for me and I hated seeing that to bo honest, even though I think whoever did write this scene did it... very well. I feel a lot of thought went into it, so even though it does touch a delicate subject it does it as tastefully as possible.

Okay, let's begin with a real banger.

Why? This will forever read as "I gave you a solution, explain yourself why you didn't die when I asked you to." for me. What kind of messed up question is that to ask someone?

But can I say how there is absolutely no wrong anwser to that asinine question? You can roleplay however you wish, but none of them are bad anwsers. Some of them are more heartbreaking then the others, but none are in any way making excuses. There is nothing to excuse and I'm glad whoever wrote this dialogue recognized this.

I chose the "I have someone else to live for" one here, because I felt that Gale, at this point, really found that special someone, be it a friend or lover, to live for. It's gut-wrenching that he needed someone to keep him alive in the first place, but this is what having an abusive ex does to you.

But the other choices here? All of them fair. She absolutely had no right to ask that of him, no matter the crime, that's just a fucked up thing to expect.

Being afraid to die? Valid, this shouldn't be put up to question.

Two last ones? Pure gold. I treat the fourth one as a direct jab at her own teachings, on how all magic needs to be preserved and studied? It's like him saying "Hey, I did what you expected and now your mad?".

The very last one is poetic justice. "I owe you nothing." and if that were me this would be the absolute end of this discussion. Mic drop, I'm out of here.

And okay, I did take he self-pity route with "I let you down." here becuase this is what I believe is closest to how "canon" Gale feels about this. That's the most heartbreaking thing about it, that he believes he was not worth enough before and is even less now and doesn't deserve love, of any kind.

What are the other options? Well, all in character and each seems like a valid way for Gale to feel. But me, the player, who is fortunate to know some meta knowledge? Oh boy.

"I was a danger to you." No you weren't. She is the goddess of magic, one of the most powerful out here. She is magic. All you could do is make her day worse.

"I disobeyed you." Yeah, you did. And she sentenced you to a slow death for it.

"You were threatened." Eh, not really. But what comes after that statement? "You realised you couldn't control me."? Yes, that is the only thing she felt threatened about - loosing control.

"Our relationship bored you. The orb was just an excuse to end it." I mean... maybe? Not enough is known about it but seeing how all reincarnations of Mystra are fickle lovers at best I would say it's a possibility. Even if it is just his ego speaking here - damn, what a way to end a relationship.

She has the audacity to tell him "he only thought of himself". Pot calling the kettle much?

Oooh, but I love what we can say here. The amout of vicious call outs here is superb.

We get to call out how much of a control freak she is. Then we can say how out of place was her punishment. Because I feel like it was a fucking equivalent of throwing a child into a dark cellar for breaking your favorite cup, while all they wanted to do was wash it for you. That is how imbalanced this whole thing is and I'm not taking criticism on that.

We also get to straight up ask what was the lesson if she never let him know what he really did and left him without means to make things right?

Then my favorite. Straight up ask her how many lives was she willing to sacrifice to get rid of the problem?

And last but not least - call her out on her lies. That's what she did. Why? I don't know. Was she afraid? Possibly, because the Karsite Weave + Crown of Karsus combo could potentially threaten her. Potentially, because as we saw in one of the Gale endings, she has no problem with just getting rid of a newly ascended god wielding them. That leads me to believe she is not afraid of loosing power as much as just being rivaled with. The indignity she has to suffer, truly.

Hit a nail on the head here. Who cares about mortals, if they live or die and in how many droves? Competition comes knocking, so all gloves are off. And that is what I believe to be the crux of the matter. Mystra wants to remove the Absolute (because that's the new upstart god breaking the status quo), the orb containing he rival Weave, the Crown which threatens her rule over magic all in one swoop. Oh, and that one guy who tries too hard and refuses to die. No biggie. Who cares, she has a line of followers who would replace her Chosen at any given time.

I'm a salty bitch over the fact we can't keep the Crown of Karsus, but instead of using it - just hide it away again. Stablize Gale's Karsite Weave and keep that thing around, hidden away. Let her sweat over the idea someone else might find it one day and rival her rule.

I know I'm way too emotional about it, but like I said, it's very personal - I been there, done that, and never recovered in full after it. I'll die defending anyone and any pixels who are struggling with their self-worth and trying to get over an emotionally abusive relationships.

"Be the better person, die saving the world and I'll 'forgive' you." Fuck. You.

And a bonus, for those of you who stuck around till the end, because I was totally naming the screens and yelling at my monitor while doing this.