#self aware cross over au

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 3.7k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.

It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.

Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.

She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.

She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.

Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.

And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.

She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.

So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.

Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.

..A dangerous prize, too.

She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.

"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.

He looked out of breath, she noted.

The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.

He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.

"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."

Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.

But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.

So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.

If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.

Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.

What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..

The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.

So if not the prophecy, then what?

Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.

She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.

..A draw, perhaps.

The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.

She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.

Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.

She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.

She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.

"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."

All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.

With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.

Each piece had it's purpose.

Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.

She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.

It was almost too easy.

She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.

The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.

She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.

With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.

Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.

She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.

Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.

The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.

Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.

She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.

"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..

Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.

It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.

She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.

And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.

She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.

"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"

Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..

The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!

"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."

Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.

"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"

..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.

She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.

"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.

Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."

Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.

"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?

She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?

"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."

The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.

"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"

Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.

"Have you no answer?"

The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.

Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.

"I will kill them myself."

Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.

"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."

They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.

"..Yes."

[yea-baiyi]

nailing my theses to the door: the way hua cheng acts about xie lian is precisely how those carefully non-toxic insane kpop stans behave. like “i love them and support them no matter what” and “let’s respect their boundaries” and “let’s raise a ridiculous amount of money for charity in their name” but also “every inch of my bedroom walls are plastered with their face” and “i spend hours every day getting into arguments online defending them against haters” and “i collected all 700 of their album photocards” and “i have them blocked on twitter so they can’t see my smut fics” and most importantly “if they end up dating someone i’d be devastated, but as long as they’re happy id support them no matter what”

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌-𝐔𝐏

summary: when you forget to bring your jacket, an unlikely hero comes to your rescue; is there more to his chivalrous action than meets the eye?

pairing: kaiser x gn! reader

warnings: fluff, kaiser being kaiser; i’m still on hiatus but i have to free this idea from my mind or it won’t let me go, also i thought it was super fun when they spoke german in the manga so here we are

blue lock masterlist

“Is it me or is it chillier than normal in here?” You asked, rubbing your palms over your goosebump-ridden arms. As an assistant manager, you’d been next to the pitch more often than you could count, but on this day it seemed like someone turned up the AC.

“Hm, dunno. Seems normal to me,” Kurona said after contemplating for a few seconds. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“I don’t feel like it, no,” you wondered aloud as you watched the Bastard München and FC Barcha players walk onto the court. As much as you’d hate to miss the beginning of the Neo Egoist League, perhaps you should make the track back to your room. “I think I’ll go grab my jacket—“

Your sentence was cut off by fabric covering your head, making you flinch in the sudden darkness.

“Hier, nimm meine. (Here, take mine.)” A voice that had quickly become familiar since the foreign teams were introduced passed by and when you lifted the front of the jacket, you found none other than Michael Kaiser in your field of view. As usual, he was looking rather smug for no reason whatsoever.

Still, he was one of the last people you’d expect to help you out, so the raise of your eyebrow was somewhat inevitable.

“Versteh mich nicht falsch, (Don’t get me wrong,)” he continued, cerulean eyes trained on you, “ich mach das nur, dass du von Anfang an zusehen kannst, wie ich Blue Lock vernichte. (I’m only doing this so you can watch from the beginning as I crush Blue Lock.)

“Und da ich sowieso nicht auf die Bank gehöre, macht’s mir nichts aus, wenn jemand meine Jacke aufwärmt. (Also, since I won't be benched anyway, I don’t mind having someone warm up my jacket for me.)” And with that, he sauntered off towards the centre of the field, the self-satisfied grin still tugging on his lips.

“He’s such a jackass,” Raichi scoffed, his jaw locked and a vein protruding from his neck. “Now I wanna play even more, just so I can teach him a lesson.”

“Now now, let’s not get hasty,” you chuckled, holding the Bastard München jacket in your hands. “As much as I understand where you’re coming from, I don’t think it’s a good idea to pick a fight with our guests on the first match day.”

The fact that you knew about the auction system and livestream you’d keep hidden for now.

“While I really don’t like the guy,” Kurona cut in before Raichi could add anything else, “I still think you should wear the jacket. It won’t do anyone any good if you really get sick. You can still go get yours after the match.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, I agree,” Isagi sighed next to him. “It is probably for the best.”

“Fine, fine,” you mumbled, sliding your arms through the comfortable sleeves of Kaiser’s jacket, bunching it up at your wrists so it wouldn’t cover your fingers.

And with that, the whistle signalled the start of the match.

To no one’s surprise, the match was shaping up to be a great one from the start, the quality and speed of the plays upped significantly with the inclusion of the top league players. Though, for some reason or another, you just couldn’t tear your eyes away from München’s number 10, the same number currently decorating your back.

You knew Kaiser was good, considering he was hailed as a prodigy for the New Generation World XI. And yet, seeing him play was a whole different experience from watching the tapes. From his superb ball control to his efficient movements and precise awareness of the field, all culminating in a lightning fast Kaiser Impact, he basically demanded your attention to be on him.

So when his gaze crossed yours after scoring a goal, you felt like you were getting caught red handed by the amused crease of his eyes. With the way heat shot up your body in embarrassment, you might not have needed his jacket anymore.

By the end of the match, your brain felt as tired as if you had played yourself, trying to keep up with the new level to which football at Blue Lock had been raised. Subsequently, you zoned out for most of Ego’s explanation of the auction system, only to zone back in as Kaiser’s 300 million Yen bid was displayed for everyone to see. And while you swallowed hard at that number, the striker in question seemed rather unfazed.

Instead, he sauntered over to where you were standing, still wearing his jacket. You were halfway out of the garment already when he came to a halt in front of you, his long fingers tangling in the fabric to keep it wrapped around your shoulders.

“Hast du nicht gesagt, dir ist kalt? (Didn’t you say you were cold?)” He asked, blue eyes sparkling down at you with an unreadable expression. “Behalt sie an. Zumindest bis du deine eigene holst. (Keep it on. At least until you get your own.)”

“What? No!” You protested, further trying to shrug off the jacket. Despite shoving it back down to where it came from, a small part of you agreed with him, not wanting to give it back quite yet. “You need it more than I do!”

“Hm? Es ist süß, dass du dich um mich sorgst, (It’s cute that you’re worried about me),” he teased, amusement written all over his face, “aber es ist wirklich unnötig. (but, really, it’s unnecessary.)”

“Absolutely not! If you get sick because of me, I’ll never hear the end of it,” you groaned, finally wrestling yourself out of his jacket and shoving it in his arms. “So just take the damn jacket, Kaiser.”

“Nenn mich einfach Michael, okay?) Just call me Michael, alright?)” One finger tilted up your chin, so you wouldn’t avoid meeting his gaze any longer. “Immerhin kennen wir uns gut genug, dass du dir meine Jacke leihst. (After all, we’re close enough for you to borrow my jacket.)”

“Whatever you’re trying to play here, cut it out!” Before he could have a chance to feel the heat rising to your cheeks, you whirled around to make a swift exit and get your thoughts in order again. 

In that moment, you were so distracted by the blond, you’d forgotten the whole world could see you wearing his name on your back. You’d later be reminded of it when seeing comments flooding social media, cooing about the gesture or speculating about your relationship with one another. But that was still far from your mind at present, which was still trying to figure out his reasons for behaving like he did.

Meanwhile Kaiser, who watched you retreat into Blue Lock’s hallways, couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at his lips. Perhaps someone here was worthy of devoting his time to after all.

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[koinotame]

your (househusband) roommate, ajax

word count: 1.5K content warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, childe gets called your house husband but you’re not actually married, generally gross stuff (he sniffs your used shirt), it's implied of childe scares away someone else

a/n: this is a repost (slightly edited)! i lost the original post w/ the basic idea but essentially this is a side au of sagau/self aware genshin where the characters (in this case childe) find their way into your world, but in the process you lose all memories about genshin. i'll be reposting all of the series, but it's also on ao3! part two is here!

when you first learned who your roommate would be, you were exasperated. you’d heard about him before, and you were well aware that he's amassed a reputation of being a trouble maker. you had no interest in getting into trouble, especially not during your first year.

...so you were pretty pleasantly surprised when he turned out to be a total sweetheart.

you’re reminded of that when you enter the kitchen, rubbing at your eyes and yawning. the smell of pancakes wafts through the air, and you can’t even get out a small 'good morning' before ajax is grinning at you and sliding you some pancakes. "don’t wait for me and eat up, okay? I put plenty of love into them, so they should taste great."

you ignore his banter (insisting on waiting for him is a lost battle, you’ve learned) and take a bite. you don’t finish chewing before you sleepily nod.

he laughs good-naturedly. "I’m glad, I’m glad. do you want more?" another drowsy nod has him piling most of the remaining pancakes onto your plate.

he continues chatting with you while you eat and he finishes the batch, though he does most of the talking. as usual, he doesn’t seem to mind your silence too much. once he’s done, he turns the fire off and props his elbow on the counter to stare at you. you don't pay him any mind.

he slides the platter to you the second you peek at it. after having eaten well over two servings you’re not really interested in more though, so you shake your head. "I'm full. aren’t you going to eat any?"

he beams. "aww, were you thinking about me? don’t worry, I already ate." you’re almost certain he didn’t. avoiding the judgemental look that crosses your eyes at his response, he laughs in a way that’d be awkward if it was anyone else. "I’ll put the rest in a tupper then, okay? have them whenever."

he’s taking your plate and putting it in the sink before you can even stand to move it to the dishwasher. you sigh and stick out your tongue at him when he turns to you. "you know you really don’t have to go out of your way do all of this."

he smiles at you. "why not? I enjoy cooking, and you can be my taste-tester." the amounts he feeds you go well beyond that, and he's avoiding the rest of your question, but okay. you should've gotten the message—that it's futile to ask him this kind of question—by now.

while you you face plant into the couch to avoid thinking about anything else, ajax stays in the kitchen, cleaning up and humming some lullaby as he washes the pan and plates. it’s too early to think on this saturday morning. the cushion feels nice and soft against your cheek and you can’t help but burrow yourself further into the pillows.

wait.

you lift your head up, peeking your head out behind the back of the couch.

"the apron is cute."

he nearly drops the pan.

it’s not often that you bring over friends, so ajax insists on cleaning beforehand and serving your group snacks much like a mother hen would throughout their stay.

their two, maybe three if you're pushing it, hour stay. all you’re going to is chat, it’s not like they’re going to be staying overnight or anything.

you sigh but let him do what he wants.

some cookies are laid out by the time they arrive, and he’s hovering around pretty much indefinitely to serve tea or juice.

it’s cute, in a way, but your friends’ teasing is not.

"you know, he’s kind of like your house husband, isn’t he?" your friend comments, leaning over and biting into a powdery cookie.

you try to ignore the way ajax beams. you try to ignore the way he cheers to himself even harder.

"not really..." your weak attempts at rebutting their words make your friends laugh.

the rest of the session goes by normally; you talk about the kinds of things you’d regularly talk about with friends. someone in your group recently received a promotion, and somebody else got fired. somebody gained a boyfriend, another realised she didn’t have the time or energy for relationships not too long ago.

the longer the conversation goes on, the more the chatter becomes background noise as the you retreat to your own world. the drink in your hands gets lukewarm long before you finish it despite your frequent sipping.

when they finally leave, you feel more relieved than you should.

you see them off with a smile, but your head is pounding by the time you sit back down and your ears can finally rest. now that you’re (mostly, ajax is always just kind of there) alone, you can finally have some peace and quiet and relax.

or that’s what you think until ajax leans over the couch, head hovering above yours. "now that they’re gone… would you prefer dinner, a bath, or me?"

you stare at him. he doesn’t move, clearly eager for your answer. eventually, you sigh and gently push his face away. "dinner would be nice."

he laughs, something warm and domestic dancing in his cold eyes. "of course! it’ll be ready soon."

he presses a quick kiss to your cheek before leaving.

you whine, but the space he touched feels tingly even against your own hand.

"ajax."

he drops your wallet, not even attempting to take back the couple hundred bills peeking out. his response is nonchalant, even at his supposed surprise at having been caught by you. "ahh, I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon. look at what I found!"

you stare. at him. at what he’s holding. at your wallet on the floor.

you’re certain you did not have that many hundred bills. you’re going to cry if you find him trying to stuff his money into your wallet again.

"you mentioned liking this, right? I was out earlier and I thought I could get it for you. you know, as a sign of goodwill and all, for being such a great roommate."

a couple months ago, you would have been perplexed. he insists on doing all of the chores and most of the cooking, and he pays most of the bills. is the 'great roommate' status because you’re quiet and don’t host loud parties, or…? you don’t question it anymore at this point.

"ajax."

a couple months ago, he might’ve gotten unnerved by your silence. instead, he pushes it into your hands, a wide grin on face, ruffles your hair and saunters out.

you have yet to find his wallet. despite that, all the cash (and then some) that you’d left on his bedside table or bed has always managed to find a way back to your wallet, so there would probably be little point anyway.

"ah, that reminds me!" he peeks back into your room a couple minutes later. "what would you like for dinner?" the nerve of him to ask this right after he calls you a great roommate…

"maybe some soup?" you say instead.

he smiles, bows, and takes his leave. the apron you called cute a few weeks ago is already fixed onto him.

you sigh, sliding the bills in properly.

wait a second. is that a credit card…?

you were expecting many things when you finally caught him, but him sniffing only your shirt—out of all your available laundry—wasn’t one of them.

"…what are you doing?"

you have never seen him jerk his head as quickly, nor have you ever seen him so red. or speechless.

you both stand there in silence for a few seconds before he blinks rapidly and his breathing becomes ragged. "it’s not—I—it’s not what you think, I swear—"

"okay, whatever." you wave him off. somehow, this doesn’t alarm you as much as it should. "I don’t care what you were doing, don’t do it again."

he nods quickly, considerably less composed than he usually is, and shoves your shirt back into the basket briskly. "also… can you stop leaving your stuff in my wardrobe. I know you know the difference."

"ah, that was…" he’s clearly at a loss for words, not sure how to justify himself after having been caught committing not only one transgression, but two.

you set the clothes of his you were bringing to him down, tempted to just throw them at him.

you swallow your nerves, almost nervously meeting his eyes. "look, I don’t really care, but can you at least leave me stuff like your jacket or sweater? your shirts aren’t really my style."

his breathing hitches again but he gives no response otherwise, so you shake your head and turn to leave. the laundromat room is thankfully empty save for the two of you, something you’re glad for.

as you pass through the door, it occurs to you that the guy who’d been smoking in here hasn’t shown up in a while. now that you think about it, that was the reason ajax had offered to take over laundry duty too...

oh well, it’s of no concern to you, you think to yourself as you make the journey back to your room.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐄𝖝𝖊𝖈𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗 | Teaser

When second chances are wasted, there's only one thing left to do.

Tags/Warnings: Dystopian AU, Werewolf AU, Alpha!Jungkook, Omega!Reader, Angst, Some fluff, romance but he's a bit weird about it pls let him cook he's awkward okay, Violence, crime and.. bad stuff.

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: oh look another werewolf fic oops. BTW if you do not like any of the tags or the trailer doesnt vibe with you, don't read the story. I literally have tons of other content for you instead. Thanks.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

“Do you think that people can change?”

No. Jungkook does not believe that people have the ability to shed their dark desires once they've shown their ugly faces to the world. Once someone has lost control over themselves and their inner demons even just once, it’s over. A wolf's inner beast set free won’t be tamed again, by anyone. There is no coming back from that- and a crime committed has to be punished, especially when there’s not even any effort put into areas trying to redeem one’s self. second chances should always be valued highly if given-

Because everyone has to face judgement for their actions, and if those second chances are wasted, he is the man who will execute the fitting punishment.

Jungkook doesn't believe in second chances.

A man who’s laid his hand on his wife will never truly change his mind and put the shackles onto himself after the line has been crossed. A cheating spouse will not suddenly become loyal as a dog again just because they realize the hurt they’ve caused. A murderer can’t give back the life they’ve taken even if they desperately want to. A young wolf lost to a frenzy can’t gain back their sanity with the snap of a finger.

He is part of the new world’s law.

Violence is the punishment put on people who can’t seem to keep themselves in check even after second chances. Violence is the final answer to the worst of the worst, the people who will never change.

Violence is the thing that changes people- from being alive to no longer being a threat to anyone ever again.

To Jungkook, these people are like maggots, infesting the cities and homes of families who just want to exist and live. Jungkook is the pest control, he removes those insects, cleans out the infestations.

Saves potential victims.

“I didn’t do anything!” the man slurs a little, alcohol in his veins causing him to visibly struggle with his bodily functions, even if he wants to desperately be sober in this moment. You’re sitting in the corner still, watching, well aware not to interfere with a man sent by the people in charge of the wolf’s law to carry out the final judgement.

“Evasion. Armed robbery, twice. Domestic abuse, twice. Attempted kidnap of a child while intoxicated.” Jungkook lists, having memorized what this person is being accused of- or rather yet, has already been judged for in the past. “You’ve shown that you do not aim to change.” He says, not even looking at you once. Instead, he just walks closer, like a predator, staring down his prey. “And now, keeping an omega hostage? Not exactly the actions of a man innocent.”

“I-“ the man tries, but he doesn’t get far with his words. “-There’s- nothing happened- Tell him! Nothing happened, right-?” He asks you, who’s staring him down.

Jungkook looks at you as well now, awaiting your answer.

You’ve got a life in your hands.

Your lips part, but you can’t speak- when suddenly, the man moves again, lifts his hand as he steps towards you, ready to intimidate you into answering if needed- but Jungkook is faster, having seen enough. Even if nothing happened- yet- surely if he was to leave, you’d be another body found. “Where- where are you taking me?” the man begs to know, unable to really go against the hand that holds the back of his head by the hair, fingers tightly dug into the locks to have a secure hold on him as he drags him into a corner or the small, run down house.

In this moment, Jungkook looks like a different person to you. There’s no trace of the man who just wants to help others. The hands that force this stranger to his knees aren’t the same that helped you stand earlier that day, hold gentle and without any intention to hurt. Those eyes are dark as coal, like two black voids swallowing any reflection whole.

“I'll take you straight to hell, where you belong.” Jungkook simply answers the man, before he lets go-

And takes out his gun, to fire the first shot of many.

[jymwahuwu]

I have an idea. A self-aware au. What if Jing yuan/Blade is aware of darling's affection for him since they would log in the game and just see him and just admire them that is until Genshin drops 4.1 trailer and saw Arlecchino and Neuvillette and now they're envious of these two taking away their darling's attention.

It's just an interesting idea tho. But in actuality I'd think neuvillette and him would be friends or somewhat

Hello, this anon has similar thoughts!! Put them together to answer >_< I think they will be really jealous of the genshin impact characters who are stealing your attention lol. Jing Yuan's jealousy is more harmless (seemingly), while Blade's is more aggressive (?)

This is my first time writing a self-aware AU, hope you like it!!

CW: yandere, self-aware au

Jing Yuan and Blade have their own lives.

When you're not with them, when you're not in front of the screen or looking at them with a smile or wonder. They are handling the work/tasks of the Seat of Divine Foresight/Stellaron Hunters. Blade, Silver Wolf and Kafka were practicing the new "destiny" script and took away another Stellaron. Jing Yuan is managing Luofu and attending meetings. How strange. Once you click on the space screen to enter the game, they can see your face. You organize your team and do daily tasks with them.

At first, they thought it was some kind of prank or a conspiracy, but over time they got used to it. In Elio's words, "The world is like a video game. No one can prove whether the world is real or false. Feeling the current destiny is the most important thing."

For Jing Yuan, he just got familiar with your personality. He confirmed that your presence would not put Luofu in danger, and that you acted like a cute kitten playing with a ball of yarn. You can control Luofu's General and Stellaron Hunter, and all you do is wander around Xianzhou and buy snacks to feed them, break every poor object on the way, fight to get some rewards, take the books on the table, etc.

You didn't forget to "build" them either. They watch you search for "Jing Yuan", "Blade", "build", "guide" and other keywords on the Internet, and take them to fight again and again to get materials to upgrade. Although they have actually participated in some wars and have terrible strength, what you see here is "lv 1-80".

You really like them, otherwise you wouldn’t pull, right? You even take photos of them while wandering around the map. Jing Yuan snickered when you took Blade to take a selfie in front of his wanted poster. The general is not shy about giving you a smile either. They know your admiration because you always take more than one photo.

Until… recently, they noticed that you weren't online as often. At one point, you log in again, and then, as if you thought of something important, you search "genshin impact" on Youtube (they know the name of the site) and start watching trailers and special programs.

What's this?

You stared intently at those…those people. White curly bangs, long hair like a waterfall, and his gorgeous and decent attire. The other man has short black hair. He punches enemies in live. A woman with short gray and white hair smiles confidently.

Jing Yuan opened his eyes wide, not expecting you to be so "frivolous" - did you plan to be unfaithful to him? You found Jing Yuan pouting at you in the game, but you thought you were hallucinating, so you gave him immortal's delight and puffergoat milk to comfort him. Blade clicked his tongue, crossed his arms in boredom, and stopped observing what you were doing on the other side of the screen. Silver Wolf and Kafka teased him about whether he was separated from the little player? Jealous? You're surprised to notice that his damage has been doubled. While on a mission, Blade almost lost control and killed a person on the script. His eyes as red as candlelight flashed, and he almost swung down the sword in his hand.

They are all looking for opportunities to get close to you. That part of Xianzhou's large computer installation called "loom" is running, investigating and analyzing you.

[bangtangalicious]

gimme more (m) | jjk

pairing: jungkook x f-reader

genre: smut pwp drabble innocent!jungkook x innocent!reader, loss-of-innocence!au

wc: 1.2k (short!)

summary: you grind on jungkook till he cums in his pants

warnings: 18+ (be gone children!) pw(o)p explicit smut. NEEDY koo but what did you expect, whining, outercourse, grinding or rather riding jungkook for all he's worth, cumming in pants, licking, begging, stuttering, multiple orgasms bc jk is a horny boi, just wild messy filth, light manhandling, one smacc on dat ass, inexperienced!koo & reader, fondling, breast play, did i mention needy koo? unedited

part of the touch me wherever universe. *can be standalone*

Jungkook loved going shopping with you. Especially the part where you'd try on anything he picked out and twirl around for him. Like a little plaything. He'd test your limits at first. A cute crop top. A black bikini. A short sundress.

Could you blame him? The way your plump little ass looked in the flimsy fabric had him crossing his legs in an attempt to hide the raging hard on in his sweats.

Today the roles were reversed though. Jungkook needed new pants.

Why? Because he kept ruining them. Because of you. Too embarrassed to let his parents wash them in the laundry, afraid he would have to explain how easily you could make him cum without even trying.

As you dragged him into the Calvin Klein store, he was immediately uncomfortable. So many pictures of naked men. Were you looking? Did you like it? Of course not, you only like Jungkook, you told him yourself.

You wouldn't lie to him, right?

"I like these" You handed him a pair of dark jeans, a blue so deep it reminded him of the ocean. "Go try them on"

He did, jumping into the thick fabric. The pants were snug. When he walked out of the fitting room, he almost choked seeing that you were trying on some underwear.

"Oh hey" You were unphased. Then again, why should you mind? Jungkook had seen your body. Kissed and licked every inch of it. You had nothing to hide from him.

But he had something to hide from you. You wouldn't be able to tell, not in these jeans. But Jungkook needed you now.

He scolded himself internally. Can't you keep it together one fucking time! He worried you'd find him pathetic. Once you learned better.

Seokjin had offered to teach the two of you how to have sex properly. Jungkook knew you were curious, but frankly he liked things they way they were. You knowing only the taste of him. His lips. His cock.

Self-control? Jungkook never needed it. Why should he? You'd never deny him. What would he do if you did, what would he do if you said no? If you tried to pull away as he picked you up into his lap, kicking the dressing room door shut? If you didn't let him seat your cushy little cunt right over his zipper, gripping your thighs so tight?

He'd probably cry. And he knew you'd never deny him then.

Could you tell he was hard? He watched your face intently, while you continued to play with the straps of the bra you were clearly not finding comfortable.

Jungkook could help with that. It would be his pleasure.

He snapped the damn thing off.

You sighed with relief, his hands tracing the imprint of the tight underwire before cupping over your mounds. You were so fucking pretty, and you didn't even know it. But he liked that you didn't know. If you did, you might leave him. He wouldn't know how to survive without you. Without being able to touch you just like this.

"Do you like them?"

Jungkook raised his eyebrows at you.

"The jeans?" Ohh.

His hands slid to your bare back, pulling you closer till your chest was pressed against his. He wanted to feel you, but he couldn't not through those damn jeans. The desperation had him boiling inside. Feverish, as you mindlessly rolled your hips.

He gritted his teeth, aware of the warmth between your thighs and wishing he could feel the slippery wetness that was no doubt there. Instead he grabbed handfulls of your ass, pushing you up, letting you bounce on his groin. Once, then a little harder. Harder.

"Fuckk" Jungkook screamed in frustration. Nails digging into the cotton panties. He pushed his hips up, desperately trying to get friction for his cock. "Why can't I feel you--I wanna feel you, Y/n"

His cock strained painfully, trapped within the confines of his jeans. So badly he wished it would tear open, so that you could bounce right on his cock. You were so fucking warm, and tight, he knew how you felt. How could he go on now that he knew--he needed you all the time!

"It hurts" He whined, "It hurts so bad" You caressed his shoulders, getting him to calm down. Jungkook exhaled shakily, eyes red with fury.

"Let me try" You shifted your weight, clenching your thighs around his torso. You rolled your hips, deep and intentional, doing your best to spread open so that the tiny bulge in his pants could sneak right in.

"Mmpfh" His face was buried into your neck, hair brushing against your breast. "More, m-more please, need to feel more"

You did as he said. He loved you for that. Loved how eager you were to meet his every need. He would do the same for you, of course. The thought reminding him to reward your effort by popping your breast into his mouth. Lightly biting on the flesh.

"Koo" You blushed, grinding down even harder. Finally Jungkook was able to get some friction. A bare semblance of satisfaction. It only left him craving more.

"Y-yeah, harder please I can feel it" He buried his face into your chest as you rode him. Ass thrusting against his rigid jeans. The tent growing as he bucked his hips.

You began to slow down.

"NO" Instinctively, Jungkook slapped your ass.

You froze.

"Uh, I'm sorry, didn't mean to do that--d-don't stop PLEASE! fuck don't stop now just keep going like that just a little bit. Please, for me, it's so good, it's so fucking good, don't stop"

He kissed your lips, urging you on. "Feels so good, just wanna fit right into you like this" He thrust up, brushing against your clit. You groaned in response.

"You like it too, don't even lie to me Y/n. You like sitting on me like this" He peppered kisses across your jaw, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you moving against him.

"Just a bit more. Can you o-open wide please? Yeah, yeah," Jungkook sighed as you flattened your pussy right onto his bulge. You moved back and forth, rubbing up against him desperately.

"G-gunna, oh god Y/n, I'm--" Jungkook hissed loudly. Painfully, he came, pressure snapping within him. His cock twitched, still desperate to release. Still hard as a rock.

You looked at him curiously, wondering if he was done.

As if.

"Get off" He pushed you suddenly. You yelped, his movements quick as he stood up, grabbing you by the waist, turning you around and pinning you against the wall.

"Koo--wait"

Jungkook let out a low growl. He was far too frustrated to explain himself. He unhooked his jeans, dragging them out until his cock sprung through his boxers.

Immediately he pressed the tip against your ass, rutting shamelessly as though you were a pillow. His teeth scraping the top of your head, hands gripping your breasts--pinching your nipples, still covered in his saliva.

His cock slid against the fabric. He knew you were wet. Could feel it leaking through. He fucked against you, rabid. Sweat budding at his forehead.

"Yes, yes, fuck yes" Without thinking he reached down to drag the fabric between your legs aside, coating himself with you. You winced but he could care less. He couldn't think straight. Everything was white with pleasure and red with need.

You were close. You skin so sweet as he kissed all over your neck. The pretty arch of your back as he slid his cock through your folds. Unrelenting.

"M'gonna cum" Jungkook mumbled, blinking back tears. His hips speeding up furiously, ignoring the bruising on your ass. He pressed your face against the wall, swallowing your lips as he spilled down your thighs.

You let out a long sigh. Glad for a moment of stillness.

"So are you gonna buy those jeans?"

Jungkook giggled, kissing you fondly.

"Only if you promise to sit on my lap whenever I do"

want more needy!koo smut? read the original or:

scenarios: when you get a crush | when he takes your virginity | if he got you pregnant | kink discovery: dacryphilia | when your tits ache and he helps

drabbles: tickle me there | touch yourself here | wanna touch you | soaked n’ slippery

a/n: this is for my tmw babies, because i keep you waiting for so long. hope you enjoy. thank you for reading <3 please let me know what you think!

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule VII

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which you didn’t know who he truly was- until it was too late. Or in which he found heaven in you.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: Here is a gift. Happy birthday to me :> we are nearing the end of season 1! Tysm for all the support ✨

Masterlist, Latibule VI

“Do you have no sense of self-preservation? Are you suicidal? Are you tired of you life? Or are you just fucking naive?”

You blinked owlishly at his tirade. You almost couldn’t keep up with the onslaught of words he was emphasizing to you, nor were you aware that this man could rap when he was mad. “Excuse me?”

“You’re letting a strange man into our house!” He hissed whilst pointing at the man sitting calmly on the sofa with his legs crossed and the tea cup perfectly balanced on his knee as he watched the two of you bickered like an old couple. To be honest, Kim Seokjin was entertained. Hell, this was the most emotion he saw on Yoongi and he couldn’t wait to tell the rest of their brothers that the fearless and emotionless mafia leader was a wreck because he couldn’t find you.

“And?” You snapped back at him, not seeing why he was this infuriated.

“And?” He scoffed in utter disbelief before stepping near you imposingly, his chest almost touching yours. “And what if he hurts you? What if he’s a bad person? What then?”

“He needs help-“

“And he could be fucking faking it!” He shouted with so much emotion that you could see the veins on his neck protruding. He was still not over the panic he felt when he thought he lost you. He could still feel his fucking heart, which he originally thought was long dead, beat so fast it almost bursted from its cage when you weren’t there. Not even a barrel of a gun could make him panic like that. Not even death could make him as terrified as he was when he thought you left him.

You raised your brows at him before glancing at the man. You were embarrassed that Suga was talking as though the man wasn’t physically there. It was as though he didn’t care if he heard or if he offended anyone. Nope. But you thought that he was being too much. Everyone deserved a chance, right? “Aren’t you being a hypocrite? I didn’t know you then and I still let you in.”

And that made him paused because for all intents and purposes, he was the man you should have never let in. He was the most dangerous man out there. You should have left him to perish that night. You didn’t know him, and yet you saved him. You should have let fate ran its course because now, it was you who couldn’t run.

“…That’s different.”

“How so?!”

“I would never hurt you!”

“Why?!”

“Because you are important to me!”

Well.

Right then and there, as the two of you breathed hard after screaming at each other, silence reined in. All you could hear was that and someone who sounded like he was choking on his tea. You didn’t know what to make of the fact that he just told you, no, he screamed at you, that you were important to him. And you sure as hell could no longer ignore that you felt something for this man.

And it unnerved you.

It displaced you.

It terrified you that the truth was staring right at you with his dark eyes burning with something you were scared to name. It was time to face the music.

You had irrevocably fallen for him.

Yet before you could opened your mouth, he broke eye contact with you and pointed at the man who was watching the two of you with satisfaction in his eyes. “And you, follow me.”

---

Kim Seokjin remained smiling as Min Yoongi glared at him with faux hatred. He stood there with his arms crossed in front of him and perhaps, a lesser man would have ran once Yoongi looked at them this way. But not him. For heaven’s sake, he grew up with the mafia leader. He was there when the man just wouldn’t say a word for the whole fucking year until Seokjin was in danger.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

He smiled at him, “I was looking for my cat.”

“What cat?! You hate cats!” He hissed before taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm himself. “You know what- don’t answer that. Fuck, who else knows I’m alive?” Yoongi thought that if anyone other than Jimin and Jin knew, then he had to leave this instant. He could not and would not put you in danger’s harm. No. He would paint this whole town red if it meant keeping you safe.

“Only Jimin and I,” Jin answer somberly, his face losing its initial playfulness as he regarded Yoongi. “I know better than to tell the maknaes. They are devastated that you had joined satan and who knows what the three of them would do when they know that you’re still breathing?”

“Namjoon?”

Jin shrugged, “Haven’t seen him much. Probably still busy convincing his secretary not to resign. I mean- seriously, for someone so smart he could be so dense. It’s so obvious that he has feelings for her-“

“Hoseok?”

He paused before racking his brain when he last saw him. The seven of them usually see each other at least weekly. So…what happened to him? “I haven’t spoken to him.”

Yoongi nodded as he turned to look at the house, at what he now considered as his safe haven. The two of them were talking outside and by now, you probably realized that he knew Seokjin. “Good. There’s a mole in our organization, hyung. I cannot trust anyone.”

“I understand,” Jin murmured, following where Yoongi seemed to be looking at. “Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

And then he answered him with a sucker punch.

Seokjin was now brimming with satisfaction and smiling widely as he watched with much content as Yoongi doubled over from the force. He was clutching his stomach as he looked up and sneered at him. “You asshole! And you call yourself a fucking doctor?”

He chuckled before clapping Yoongi’s back. “You deserve it. Don’t ever make me think that you descended to hell and then come back alive, okay?”

And despite Jin choosing the less violent life and becoming a doctor, he remained to still be one of the most dangerous man among the seven. How could he not when he was raised to be the king of the underworld? How could he not when he learned how to kill a man before he could even properly talk? How could he not when he grew up too soon before his body even left his boyhood?

Notwithstanding the fact that he worded it so politely, Yoongi knew enough to decipher that this was not a request. This was an order. See, Seokjin’s face was deceiving. His handsome face, the innocent and playful air he carried, the way he presented himself to the society- they were all a ruse. Kim Seokjin was simply the face of duplicity.

Yoongi glared at him before nodding his head.

---

You stared at the two men standing in front of you with so much contrast on their expressions- one was smiling so widely and the other was frowning as though everything was an imposition to him. You didn’t have to specify which was which.

“You found your cat,” you repeated with unbridled disbelief in your tone. Jin nodded his head convincingly while Yoongi looked like he was long done with this conversation.

“So where is the cat?”

“It’s…out there.”

“You’re taking it home, right?”

His lips was tilted to the side as he regarded you. You thought that this man looked as though he knew something you didn’t and it was starting to annoy you. “You know what, I think it’s happier here.”

“You can’t just leave your cat here, mister!”

And he just shrugged at your outburst before throwing his arm around the sulking Suga. “I can when it’s happier here. Anyway! What’s for dinner?”

He sure did make himself at home, you thought as you eyed him ate with gusto. On the other hand, Suga was whining beside you.

“You’re an unwelcome guest in our house. Hurry up and leave.”

“So my cat,” Jin suddenly quipped up, “was the cutest kitten. We grew up together. I grew up handsome and he grew up quite ugly, though.”

Yoongi suddenly banged his fist on the table, creating quite a disturbance. “Excuse me-“

“I still remember when my father brought him home. His…old family was not good. When they died, my father adopted him. I was an only child and then suddenly, I had a brother who never spoke for a whole year until well- my father almost beat me up to death. That cat saved me,” he pondered, his eyes focused on yours. You initially thought that this man looked angelic, yet now that he was looking at you with a familiar, swirling darkness and madness in his eyes, you were almost quite sure that he was not as gentle and good as you perceived him to be. And the way he was telling you his past made it seemed as though you were entering into a world of theirs, one that you couldn’t retreat from.

“I loathed how I was not able to save him from a darker world with my family. I wanted to tell him to leave and run far from my family back then, to leave the worse hell imaginable, but I was too powerless. But I see now that this is a new chance.”

“Stop, hyung-“

“Sit down,” You cut Suga off, pushing him back to his seat with one hand and a glare, to which he complied angrily. You turned to the mysterious man. “What do you mean?”

“What I’m saying is my cat is happier with his new owner. In fact, this is the most content and at peace I have ever seen him. I’m saying that I’m not taking him home.”

---

“Why are you making me walk you to your car?!” Yoongi hissed at Jin as the older man dragged him out to where he parked his car.

“Because hyung missed you,” he replied indulgently before throwing his arm around Yoongi’s shoulder. The night in this town was tranquil and quiet, Jin noted. This was so different to where they grew up. In their world, night was when men like Yoongi came alive. In their world, quietness was not synonymous to peace. To them, it was the calm before the storm.

“She’s good for you. Give me a niece or nephew right this instant.”

Yoongi threw his arm away from him as though in disgust, his dark hair falling on his face. He pushed his only hyung away from him. “Are you insane? Doctors like you cannot lose their minds! What brought this on? If you’re craving a child, make one of your own! Or better yet, ask Jungkook! He’s the only one who has a fucking wife among us!”

Jin looked at Yoongi with amusement in his eyes. Between them all, Yoongi was the most unemotionally available person. And really, he didn’t blame him. After all, he suffered from his parents and was given a chance to have a normal family…only that his bastard and useless excuse of a father was the one who adopted the poor Yoongi. It was not unimaginable why Yoongi couldn’t understand the obvious.

“Yoongi, do you know that you look at her like she could say the sky is pink and you would believe her?”

Yoongi scoffed before looking at him as though he was making no sense. “Hyung, are you on drugs? What are you trying to say? The sky is very clearly purple-“

“What the fuck- are you color blind? You know what? Never mind. I always knew there was something very wrong with you. What I was trying to say is that you look at her like she’s everything you could ever want,” he explained quickly, his voice increasing in apparent irritation at Yoongi’s obliviousness. For heaven’s sake, this was the first time he saw him with his demons at peace. This was the first time he saw him with no blood thirst simmering in his eyes.

Yoongi regarded him for a moment too long before opening his mouth to say yet another nonsense. “Hyung, that’s slander. You will hear from my lawyer.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically, “I always hear from Kim Namjoon.”

You were ready, you told yourself.

You expected this and you had been preparing yourself for when he finally left you. You weren’t foolish enough to think that he would want to stay when his brother came to get him. You knew despite what that man said, Suga would want to go back to his old life.

Why would he want to stay with you, you thought. You were a liability.

You would soon be a liability.

And now as you stood in the middle of the dark living room, with the sofa he had been sleeping on for months unmade with blanket thrown carelessly on the backrest of the sofa, your heart broke. You had always thought you were already acquainted with loneliness when you whole family perished. You thought you were used with loneliness.

But this was different.

This was a different kind of ache, one that you were sure you would never get over for the rest of your life. You were used to the silence, but heavens, the silence of not having him around was so fucking loud that you could not ignore it despite your best efforts. The space he occupied was too big that not having him here felt like a big gap…like something was clearly missing.

Yet, he returned.

The front door opened quietly, the moonlight seeping from the opened door. You jumped when he called for you, when he called you his angel.

“I-I thought you were leaving,” you confessed as you looked up to him. The shadows made him looked more sinister, and you would have been terrified had you not known him. You would have been scared had you not known how gentle he could be, how playful and soft he could be despite his grumpiness. You would have ran to the hills had you not known how carefully and softly he held your hand everyday as the two of you walked back to your home.

You would have been screaming for help had you not known how he looked at you with fondness in his eyes on mornings where you two sipped your coffee before leaving for work.

His silence, though, was unnerving. He stepped closer to you, so close that you had nowhere else to go but to him.

“Do you wish for me to leave?” He whispered as he caressed your face. He was never religious, but God, please let her say no, he prayed to whoever was willing to listen to him. “Because if you do, I will. I will walk out of that door this instant. You will never have to see or hear from me ever again.”

And he meant it. You were the only one he was willing to follow. You were the only one he would willingly marched to hell for. You were the first and only, he thought. “You only need to say a word and I will follow,” he stated with so much truth that you could do nothing but believe every word he said.

But your thoughts haunted you. You conscience was screaming too loud for you to let him go while you still could, to not subject him to misery with you. He was giving you an out and all the signs told you to let him go.

You should...right?

Right.

Slowly, you stepped back. His hands falling limply on his sides as he watched you took a step farther away from him, and all his demons told him that this was wrong. All his evilness told him that you shouldn't be far from him. But you were his angel. As much as it displaced him to have you far, he had to respect your wish.

Your silence was taken as an answer. Suga nodded his head in understanding as he watched you closed your bedroom door. As soon as you did, you knew you committed the worst mistake in your life. Here was a good thing. Here stood a magical thing that made you feel, and in your cowardice you turned your back on him.

Fuck it, you were exhausted of living as though you were in a borrowed time.

You wanted to truly live. You wanted to truly exist before this all went away.

Without any thought, you opened your door, prepared to run for him should he have left already.

Yet, what you saw was him standing in front of your door as though he was waiting, patiently waiting for you to come back to him. And you did.

“Stay,” you ordered as you clutched his biceps, looking up at his dark eyes, willing for him to see what you already accepted: you loved him.

Suga smiled, resting his forehead on yours. “I will, Angel,” he promised.

And he sealed it with a kiss.

Tip Jar Latibule VIII

[subskz]

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 04

note: this is part 4 of a series (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of twin flames, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, angst, self-sabotaging behavior, self-loathing thoughts, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, themes of death/grief, lots of crying (sorry), brief mention of blood

word count: 16.9k

“Do you believe in twin flames?” 

Chan’s question hung in the air for a moment, changing the atmosphere so drastically that you weren’t quite sure how to react. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a less-than-appropriate giggle.

“You don’t?” his voice came quieter this time.

“It’s not that,” you tried to contain your amusement. “It’s just…what a very Bang Chan thing of you to ask.”

Even through the dim light of your living room, you could tell that the smile he flashed you didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was being serious, you realized with a start, at least to some degree. 

“I mean,” you paused, searching for the right answer to such a heavy question—if there even was one. “I guess it’s something you can only believe in once you experience it for yourself, right?”

It was Chan’s turn to hesitate, nibbling on his lower lip in silence. Whether he was holding back what he really wanted to say, or simply lost in thought, you couldn’t decide.

“Why do you ask?”

“Dunno,” he said slowly. “Just wondering.”

“Huh. Really?”

It was a vague explanation, and you knew better than to accept it at face value. Knowing Chan, he wouldn’t have even raised such a topic with you if it hadn’t been weighing on his mind for some time now, longer than he himself may have even been aware of. The concept was more or less a mystery to you; a special sort of relationship that, judging by name alone, was brimming with intensity, if not defined by it. You wondered just how deeply Chan had immersed himself in its ideals, if it was one of those philosophies he’d adopted into his heart and spent sleepless nights thinking about, despite the superstition of it all, just as a way to understand the world around him—the people around him. Maybe, even, to understand himself. 

“I’ve just never really felt like this before,” an awkward chuckle escaped him, as if to lessen the gravity of what he was implying. “I feel like you can see right through me.”

See right through me. 

Your heart leapt in your chest. Immediately, you understood what he meant; the exact same phenomenon you’d been trying to wrap your head around since the day you’d first met him. You’d been so caught up in your concerns over how effortlessly he seemed to read you—seeing past every carefully crafted guise you could conjure up like it didn’t even exist—that you hadn’t ever considered he might be experiencing the same feeling on his end. The feeling of knowing each other long before you’d ever crossed paths. 

It had a strange effect on you. Elation. Dread. Had you felt like this before? In a certain sense, you knew that you had. 

The familiar foolishness of being prepared to give someone your all—of stubbornly believing that, somehow, you would never run out of things to give. At the same time, though, it couldn’t be more different. Chan couldn’t be more different. For the first time, you were faced with an unexpected obstacle in your efforts to trudge mercilessly down the path to your own detriment. He wasn’t there to usher you along like so many had before, feeding off your every step until your legs inevitably gave out from under you. He was there to guide you down a different path—one that was infinitely more pleasant, and one that you were infinitely less acquainted with. 

It couldn’t be more different because now, with every drop of yourself that you so willingly offered up to him, you fretted over what you might be draining from him in return. Chan was, after all, every bit as self-sacrificing as you, and then some. 

That didn’t even begin to cover everything else that surrounded your relationship. The magnetic pull that drew you to him wherever you roamed, the burning sensation that consumed your body any time he so much as crossed your mind, the insatiable desire to open him up and witness him in his entirety—to know every part of him like it was your own. 

If those were the kinds of things twin flames entailed, then, yes, you believed in them. You’d believe in anything that connected you to him. 

It dawned on you, suddenly, that you hadn’t spoken for what was probably an unsettling amount of time. The slightest bit frantic, you combed your brain for an answer, overtaken by an urge to reassure the boy next to you before he made the decision to never share an even remotely personal thought with you again. You didn’t doubt that he would. Despite his seemingly endless levels of understanding, Chan was sensitive. He wouldn’t forget.

“Did I say something wrong?” he chuckled again. It wasn’t even awkward this time, just bordering on defeated.

“No, no,” you cursed yourself for even giving him the chance to second-guess such an idea, for giving him any more reason to believe that opening up to you could ever be a mistake. “I was just caught off guard. Sorry, Channie.”

You shifted in your spot, turning inwards to get a better look at him. He wasn’t making eye contact—nothing new there—but it wasn’t just his usual timidity at play. It was something you could only describe as akin to shame, the expression of someone who had overestimated his importance and was now berating himself for ever having the audacity to assume he mattered. You decided, instantly, that it was a look you never wanted to see cross his face again.

“I think it’s the same for me.”

You didn’t think, you knew. You knew it better than anything else. Still, it was difficult to say out loud, even when Chan was sitting before you, looking ready to bare himself to you with a sincerity that you may not entirely deserve. 

He perked up a bit, and you relaxed the instant that fog of uncertainty cleared from his face, brightening it once more. “Really?”

“Do you…” you prayed that you wouldn’t sound completely insane in what came out of your mouth next. “Do you feel it, too? That weird sort of heat?”

His eyes widened, fingers flexing where they rested on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I feel it. When we first met, I thought you had a fever or something.”

A wave of sentimentality crashed over you all at once. You thought back to that day; that horribly clumsy first encounter that had you certain Chan would tell Changbin to please keep his strange friend far, far away from him in the future. The encounter that had ignited something you hadn’t been able to explain—something you still couldn’t explain, even six months later.

“I thought you were a human pressure cooker.”

“A pressure cooker?” he grinned, actually taking a moment to consider it. “I kinda am.”

That ever-present tug found your heartstrings again. But you knew he’d intended on it being light, a playful jab at himself that was truer than he seemed to understand. So, you didn’t dwell on it.

“Guess we’ve got the flames part down, then,” you joked.

“I’ve been reading about them.” His eyes twinkled, now encouraged. “They’re not exactly soulmates—more like two parts of the same soul. Kinda like you’re holding up a mirror to yourself.”

“Sounds poetic,” you murmured. He was speaking so earnestly, like he’d been longing for the opportunity to share these thoughts with someone all his life. You might’ve accepted anything he said in that moment as an absolute truth. “So, how do you know if you’ve found yours?”

“Lots of ways.” He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Shared experiences, for one. Uncanny similarities, and that feeling of…” he trailed off briefly, features softening. “Like you’re a part of each other, y’know?”

Each example stirred something deeper and deeper within you, rattling the windows and doors of your mind. Shared experiences. Uncanny similarities. A part of each other. Memories from that night two weeks ago swarmed you, demanding all your focus and ripping you away from the present conversation all at once. Chan’s flow of tears, his vulnerability, his dependence on you. How the cracks you’d caught glimpses of in just one of the many, many walls he’d put up finally spread far enough to send the entire structure crumbling unceremoniously to the ground. 

Not only that, but his uncontainable guilt the next day, and every day that followed. His profuse apologies for allowing you to see him like that, his promises to make it up to you, and, most heartbreaking of all, his subtle spike in attachment, as if he was afraid that now that you’d discovered a side to him that dared to be anything less than accommodating—anything less than convenient for you—you’d pack up and leave without a second thought. No matter how many times you’d reassured him that it was fine, good even, to allow himself to lean on you, he was nevertheless determined to return the favor. Like it was transactional, like you couldn’t possibly have been there for him simply because you wanted to be. Because you loved him.

You were all too conscious of the fact that your promise to him back in July hadn’t been forgotten. The clock was ticking, with each passing second serving as a wrench to the bolts you’d kept so tightly wound up all these months—all your life, really. If Chan’s feelings were anything like yours, you knew he must be hungry for it, the opportunity to loosen the bolts himself and peer into what was buried inside. 

It was as invigorating as it was terrifying. The fear of being known, the comfort of being understood.

“A part of each other,” you echoed. “That’s...”

“Kinda scary, yeah?”

“A little,” you admitted. “But I think my parts are in pretty good hands.”

Chan beamed, eyes crinkling and teeth peeking out under heart-shaped lips, flooding his face with a glow that washed away any remaining trace of his earlier reservations. Despite yourself, you smiled back, choosing selfishly to fall into his warmth. It wasn’t in short supply—not in the slightest, it was limitless—but inexplicably, you always held yourself back just a bit. 

Even now, you couldn’t escape that survival instinct, that pesky voice in the depths of your brain telling you to take him in moderation, to keep a distance before you grew accustomed to something you weren’t sure you’d be able to go back to living without. But it was a losing battle from the start, and it was far too late to fight it now, anyway. 

Chan’s hand brushed against yours, sending a gentle ripple of heat through your skin and pulling you out of the hole you’d been digging in your head. Before he could ask what you were thinking about—and he was going to, you could feel his flicker of curiosity—you spoke up again, throwing out a question of your own.

“How about you? Do you like your reflection?”

He studied your face, and the lapse in his reply might have made you panic if you weren’t so taken by the fact that, miraculously, he was holding your stare for longer than just a precious few seconds. Your fingers twitched against his, resisting the impulse to reach up and brush them over the tip of your nose.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “For once, I do.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

October’s pleasant chill came to an end, leaving behind a harsher cold spell for the incoming winter months. Bright orange leaves, once providing a golden canopy of light overhead, now littered the ground, dead and dull. Still, it was a sight to admire in its own way—a paper sheet shielding the grass from November’s sharp winds and more frigid temperatures, like the leaves had chosen to sacrifice themselves for the sake of protecting everything else. 

You tried not to think about it, how dangerously close graduation was drawing. The view of the finish line on the horizon wasn’t exactly a comforting one, not when it led right into another race—one that would be even more critical than the last. You didn’t want to think about what it would mean for you once your final semester was complete; what it would mean for your studies, your home, your friendships, Chan. The question of where you would go from here was always lingering in the back of your mind, and no matter how much it haunted your thoughts, you still hadn’t managed to find a sufficient answer. All you knew for sure was that whatever path you walked next, you wanted to be side by side with him, matching your steps and feeling your hand brush against his with each swing.

On a less cynical note, the uncertainty of where the future might take you made days like today all the more valuable, reminding you that, regardless of the tricks nostalgia might play, there were always new memories to be made and cherished. You shoved your hands into your pockets with a shiver as you entered the bowling alley, longing for Chan now more than ever. Just one touch from him, and all the cold nagging at your bones from the walk there would dissipate in an instant.

You felt his warmth begin to spread through your skin as soon as you spotted that familiar head of curls near the front counter. His hair swayed with the rest of his body as he rocked back and forth on his heels, looking absentminded. If you drew close enough, you had no doubt you’d catch a snippet of whatever melody he was sure to be humming. 

Before his presence could fully relax you, however, you registered who was standing there next to him, effectively countering his heat with a sharp chill down your spine. You hadn’t known he was coming. Changbin hadn’t told you he was coming. If he had, you surely would’ve found some excuse to stay home, or, at the very least, prepared yourself to deal with the guy who had so diligently been playing the role of bane of your existence these past months.

Channeling all your strength, you forced a smile and called out a greeting to the group. 

Two pairs of eyes lit up, and one pair narrowed.

“You’re here!” Changbin piped. He elbowed Chan lightly, a self-righteous look crossing his face. “See? I told you we weren’t late.”

You kept your expression calm as you approached them, but it did little to ebb the unease steadily piling up in your stomach. Without a word, Chan’s hand reached out for yours, and you wove your fingers together, barely suppressing an exhale when warmth kindled in your palm.

“I’ve just learned to give it an extra ten minutes before leaving to meet up with you, Bin,” you teased.

It was lighthearted, but he seemed to sense that you weren’t entirely joking. You exchanged an amused glance with Chan as Changbin’s smug look dropped into the frown of someone whose peace had been disturbed, suddenly reevaluating every occasion where he’d so gleefully believed that he was becoming more punctual.

“That’s messed up,” he huffed. “Maybe next time I just won’t show up at all.”

“You say that like you haven't done it before.”

“And as soon as I did, you stole my best friend.” He looked dramatically off to the side, passing your bowling shoes to you. “On second thought, I’d better stick around.”

Half-embarrassed, you cleared your throat and hooked your fingers under the cuffs of the shoes, surprised to find that he’d chosen the right size for you. Just as you opened your mouth to question it, you found your answer—or, rather, you felt it, in the palm of your other hand. You kept quiet to avoid setting yourself up for more playful jabs, but the affection that buzzed to life in your chest was too much to ignore altogether, instead manifesting as a grateful squeeze to Chan’s hand. It was something you weren’t quite used to, something you weren’t sure you’d ever get really used to: care down to the last little detail.

You’d made it a point thus far to stay focused solely on Chan and Changbin, not keen on confronting the source of the tension looming behind your smile. It was probably best not to utter a word to him, anyway, given the direction your conversations veered into every single time without fail. Regardless of which approach you took, regardless of how tightly you gripped the steering wheel, it always spun into something uncontrollable.

But as your eyes wandered casually over to the empty lanes further inside the building, you made the grave mistake of locking them with his—fleeting, but just enough to make your gut twist. You tore your stare away as soon it landed on him, bracing yourself for that inevitable surge of frost, a glare that spoke a thousand scornful words. 

“Hey.”

You wondered for a moment if you’d imagined it, or if Lee Minho was really speaking to you on his own accord. Granted, it was just a simple greeting, but strangely void of his usual disgust when addressing you.

It put you at a complete loss, thoughts scrambling to decipher what his angle could possibly be. You had half a mind to not even respond, but you knew that wasn’t an option when Chan and Changbin were right there, well within earshot. Instead, you settled for nodding at him with a quiet “Hello.”

“You look cold,” he commented.

“Well, it’s cold out.”

Not your most eloquent response. In your defense, you were still trying to make heads or tails of why he was bothering to acknowledge you. His words felt like a taunt in your paranoid mind, like somehow, he was fully aware of the chill that gripped you every time he so much as glanced your way. Mistrust bubbled up inside you, threatening to burst through the surface when he shot you a half-smile that was sickeningly sweet—far too sweet to be natural. To anyone else, it was nothing but friendly, but you knew better than that by now. The closer you looked, the more reminiscent it became of his usual sneer. 

“It’s a relief you’ve got someone to call on if you get sick, then.” He cocked his head towards Chan.

Suddenly, the gears fell into place in your head, making it very clear what Minho’s intentions were. You might have found it admirable, how seamlessly he put on the act, if not for the minor detail of it being positively infuriating. 

“I make a pretty good galbitang, didn’t you know?” 

Minho’s smirk faltered just barely, but before he could say anything else, Changbin finished up with the cashier and clapped his hands together with a bit too much force, startling everyone in the vicinity. 

“We’re all set!” he announced, turning to you.“Hope you’re good at bowling, ‘cause you’re gonna be carrying Chan.”

“Hey, hey!” the boy in question protested. “I score the most out of any of us!”

“A whole eight points,” Minho quipped.

Chan gritted his teeth, still, good-natured as ever. “That…was an off day.”

You willed yourself to chuckle in spite of the bad taste Minho had left in your mouth, for Chan’s sake, if nothing else. It was difficult to envision him not immediately excelling at anything he put his mind to, especially in the realm of sports. Given Changbin’s snickers, though, you had a sneaking suspicion that the jeers held some truth to them.

The four of you made your way over to the first open station, slipping on your bowling shoes and splitting up into two teams: you and Chan versus Changbin and Minho. A quick game of rock, paper, scissors, and it was decided that you and Chan would go first. Chan wiggled his hand to push back the sleeve of his jacket and picked up a ball from the rack, testing its weight a few times before deciding on it.

You figured Changbin would be able to hold his own on his team, but, as always, Minho was more of an enigma to you. Even if he didn’t exactly seem like the athletic type, anything you thought you knew about the guy could be taken with a grain of salt these days. He was the complete opposite of Chan in that sense, so unreadable that even the most sensible, the most intuitive of assumptions could turn out to be dead wrong. You could feel Chan’s emotions like they were your own; Minho’s emotions were ones you weren’t sure you’d ever felt.

“What do you think?” You gave Chan a nudge when he approached you, admittedly endeared by the competitive gleam in his eyes. “Do we stand a chance?”

“We’re the better team, no doubt,” he grinned. “But Minho’s got this insane luck. So, we’ll see.”

You tried not to let your own smile dim. Of course he did. It was all in good fun—on the surface at least—but the mere possibility of losing to Minho was one you didn’t even want to consider. He already had enough snarky remarks lined up in his arsenal without you adding to the ammunition.

Chan took a deep breath, lifting the ball up to his face, swinging his arm back in a low arch, and releasing in one fluid motion. It hit the polished ground with an impressive speed, but your glimmer of hope was crushed just a split second later when it rolled directly into the gutter.

Countless sounds exploded all around you at once, so loud you worried you might have to issue an apology to anyone nearby who had the misfortune of being subjected to them. Changbin’s delighted cackles, Minho’s wild laughter, and Chan’s mortified shout of dismay. You covered your mouth to avoid letting your own amusement show, but it made no difference considering that Chan’s face was buried shamefully in his palms as he shuffled his way back over to you, ears already beginning to tinge red.

“Another off day!” Changbin threw his arm over Minho’s shoulder, as if their victory was already guaranteed. “Guess the experience of age is worthless, after all.”

“His old man bones just can’t keep up,” Minho clicked his tongue wistfully. 

Chan peeked out from between his fingers, any attempt at a glare rendered harmless by the wide, hopelessly embarrassed smile plastered on his face. “One year!” he cried defensively. “This is your future, Lee Minho!”

Minho’s smirk stayed intact, unfazed by the prospect of such a sad fate awaiting him. You gave Chan a sympathetic pat on the back as soon as he was within reach, trying to meet his eyes.

“Cheer up, Channie,” you encouraged. “Can’t have our ace giving up so soon, can we?”

He managed a shy chuckle, hand reaching up to fiddle with his piercing. Whether it was the other boys’ provocation that had him so flustered, or the fact that you’d been there to witness the pitiful display, you weren’t sure, but you were determined to boost his morale before he had the chance to beat himself up over it. Even for something as frivolous as a game of bowling among friends, you didn’t want to leave any room for Chan to doubt his abilities. You couldn’t help it; you’d do anything to see him shine.

As expected, Changbin was a force to be reckoned with as the game carried on, managing to score steady points for him and Minho’s team with a consistent flow of spares and strikes—that was, when he wasn’t stepping over the line and fouling himself. You were positive it wouldn’t have even been an issue if Minho didn’t point out his mistakes every single time, eventually spiraling into a full-blown argument between the two with Changbin loudly demanding to know whose side he really was on. 

Between their bickering and Chan’s bubbly laughter, emitting fondness with every squeak, it almost felt like old times. You almost felt light, just as you had during those spring days spent studying in their apartment. Bumping your shoulder against Changbin’s to keep him focused as you listened to Chan ramble on about thermodynamics with thinly-veiled adoration, taking more and more frequent breaks each passing week just as an excuse to snack and chat with each other, laughing quietly to yourself every time Minho would, inevitably, disturb the study session and antics would ensue between the three boys—more often than not, pulling you into an ambitious new cooking experiment or an hour long tangent to debate the strangest existential topics known to man. In retrospect, it had been the closest to carefree you’d felt in a long time. 

“Just throw the ball like a normal person!” Changbin shouted, snapping you back to the present.

Minho sniffed, not breaking eye contact with him once as he bent forward, spread his legs, and tossed the bowling ball carelessly through them. To your astonishment, it rolled down the center of the lane; steady, and by some miracle, steering clear of the gutters all the way to the end. The incredulous sound you let out was only rivaled by Chan’s stunned yelp, half-impressed, half-horrified as the ball managed to knock over a respectable five pins.

It became clear, in that moment, that Minho’s aforementioned luck was very much real, and it operated just as erratically as his own mind did. With each increasingly bizarre stance and tactic he implemented, he was scoring dozens of points before you knew it.

Chan never quite seemed to recover from his initial fumble, and, as much as you wanted to win, it was undoubtedly adorable every time he sank into a crouch, wailing miserably into his knees after yet another failed attempt at gaining some momentum. He was trying to be a good sport about it, even with Changbin and Minho’s taunts making the task near-impossible, but you could still feel the fire of frustration behind his every awkward glance at the monitor and apologetic smile sent your way. 

Fortunately, you were able to score enough points to keep the gap between your teams from growing too wide, even pulling a few strikes here and there. It was a bit silly how seriously you were beginning to take the game, but you were fueled on by the desire to lift Chan’s spirits—and, on a pettier note, a desire to see Minho lose. By the time you reached the final round, you and Chan were only behind by nine points.

“Hope I haven’t been too heavy for you,” he remarked, sheepish as he picked up the ball for his last turn.

“I don’t like hearing such defeated words from Bang Christopher Chan,” you frowned. “C’mon, show me some of that showcase confidence!”

He ducked his head with a puff of laughter, thumbs gliding over the sleek surface of the bowling ball. “That was different.”

“That was in front of a crowd of strangers,” you agreed. “This is just me.”

“Exactly,” he hummed softly. “It’s you.”

It took you a moment to understand what he was getting at, only fully registering it when you spotted the rosiness of his cheeks flushing into something deeper, something much more noticeable. Acutely aware of Minho and Changbin’s eyes on you, you tried to keep a straight face, even if every cell in your body called for you to cup Chan’s face and press a kiss to his pouty lips right then and there. He was unreal. It was unreal how, even now, he could charm you so effortlessly—accidentally, even.

“Alright,” he sucked in through his teeth, seemingly reaching a verdict. “Do you think you could turn around? Just this time?”

You blinked, dumbfounded. When you said nothing, he lifted his gaze to give you a look that, despite the absurdity of his request, was resolute as ever. That was all the convincing it took for you to indulge him. 

Changbin watched curiously as you turned your back to the lanes, but you made no effort to explain yourself, figuring it would only be all the more embarrassing for Chan if his plan ultimately failed. It was too easy for you to picture his concentrated expression in your head as you waited patiently for him to make the shot—eyebrows furrowed with a striking intensity, but lips twitching in a way that betrayed his excitement underneath.

The heavy thump of the ball against the polished floor met your ears, and shortly after, the crashing of pins, followed by a chorus of disbelieving shouts. You spun around just in time to see Chan rushing back over to you, beaming so wide that his cheeks eclipsed his eyes. 

“You can’t be serious,” your voice turned up into a squeak as he pulled you into a triumphant, bone-crushing hug. “No way that worked.”

“Told you,” he sang into your ear. “It’s you.”

Any disappointment Changbin might have felt over losing was crushed by sheer delight when it became apparent to him what had just happened. “Oh, this is too much,” he howled with laughter, leaning against Minho—who, you were surprised to find, had a faintly amused smile on his face, as well. You looked away as quickly as you caught it, driven by that feeling of alienation, an understanding that it wasn’t a sight for you.

In honor of your victory against all odds, Chan decided to head over to the concessions stand he’d been eyeing since you’d first arrived at the bowling alley. Changbin jumped at the chance to tag along, setting panic off in your mind the instant you realized what that meant for you. You stood a bit too quickly, offering to join and help them carry back the snacks, only to be waved off with a reassuring smile from Chan.

Despite your discomfort, you relented, deciding it’d be best not to rouse any suspicions. You slumped back down in your chair as the two walked away, leaving you and Minho sitting directly across from each other in silence.

It wasn’t long before you began to run out of points of interest to look at other than him. Your eyes shifted awkwardly from your shoes to the monitor, from the monitor to the ball rack, from the ball rack to the distant lanes, and right back to your shoes. The cycle repeated for a good few minutes, and just as you reached into your pocket to fish out your phone in a last resort to quell the awkwardness, Minho decided to speak up. Oddly chatty today, you noted. 

“Didn’t see you at Chan’s birthday party.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What of it?”

“Just thought it was interesting,” he pointed out. “Since you care about him so much, and all.”

There was a laughable irony there, that the person who was the sole reason why you hadn’t shown up to celebrate Chan, was now questioning why you hadn’t—an irony that, you were willing to bet, he was well aware of.

“I didn’t think I was exactly welcome,” you said plainly. 

“Showing up uninvited is nothing new to you, is it?”

You clenched your jaw. “Look, Minho, I’m really not in the mood,” you hissed. “What exactly are you trying to gain from all this?”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering about you, too,” he bounced off you with ease. “I’m kinda curious—did it make you feel better about yourself when you visited him? Felt like you proved something with that soup?”

“Proved something?” You didn’t bother to watch your volume this time, thoroughly set-off in a matter of seconds. “If you think I have anything to prove to you, you’re fucking delusional.”

Even as you spat the words with an uncharacteristic lack of restraint—and decorum—a wisp of doubt brushed past your mind, the same way it had the day you’d confronted him after checking on Chan. Why did he sound so sure of himself? Why did you even allow yourself to entertain his accusations?

What did he know that you didn’t?

He leaned back in his chair, whatever harsh retort that was on the tip of his tongue immediately being cut short when he spotted Changbin hobbling back over with an armful of snacks.

“Someone go help Chan out!” he called. “I don’t think he can carry everything himself.”

Minho rose from his spot before you had the chance to, eyes glinting as he shot you one last look. “You should get that temper of yours checked out,” he suggested under his breath. “Chan might like it, but others won’t.”

At that, he slunk off, leaving you with nothing to do but fume in frustration as Changbin made his way over to you. He dropped his stash on the table with a self-satisfied whistle, picking up a bag of chips and passing it to you.

“Here,” he offered. “Chan got these for you.”

You caught a glimpse of the brand—your favorite. It brought a smile to your face just in time, wiping away your scowl before Changbin could get a proper look at you, but even the warmth glowing in your chest wasn’t enough to erase the residual tension left behind by Minho. Changbin squinted as he settled down next to you, popping open a bag of his own.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you replied quickly. “Thanks for the snack.”

He crunched down on his shrimp chip with a suspicious hum, not convinced by your dull tone in the slightest.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course,” you smiled, only half-feigned. “Chan and I just won, didn’t we?”

Changbin chewed thoughtfully a few times, breaking his inquisitive stare to shoot a glance over his shoulder, exactly in the direction Minho had disappeared to. When he turned back to you, his expression was more solemn; knowing.

“Is it Minho?”

You couldn’t find the will in you to hide it, picking uncomfortably at the plastic bag in your hands. “I guess I didn’t expect him to be here.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “Did you ever end up talking to him?”

“I did.”

“And?”

You shrugged. “He just doesn’t like me, simple as that.”

You tried to keep your voice casual, unaffected, but Changbin’s reaction to the news made it difficult to maintain. The fact that he seemed so genuinely puzzled almost rubbed salt in the wound, like he’d had the utmost faith that a simple conversation was all it would’ve taken for the two of you to sort things out. Amidst all the complicated feelings you had on the issue, a new one joined the fray: guilt. You hadn’t been able to make it work. If anything, your efforts had sent the situation spiraling into something much worse. All you could do now was ensure that a problem as ridiculous as this wouldn’t reach anyone else—Chan, most of all. 

“I don’t get it,” Changbin muttered, brows scrunching together. “I never got the feeling that he doesn’t like you.”

“You definitely would if you saw the way he talks to me.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you nearly cringed over the self-pity laced in them. You didn’t want to be a victim in this situation, especially not if it meant pressuring Changbin to pick a side between you and Minho like you were children fighting on a playground.

“I can have a chat with him, if you want. See what’s really going on.”

“No, no,” you dismissed it like a reflex. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure? It’ll be easier for me to get through to him.”

“No, Bin. Seriously,” you paused, not having intended it to come out so sharp. “Sorry. I mean, thank you, but it’s alright. I’d rather handle it myself, y’know?”

It had been made abundantly clear to you that you were, in fact, doing a terrible job at handling it yourself, but Changbin didn’t need to know that. The last thing you wanted was to grant Minho the satisfaction of Changbin revealing just how much his behavior was affecting you—or, even worse, the very real possibility of Chan catching wind of it. You could already picture Minho’s scornful stare, voice dripping with mockery as he ridiculed you for needing to call on Changbin to protect you, for not being able to fight the battles that, in his head, you’d instigated with your mere existence. The thought alone made you shudder in your spot, visibly enough for Changbin to notice.

A strange look crossed his face, one you’d only ever really seen on a few rare occasions before. It was grounded, mature; a side to him that, oftentimes, you tended to forget existed because he traded it out for something less intense. Without him even needing to say a word, you knew that his attentive instincts had kicked in, and once they had, they would be difficult to shake. 

“You just seem upset,” he said at last.

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Sometimes people just don’t get along. It’s not worth stressing about, so, please don’t say anything to Minho. Or Chan.”

He eyed you for a few seconds longer, and briefly, you worried that he may actually let his stubbornness get the best of him. It was comical, in a sense, how you’d grown so accustomed to disregarding your own emotions in all facets of life, that being faced with a shred of compassion felt more like a hindrance than anything else. Fortunately, the concern was short-lived. With a grunt of agreement, Changbin popped another chip into his mouth. 

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

The relief you felt upon hearing those words increased tenfold as you spotted Chan returning with Minho from the concessions stand, loaded with snacks and drinks that even his long arms could hardly contain. He was smiling, no doubt still giddy over your unexpected win and the victory meal that was lined up for him. That was all it took to make you absolutely certain of your decision.

“I’m sure. Thanks, Bin.”

You wanted to be the reason for Chan’s smile. If it meant securing his happiness, then you could deal with it, no questions asked. 

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The shrill ping of your laptop—a sound you’d come to despise in recent weeks—rang out to notify you of a new email in your inbox, breaking your focus so that you lost your place in the article you’d been reading.

Huffing to yourself, you clicked off the page begrudgingly and switched to your email tab, reluctant to see what academic horrors were lying in wait for you. As expected, it was a followup message from your lab instructor. With the fall semester drawing to a close in just under a month, the pressure was on for you to complete your research paper in time to have your findings included as part of the final study. Having your name on a published academic paper was an essential goal you had set for yourself as an undergraduate; something to give you an extra edge in the fiercely competitive field of astrophysics. The only problem was, (save for the grueling amounts of time and effort it took to reach that point) you had to get your draft approved before it was too late, a task that was beginning to seem impossible with every new response you received from your instructor.

Today was no different, a fresh wave of stress washing over you as you read the contents of her email. Another extensive list of revisions, a reminder of your approaching deadline, and, most troubling of all, another order to have your progress peer reviewed by at least one other student as part of the physics department protocol. Alarm spiked within you. You didn’t have a lot of time.

Before you’d even finished reading the email, you reached blindly for your phone, fumbling with the passcode in your haste to unlock it and open up your messaging app. 

you (9:23 p.m.) hey! sorry to nag about this again but have u had the chance to look over my paper?

You tried to get a grip on your impatience, telling yourself that it was just the incessant desire to be done with the process already that had you so on edge. But all it took was a few minutes of waiting for you to start tapping your fingers anxiously against your desk, debating whether or not you should try calling instead before you succumbed to the unreasonable levels of foreboding stacking up inside you.

Then, at last, a reply. Any reassurance it might have brought you instantly dwindled as soon as you read it.

iseul 🪷 (9:34 p.m.) omg… omfg no i totally forgot

You pressed your lips together. In a way, you couldn’t exactly say you were surprised. Not in the slightest, actually.

you (9:34 p.m.) okay no worries are u still able to? the deadline’s pretty soon

iseul 🪷 (9:39 p.m.) i’m not sure tbh i’m kinda busy rn so i’ll lyk later on a date ;P

Your heart sank, panic shooting through the roof. It’d been well over a week since you’d first asked her to look over your paper, and you’d made a conscious effort not to press the subject too much to avoid coming off as pushy. Now, you wished desperately that you’d been firmer from the start. Surely, then, she would’ve realized how important it was to you. Surely, then, she would’ve prioritized it.

You took a deep breath, mind frantic and scrambling for a solution. It found one almost immediately, like second nature, but you pushed the thought away as soon as it came. You didn’t want to bother him. Absolutely not. 

As you continued to wager the possibilities, however, it became more and more evident to you that there may not be any other option on such short notice—or, maybe, you just felt a selfish need to reach out to him in that moment, knowing you would be met with nothing but that certain warmth. It was a foreign desire, completely unlike you, and you weren’t sure you liked how often it wormed its way into your brain these days.

You’d consulted a handful of other friends before Iseul, all of which shared your major; a double-edged sword in this case. While it made them reliable candidates for peer review, the issue lied in the fact that they were all preoccupied with their own capstone research. Even without the added weight of having to complete an extensive documentation by a strict deadline like you had, the amount of work their labs required was more than enough to keep them busy. 

Changbin was no exception. You’d already been hesitant to ask him from the start—which was, frankly, a bit ridiculous considering he’d demonstrated time and time again how dependable he could be if the situation called for it—so when he’d apologetically told you that he wouldn’t be able to get to it before at least another week, you’d dropped the subject without a second thought. It would be too far late by then, and bringing it up a second time would only put an unnecessary pressure on him. Even if you got a response in a timely manner (a pipe dream in itself), his answer would be the same, and your paper would more than likely end up falling into Chan’s hands, anyway. 

You tapped your thumbs together indecisively, trying to approach it with a clear mind. Maybe it was okay. Maybe it wasn’t wrong to allow yourself to rely on him just a little bit, to lean into that warmth you’d been so determined to ration for reasons you couldn’t fully grasp.

Maybe, it wouldn’t be so unforgivable to take your own advice, just this once. 

Steeling yourself, you hit Chan’s contact before you could talk yourself out of it. All it took was a matter of three rings, and you heard the other line pick up. That was another detail you’d noticed lately, another subtle shift in attachment that made your chest tighten when you lingered on it for too long. He was much more responsive ever since that day in October, texting back uncharacteristically fast and calling uncharacteristically more often compared to the usual, comfortable periods of absence between the two of you. It was as if he was on standby for you at all times, ready to jump at the opportunity to meet your every beck and call in case there was something—anything—he could do for you.

“Hey, you.”

In spite of everything, his melodic lilt soothed your nerves. It always did. 

“Hi Channie,” you couldn’t mask the stiffness in your voice. “Are you busy?”

“I’ve got time,” he chirped. He didn’t say it, but you knew what he meant; he had time for you. “But first, guess what I’ve been working on.”

Fondness tugged at the corners of your mouth. “What?”

“Not telling,” you could practically hear the dimples carving their way into his cheeks. “You gotta guess.”

“Hm. Could it be what I think it is?” 

“Dunno,” he giggled. “You’re the one who can see right through me, yeah?”

You let the pull at your lips form fully into a smile. “In that case, you’d better not break your promise.”

It wasn’t difficult to envision the look on his face, the pure giddiness it etched into his features to know that you’d caught on with ease. Speaking in riddles because he could; a language only the two of you could understand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he hummed. “So, what’s up?”

You faltered, having nearly forgotten your reason for calling him in the first place. The cheerful rhythm of his voice and the charming tune of his laughter had almost been enough to sway you, to change your mind and shield him from the academic nightmares that he was no stranger to. But anxiety spiked within you all over again as you were reminded of your looming deadline, providing all the push you needed to latch on to him with an embarrassing speed.

“Actually, I…” you began slowly. “I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

“Anything,” he said it without an ounce of hesitation, ready to comply before he even heard your request. It made your heart swell—with affection, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite place. 

“So, Iseul was supposed to review my research paper draft before I submitted it for the final publication but…but I don’t think she can anymore,” you hoped to sound nonchalant, not wanting a single drop of your unease to spill on his conscience. “I know it’s a lot to ask on short notice, so it’s absolutely fine if you can’t, but—”

“Of course, I can.”

“Really?” you swallowed. “Thank you, I…”

A critical thought crossed your mind, bringing the sense of calm that Chan always enveloped you with to an immediate halt. You felt stupid for not considering it sooner, for allowing yourself to be so short-sighted, even for just a moment.

“Your project,” you said suddenly. “Your mentor gave you an extension, right? Did you finish it? Because you need to work on that instead if—”

“Nah,” he assured you. “It’s all done, don’t worry.”

You paused. It was just your inner saboteur making excuses, probably—grasping for any reason at all to pull back before you committed to burdening him with your troubles—but why was it that every single time he told you not to worry, it only worried you more?

Still, you forced your reservations to the side. Maybe he sounded so terse because it was still a sensitive topic for him, something he couldn’t think back to without the guilt that surrounded that night plaguing his mind all over again. It made you soften with sympathy, and a faint hope that, just maybe, your gentle words as you’d bathed him had pierced through the fog of doubt in his mind—enough to compel him to be honest with you about this.

“O-okay. Then, yeah, I’d really appreciate your help,” you exhaled. “Thank you, Channie.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured. “The least I could do, really.”

You nearly laughed out loud. The least he could do. As if he owed you something, as if he didn’t do more for you than you could ever express simply by being himself.

He could read you with such ease—could catch on to your every thought and sentiment, however fleeting, like it was the most natural thing in the world—but the view of him from your eyes, the sight of himself from a lens of pure, unadulterated adoration; that was one thing he’d never be able to truly comprehend.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

“I didn’t lose it.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Lose sounds so…so harsh,” Changbin protested. “I just happened to put it somewhere and can’t remember where that somewhere is.”

“That’s a relief,” you snorted. “You had me scared for a second.”

“It was an accident, seriously!” 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You gave him a good-natured shove as the two of you shuffled down the hall side by side, a sight that had become commonplace for anyone who frequented the physics building. “But if I were you, I’d get to searching.”

“C’mon, it could be anywhere!” he complained. 

“I’m saying this for your own good, Seo Changbin. Do you really wanna suffer through finals without your lucky charm?”

Changbin’s face dropped, a horrified look of realization parting his lips and widening his eyes.

“I’ll find it,” he mumbled, so serious that you couldn’t hold back a snicker. “For you, of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Uh-huh,” you said plainly. “Once you do, custody of Cinnamoroll is going right back to me.”

You weren’t upset about it, not really. It was honestly a miracle that he’d been able to keep track of something as trivial as a pencil for so long in the first place. Though, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t an undeniable feeling of wistfulness there, to think that the prized possession that had initially brought you and Changbin together was now missing. You weren’t exactly the superstitious type—well, maybe that had changed just the slightest bit as of late—but it almost felt like a bad omen of sorts.

“That’s too cruel,” Changbin whined. “I’ll never let him out of my sight again, I swear.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at you in anticipation of a response; but you were lost in thought. A sea of inhibitions that, funnily enough, had inched further and further up the shore in recent months, months where you’d been objectively happier than even your highest points over the past few years. 

You were certain your change in demeanor wouldn’t go unnoticed by Changbin—he’d tapped far more into his observant side as of late, ever since he’d come to learn that you and Minho weren’t nearly as in harmony as he’d led himself to believe. Between his added scrutiny, Minho’s pointed, all-knowing glares, and Chan’s ability to tune in to even the finest shift in your emotions, you didn’t think you’d ever felt more uncomfortably seen in your life. You felt like you were being watched from all angles; nowhere to hide, no way to maneuver yourself so that your loose seams weren’t visible.

“Wanna go bowling tonight?” Changbin suggested, breaking your stream of consciousness before you were completely pulled out to sea. 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re so into it these days because it’s the only sport you can beat Chan at?”

“I can beat him at billiards, too! And soccer, even if he won't admit it,” he retorted. “Besides, it’ll just be you and me. Pretty sure Chan’s busy with makeup work.”

You froze.

“What?”

It took Changbin a second to realize that you weren’t walking beside him anymore. He stopped in his tracks, turning to give you a strange look.

“Y’know, that big project with his mentor. It’s due tonight, I think.”

Your stomach dropped. All at once, dread consumed you, at such an alarming rate that it felt akin to plunging into ice cold water on a hot, sunny day. You didn’t want to believe it; you wanted to tell yourself that Changbin had to be mistaken, that Chan had finished his work days ago like he’d told you, and that he certainly hadn’t taken on the burden of reviewing over twenty pages of scientific jargon for you when he still had a very crucial, very future-defining project of his own to complete.

Even as you tried to convince yourself, even if you wanted to cling to the faith you’d put in him more than anything, even though you knew Changbin was notoriously bad with dates, deep down, you already had your answer.

Changbin’s expression grew heavy with concern. “What’s with that face?”

You cleared your throat, praying that your words would come out steady. “Nothing,” you replied quickly. “I just thought he’d already finished.”

He opened his mouth to say something—most definitely to question you further on why you looked like you’d just seen a ghost—so, you spoke up again before he had the chance.

“Anyway, yeah, let’s go bowling tonight. See who the real ace is.”

The playful challenge, strained as it was, seemed to ease Changbin’s misgivings a bit. He flashed you a smirk, taking the bait immediately.

“Haitai Bbasae shrimp chips are my favorite, by the way.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “So you know what to buy me when I win.”

You rolled your eyes. “Forgot about your pencil debt so soon?”

Your joking did nothing to seal the pit of apprehension that had opened up inside your gut. In fact, it deepened with each step you took, as if your body was physically rejecting the idea of you walking anywhere other than directly towards Phase 8 of the campus apartments; directly towards Chan.

You all but forced the muscles in your face to relax, solely to avoid rousing Changbin’s suspicions again. Already, you were regretting your decision to meet up with him later that night. Spending even an hour or two pretending like the thought of Chan—cooped up in his room, undoubtedly running on minimal sleep and an empty stomach, bloodshot eyes locked on his laptop screen as he struggled to meet the most important deadline of his academic career, all because of you—wasn’t eating away at your insides wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park, even for you. 

You told yourself it was just an overreaction. You were jumping to conclusions. Maybe taking your mind off of it tonight was exactly what you needed; enough time for Chan to finish his work, and enough time for the fog that always seemed to cloud your rationality when it came to him to clear up.

You’d mull it over properly, and then you’d talk to Chan. Everything always worked out when you talked to Chan.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

As it turned out, subjecting yourself to a constant back and forth argument for two days straight—a trial where you were playing the role of judge, jury, defendant, and prosecutor all at once—served no real purpose other than to drive you to the brink of madness.

The more you’d tried to reason with yourself, the more convinced you’d become that the situation was, in actuality, far more dire than you’d initially believed. It appeared so simple on the surface, a harmless white lie that was said only with the intention of easing your worries, to displace some of the weight from your shoulders to his. You loathed the fact that you’d managed to spin such a kind, loving gesture, such an authentically Chan gesture, into something so unpleasant. But knowing what you knew, knowing Chan, it went deeper than that. You never would’ve allowed yourself to shift that weight over to him if you’d known he hadn’t been relieved of his own first. 

It was for that reason that when Chan had called you earlier in the day to see if you were free to meet up—a timing that only spurred on your paranoid thoughts, given that he was no doubt reaching out to you because he’d finally submitted his work—you’d all but jumped at the opportunity. You needed to see him, his crinkled eye smile, his face well-rested and bright. You needed to be certain that you hadn’t ruined everything for him.

Each step up the stairwell to unit 8-325 added another layer to the anxiety piling inside of you. It was a sensation you’d experienced once before; that strangely chilly day in April, trudging your way up alongside Changbin, completely oblivious to what the universe had in store for you. Completely oblivious to the warmth you would be met with, the part of yourself that you hadn’t known you were missing until you found him.

You gave the front door a few knocks, a bit harder than usual, just in case Chan had his headphones in. Before the gusts of wind blowing through the hallway could even begin to chill you through your clothes, the door swung open. Despite everything, your heart sang at the sight of him. Eyes sleepy, and, as predicted, accompanied by those dark bags he carried around far too often for your liking, curls ruffled, hoodie wrinkled, smile lazy—just prominent enough for one of his dimples to peek out. 

You wondered if he’d been napping. The idea both calmed and unsettled you; the comfort of knowing he’d gotten some rest, the fear that he’d needed to catch up on sleep because he’d been pulling all-nighters to complete his work. Because of you.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi, Chan.”

You hadn’t even noticed the issue with your greeting until he tilted his head curiously.

“Scary,” he giggled. “Am I in trouble?”

You padded through the doorframe and slipped off your shoes, keeping quiet long enough for his grin to waver. It nearly made you grimace. Two words in, and you already couldn’t tolerate the idea of speaking to him with anything but the utmost care. 

“Sorry.” You chided yourself for being so pointlessly intense about it. You didn’t even know the full story yet; there was no need to stir unease in him like that. “How are you, Channie?”

“All good, now. I missed you,” he added.

You knew he must be wondering why you hadn’t hugged him yet. So, you leaned into his arms the very instant they outstretched. You took in his scent, his body heat, the peaceful beat of his heart. You wished the tranquility that he washed over you would last. You wished you could fall fully into him and just pretend like nothing was wrong. But then, where would you go from there? How many more times would he do something like this? How many more corners of himself would he cut until, before you knew it, you were doing the exact same thing to him as so many others had done before? The question itself was enough to scare you, let alone what the answer may be.

“I missed you, too,” you murmured. Mustering all your willpower, you pulled your head from his chest, taking a few steps deeper into the apartment with Chan following suit. 

You braced yourself, and then you tested the waters.

“So, did you finish your project?”

A heavy pause, then an awkward laugh.

“Oh, yeah. A few days ago, remember?”

You said nothing. Instead, you turned to look at him properly, not bothering to mask the doubt written all over your face. His gaze fell, and you knew, immediately, that you’d been correct.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “It’s done now, no worries.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your desire to be gentle with him was already beginning to battle it out with your urgency to get to the bottom of this, to decode what had been going on in his head when he’d made such a potentially disastrous choice for your sake. Chan reached up for his earring, eyes still averted as he rolled the silver hoop sheepishly between his fingers.

“Are you mad?”

Mad. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. The idea that you could feel anything but boundless affection for him was so incomprehensible to you. No, you weren’t mad. You were frustrated. Because you knew he saw no problem with what he had done, because the damage had been to him and no one else.

“Of course not. I…I’m really grateful you were there for me,” you began, and the hopeful way he raised his head almost made you want to leave it at that. “But I’m just a little concerned that you kept this from me, Channie. I wanted to be sure that you had nothing else on your plate before asking such a huge favor of you.”

He smiled, clearly oblivious to how much you meant it. “It’s no problem, really. I wanted to help.”

Your stomach churned. Of course he wanted to help, you knew that more than anything. Two years ago, he’d only wanted to help, too. That was the detail that had unnerved you most in the 48 hours you’d spent dissecting it all—the eerie similarities between this situation and the one Chan had poured his heart out to you about just a few weeks ago. Once you’d noticed how they paralleled each other, it was impossible to ignore, to the point where that became the driving force for your need to set things right, to put your foot down before history repeated itself.

“Don’t you remember what we talked about the other day?” you prompted, as delicately as your growing tension would allow. “What if you hadn’t finished your work in time because you were too busy helping me? Graduation is less than a month away—why would you ever risk that?”

Chan shifted his weight from side to side. You could tell he was starting to grow uncomfortable.

“This is different.”

“How?” you pressed. “How is it any different? You nearly let me jeopardize your future all over again.”

“I don’t understand,” he chuckled softly. “I finished in the end, didn’t I? There’s really no need to worry about me.”

You took a deep breath. You weren’t getting through to him.

“But what if you hadn’t? What if you failed because of this?” You didn’t miss the way he shrank back when you spoke the word, only feeding into your own distress. “Not just that, it can’t have been easy to balance so much work at once. I don’t want you taking on more than you can handle again, especially not for my sake.”

“It’s okay,” he said lightly, almost dismissive. “It was my decision, y’know? If it’s you, then it’s okay.”

Normally, the words would’ve melted your heart. They would’ve made you coo and fawn and swoon over him and his insurmountable selflessness. Now, they only frightened you. If he was willing to put something as important as this on the line without a second thought, you didn’t even want to think about what else he might try to sacrifice for you.

“Chan…” you hesitated. “I need to know that you’re not gonna do something like this again. I need you to promise me that you’ll put yourself first in this relationship, at least when it matters most.”

His expression darkened, just the slightest bit. It was a look you’d never once seen cross his face, one that felt so unnatural that you didn’t know what to make of it. But the feeling it evoked was one you understood all too well. The feeling of having a core part of himself confronted; challenged.

“I—” Chan sucked in through his teeth. “I don’t think I can promise you that.”

Your heart sank. The dread that had been slowly creeping its way up on you since you’d first arrived, now consumed you in full. He wasn’t going to stop. He was never going to stop. Not for you, or anyone else. Certainly not for himself.

“Please,” you tried again. “Please, tell me you’re not gonna put me in this position.”

You could tell, just from the bewildered look he was giving you, that he was having trouble piecing it together in his head, that he was struggling to decipher why you would ever even ask such a thing of him. Why you weren’t jumping at the opportunity to take advantage of him, to use him for all he was worth, like so many others did. 

“You’ve got to stop treating yourself like this,” you continued, not liking the way you were losing control of your voice. “If you keep giving and giving there’s not going to be anything left of you to give.” 

Chan remained silent, and for a split second, you felt a glimmer of hope that he was starting to grasp the message you were trying to send. But it was nothing more than a candle in the wind, blown out before it even had the chance to illuminate anything.

“And what about you?” 

You tensed. “What?”

“Could you make that promise to me?” he asked quietly. “Would you stop hiding things from me if I asked you to?”

Just like that, the mirror was turned on you.

“That’s…you’re changing the subject. This isn’t about me.”

“Really? I think it is.”

You held your ground, determined not to let him steer the conversation away from himself. “I know my limits, Chan. I wouldn’t hide anything serious from you.”

“Then why have you still not told me about what happened when you went home?”

It was unusually direct coming from him, just short of accusatory. You were reminded, once again, that even the parts of yourself that you thought you might be able to slip past his attentive eyes, he was well aware of—more than he ever let show. Even when he caught on to every minute detail, even when it filled his head with concern for you, he remained considerate as ever; waiting patiently until you were ready to open up yourself. At least, until now. 

“And…why haven’t you told me about what’s going on with Minho?”

Something twisted deep within you. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed. You’d done a horrible job in hiding it—and even if you hadn’t, he would’ve sensed something was off, anyway. He always did.

When he gauged your reaction, Chan’s face dropped into something heartbreaking, eyes flashing with a resigned sort of fear. 

“Do you—?”

“No.” You couldn’t hide your revulsion towards what you were sure he was going to ask, denying it so fiercely that it at least seemed to convince him right away. “That’s not it at all.”

“Okay,” he exhaled. “Then, what’s going on? You can tell me everything. I’m here to listen.”

Countless emotions fought for control over you all at once. Dismay. Exasperation. Vulnerability. Love. Even now, he was finding a way to focus on you, to make sure you were okay amidst your attempts to get him on speaking terms with his self-preservation. It was a testament to everything you adored about him, and everything about him that made you feel utterly helpless. You needed an escape route, a window to break out of before that pure, sincere gaze of his cast its spell on you and made you do something that you were sure to regret. Because you always regretted it, every single time. You couldn’t tell him. Not about Minho, not about home, not about her, not about him. Not because he wouldn’t care, but because he would. He would care so much that all your pain would become his.  

It was your turn to break eye contact, brushing your thumb over your nose. “It’s not something you need to hear, right now.”

“Then, when? How can I be there for you if you won’t let me?” Desperation began to seep into every word. “You promised, didn’t you?”

“I know,” you swallowed. “But that’s not the point of all this. You don’t owe me anything for what happened in October, okay? You don’t have to feel guilty just because you let yourself lean on me a bit.”

You meant the affirmations—you knew you did. So why did they suddenly sound so unconvincing? Like something you’d never believe if spoken to you. Chan pressed his lips together, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell he knew exactly what you were doing.

“If this keeps up, you’re going to hate me,” you said plainly. “You’re going to resent me for all the times you helped me when you should’ve helped yourself.”

His fingers curled around the sleeve of his hoodie, picking at its loose threads in a way that betrayed how high his tensions were running beneath the silence. 

“Why are you so sure that’s gonna happen?”

“Because…because I know you.”

“Because you do the same thing?” he asked sharply.

He wasn’t going to let you get away with it today. He was tugging at each of your seams, peeling back the adhesives to reveal what you’d let fester underneath. You were trapped. Cornered by someone who you’d come to trust more than anyone else in the world—but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. 

“Maybe I do,” you relented. There was no use in hiding it, not when he sounded more sure of himself than you’d ever heard him sound before. “That’s why I know it won’t end well. I need you to stop this, for your own good.”

“Don’t,” Chan interjected. “Please, don’t talk about what’s good for me. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh my God, Chan,” you let out a hollow laugh. “Am I supposed to agree with that?”

Of course nothing had changed. How naive, how fucking foolish of you to believe that one conversation could ever be enough to undo the ideas that had been hammered into his being by everyone around him his entire life; so extensively, so persistently that, as time went on, he began to do the hammering himself. You were positive now, that everything he’d revealed to you that night in October, as gut-wrenching as it’d been on its own, wasn’t even the half of what he’d been through. It was just a single star in a constellation of hurt.

Minho’s words echoed in your head. He was right. You weren’t special. You would take advantage of Chan just like everyone else, whether you wanted to or not. Your ex’s words echoed in your head. He had been right. You were a liar. You couldn’t even apply your own words to yourself—how could you ever, ever expect them to get through to Chan?

“These…types of relationships don’t always work out, right?” 

You didn’t want to use the term he’d used before, it felt unnecessarily cruel in that moment. Ever since he’d first brought the subject of twin flames up, you’d spent any free time you’d managed to get your hands on reading about them. That kind of connection could be transformational, sure, but the further you delved into the phenomenon, the more you came to learn that it could be just as harmful under the wrong circumstances—destructive. Two individuals who shared such core similarities were bound to experience problems far deeper-rooted and far more intense than anyone else, after all. Most people didn’t take kindly to being faced with their own traits completely unfiltered—the good, the bad, the ugly. A mirror that reflected them in their truest form. 

“Maybe we’re not ready to see these parts of ourselves. Maybe we just bring out the worst in each other.”

Each word made your tongue feel drier and drier. You didn’t dare to look at Chan as you spoke them, certain you would break the very instant your eyes locked with his.

“Maybe,” you paused. Your heart was pounding, so loud that you felt it in your ears, making it impossible to think straight. There was still a chance to take it back, to change your mind before destabilizing the foundation of everything the two of you had so carefully built until now.

Ever since you’d met Chan, you’d thought that you’d been growing, learning, healing. You’d thought you were reaching a point where you wouldn’t need to hold yourself together anymore, because you would simply be…together. No adhesives. No loose seams. Just whole. 

But here, you had him. The kind of person you’d only ever encountered once before in this lifetime, the kind of person you used to dream of knowing again. Someone who noticed every little thing you did for him and returned it tenfold, someone who loved you and meant it, and yet, somehow, you couldn’t make it work in your mind. You couldn’t shake the dread, the belief that it was all temporary, conditional, transactional. Like if you made one small misstep, it would all be lost.

In retrospect, you really hadn’t learned a thing.

“Maybe we should end this. Before we start to hurt each other.”

Chan’s breath hitched.

“What?”

“I d-don't want to hurt you. And if this continues, I'm going to.”

His hand lowered from his ear, crossing over his chest to cup his neck instead. Covering his heart, shielding himself.

“More than this?” his voice cracked. “I think this hurts more than anything else you could ever do to me.”

There was no way to conceal the effect it had on you. A physical, throbbing ache in your chest.

“Chan,” you begged inwardly for him to understand—for him to just know it, the same way he knew everything else about you like the back of his hand. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you ruin yourself for me.”

It made sense, now. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were saying what you needed to hear. The realization made it all feel infinitely more despicable. Could you even say you were doing this out of care for him? Or were you just a coward afraid to confront this part of yourself?

That was what you always did, after all; you ran. You ran from your ex, your home, your family, your friends. The moment you were faced with any kind of obstacle, you left. And this was no different. You were no different than anyone else who had abandoned Chan in the past. If anything, you were worse. A hypocrite who had the audacity to shame the people who had harmed him, then turned around to do it yourself.

“If you’re gonna leave, just do it, please.”

You wished he sounded at least a little angry about it. You wished he wasn’t so ready to accept it. You almost wished he would snap and lash out and yell, voicing every vicious thought you were thinking about yourself in that moment. A liar, a manipulator, a hypocrite. Cruel, awful, selfish.

You wished he would be a little more selfish.

But there was no contempt in his eyes, no vitriol. Not even the beginnings of tears. It felt worse—far worse. He was saving them. He wasn’t going to cry until you left.

The only emotion you could read on his face was exhaustion. By your own volition, you were no longer the reason for his smile; you’d become the reason for his weariness.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I'll let you be, now.”

You waited. For what, you weren’t sure. There was no one to swoop in and put a stop to this; you were the one who’d started it. Still, you waited. For yourself to change your mind, for Chan to change his mind, for something about all this to change.

You took one last look at the apartment around you. The stray socks, the scattered water bottles, the half-done dishes. You wondered if it was the last time you would ever see it. You hadn’t been prepared to leave it all behind. You hadn’t been prepared for any of this. 

You took one last look at him—the boy you loved. His gaze was still downcast, a detail you were, pathetically enough, grateful for. You weren’t sure you’d be able to keep it together if he met your eyes; if he looked at you with anything other than that unfettered adoration you’d come to rely on, despite every one of your instincts commanding you not to. You wanted to tell him that you loved him, to leave him with something to hold on to, but you knew it would do nothing but twist the knife. There was no way to make him understand that because you loved him so much, you had to end this. You weren’t going to let him make you his accomplice in his self-destruction, and you weren’t going to subject him to witnessing your own, either.

You turned to leave. Every step you took towards the door felt like your heart was being ripped further out of your chest. 

Your heart was there, across the room, watching you go.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

bin 😑 (monday, 1:09 p.m.) what’s this what’s this??? looks like somebody’s late for class~

bin 😑 (monday, 1:32 p.m.) ur srsly gonna leave me all alone on review day???

bin 😑 (tuesday, 4:42 p.m.) guess what i found ><

bin 😑 (today, 12:17 a.m.) i’m really being ignored… huuu ㅜ

Two days had passed. You were only aware of that fact thanks to the timestamps of Changbin’s texts. You’d skipped your classes on Monday, the first time you’d missed class the entire year—ever since you’d started university, really. 

It was a stupid decision, but, well, you were no stranger to those. You probably would have done well for yourself to attend your lectures. After all, the distractions that came with drowning yourself in academics had proved to be effective even when you were at your most miserable. That was exactly why you hadn’t gone. You didn’t deserve to distract yourself.

Eventually, though, it’d become too much to bear. Sitting alone in your apartment, with nothing to do but torture yourself with thoughts of him, of what you’d done, of the way everything had fallen apart before your very eyes—by your very hands—was a punishment that you decided you wouldn’t even wish on your worst enemy. Which, funnily enough, was probably yourself.

You didn’t deserve to miss him. You didn’t deserve to worry about him. You didn’t even deserve to wonder how he might be doing. Still, you did, anyway. Selfishly.

You squinted at your laptop screen, a harsh, white light illuminating your face. Unnatural, nothing like the soothing glow of the moon outside. It was sure to be in its Waning Gibbous phase by now, the same way it had been the night you’d first fallen for him. But it had been cloudy for two days straight. No sun shining down on you to balance out the chilly autumn air. No stars decorating the sky. No moon to watch over you at night.

It took you a few seconds to process the sound of your cellphone buzzing against your desk. Your eyes flickered over to it, lacking the energy to even turn your head fully. It was Iseul. Given how late it was, she was undoubtedly calling about some problem or another. So, for the first time, you let it go to voicemail. 

But nothing was ever that easy. You didn’t even have the chance to find where you’d left off in your notes before she was calling again, not even bothering to leave a message or to give you time to call back first.

It was probably best not to answer. You were in no state to answer.

You steeled yourself, and you took the call.

Before you could even say hello, her distressed voice ran through the speaker. 

“Can you come over?”

For once, you wished you’d been wrong about why she was contacting you. You wished that this friendship, which was usually a comfortable constant for you, a way for both of your needs to be met, could be put on hold. You wished she saw any value in you other than what you could do for her.

“Right now?” you tried to keep calm, telling yourself that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. How could she? You’d never let her. “I…I’m kinda busy, sorry.”

“This is important,” she sounded serious, but you knew it was more than likely that this was just another case of a very solvable issue being blown wildly out of proportion in her eyes. “I really, really need your help.”

You said nothing, not even finding it in you to string together an acceptable excuse. 

“Are you with Chan, or something?”

A physical pang in your chest. 

“Uh, yeah,” you lied. 

“Oh.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched across the call. Normally, you’d fill it, say something to keep her from feeling awkward. 

“It's really late, Iseul. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“No.” You were taken aback by how abruptly she responded. “I need your help now, I'm so serious. Can you please just come for a bit? I'm sure Chan wouldn’t care.”

Another blow from your oblivious assailant, straight to the gut. You felt short of breath.

“Maybe I can help over the phone?” you offered weakly. “What’s going on?”

“No, no, no, you have to be here! I just lost my whole fucking essay file and it’s due at 6:00 a.m. and you know I don’t know shit about computers!” her tone grew frantic the more she rambled on. “I have no idea how to get it back, I'm seriously about to cry.”

An essay. The very same thing that had led to all of this. That was more important than the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you, destroying everything in its path. Of course it was. How presumptuous of you to think otherwise. The absolute gall of you to think you deserved any amount of time to feel sorry for yourself.

You gritted your teeth. She doesn’t know.

“Okay, okay. No problem. I can just tell you how to recover it.” You left out the fact that she could’ve easily searched it up online and saved you both the trouble.

“I’m not gonna know what or where anything is!” she objected. “Can’t you just come over and fix it? I'm freaking out. You can go crawling back to your stupid boyfriend after if it matters that much.”

She wasn’t thinking with a clear head, probably—letting her stress speak for her. But it was a push too far.

“I’m not your fucking babysitter, Iseul,” you spat. “You can’t just snap your fingers every time you want me to solve a problem for you. Figure it out yourself.”

The line went silent. Long enough for you to perfectly envision her hurt expression in your head.

“What?” it came quiet, meek. Everything unlike her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I'm tired.” You rubbed your eyes, trying to get rid of the building sting. “I can't do this right now.”

“That’s n-not an excuse for you to talk to me like that,” her voice trembled. “I didn't do anything wrong!”

You heard a faint sniffle, and as exasperated as you were, it crashed guilt over you all the same. You didn’t want to make her feel like this. 

“I’m so stressed out and you know how hard I’ve been working on my grades so I can get into grad school. Is it that crazy for me to call my friend for help? Like, am I wrong for thinking you care about me enough to save me from failing this fucking class?”

Each word, so tone-deaf, so lacking in self-awareness, added to the pressure filling up your head, heightening it so much until it was unbearable. 

“Do you ever stop to think about the way you talk to me?” you snapped. “Or is it too much to ask for you to consider someone else’s feelings for once?”

You were being harsh, unreasonable too. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to take it back, to do what you were supposed to do and just go help her. But your conversation with Chan—everything that had led up to that doomed, wretched conversation with Chan—was all too fresh in your mind, manifesting in the ugliest of ways against someone who didn’t deserve it.

You wanted to blame her. You wanted it to be all her fault. If she had just been there for you when you’d needed her, none of this would have happened. Even as you tried to convince yourself of it, you knew it wasn’t true. What had caused everything to crumble between you and Chan ran much deeper than that simple favor. The flaw was in the very foundation.

“I consider your feelings all the time! Are you kidding me!?” she exclaimed, offended by the accusation without taking even a moment to consider if it had any merit to it.

“Right. That’s why you only ever reach out to me when you need something.”

You could practically feel her indignation burning up on the other end of the call, and you stopped to ask yourself just what the hell you were doing. This approach would never get through to Iseul. She was far too proud, far too sensitive to receive any kind of message when delivered so tactlessly. That was why your friendship had worked all this time, why you were one of the few people who got along with her. You were nothing if not tactful, enough for the both of you.

“So what!? Friends are supposed to be there for each other!”

“Yeah,” you said bitterly. “They are.”

Another spell of silence. You wondered, briefly, if she was catching on to what you were implying, but the moment she spoke up again, you knew it’d been nothing but another baseless hope.

“Well, if you hate helping me that much, don't lie to me and act like you want to!”

“I’m not lying to you!” you retorted. “I want to help you! Every single time you come to me, I want to help you. That’s the problem!”

You’d never even raised your voice at her before, let alone to this degree. You didn’t have to see her face to know she was frightened by it—yet another point on your list of reasons to feel guilty. 

“So I’m just a problem to you,” she concluded. You could hear the sobs beginning to build in her throat. “Great, thanks.”

“Iseul, that’s not—”

“Forget it,” she hiccuped. “It must be so hard for you, right? You’re so fucking perfect and I’m so fucking selfish.”

The line went dead, leaving you gripping your phone with such intensity you worried it might actually crumple under your fingers. Of all the ever-changing things in this world, the one you’d always been able to control was yourself. But it seemed even that was too tall of an order these days. 

Maybe you really did need to get that temper of yours checked out.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

One hour later, you found yourself, once again, trudging miserably up a flight of stairs to meet your impending fate. Cold, exhausted, and filled to the brim with anxiety. You’d forgotten to throw on a jacket before leaving your apartment—far too preoccupied with the round table discussion taking place in your mind, one that was still well underway even as you impulsively made the decision to leave. By the time you reached the fourth floor of the complex, your teeth were chattering.

You gave the door a few knocks, drawing your hand back as soon as you did to rub it against the other, your best attempt at generating some warmth. There was no response for nearly a minute, and, with a tinge of fear, it dawned on you for the first time that Iseul may have very well given up and gone to sleep after your phonecall. It made your insides lurch. How could you have done this to her? How could you have let yourself be so caught up in your emotions that you treated hers so carelessly?

Why did you feel so cold?

Panicking, you knocked again, this time with a bit more force. It was nearing 4:00 a.m. now, there was still a chance for you to fix things before her deadline. There were so many things you couldn’t fix, you needed to make something right.

Finally, just as another shiver ran up your spine, you heard the click of a lock. You didn’t have the opportunity to collect yourself before the door creaked open.

The frown on her face only deepened when she saw who was standing before her. Lips curved sharply down, eyebrows lowering, eyes cleared from any residual redness, but still puffy—that strangely rejuvenated look after a good cry.

“What do you want?”

You flinched. “I’m here to help.”

She studied you without a word, but you didn’t miss the way her features mellowed the slightest bit. However coarse and uncaring she tried to make herself, she could never truly contain her expressiveness. 

You could see her weighing the options in her head, and, even as the biting chill on your skin wore your patience thinner with each passing second, you waited. You at least owed her that much.

“Fine.”

She turned, leaving the door open for you as she stalked into her apartment. With a sigh of relief, you followed.

You joined her on the couch, keeping a careful distance from where she’d slumped down. She slid her laptop over to you on the coffee table without making eye contact. It was open on a word document, two pages into her attempt at rewriting her essay. Not far off, you spotted a few stray tissues on the table, smeared black with mascara.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

You picked up the device, placing it in your lap and getting to work. Iseul’s eyes flickered over to you, more obviously than she probably thought, as you began clicking away, opening up the settings of the program and accessing the version history of the documents.

“Can you fix it?”

“Yeah.” You tilted the screen towards her. “There’s an autosave feature.”

She blinked, trying to keep up with your ministrations as you recovered the lost file with just a bit more fiddling around.

“Here. Make sure it’s the right one.”

Furrowing her brows, she scrolled through the pages and pages of her work, unable to mask her elation when she confirmed it was in fact her full essay, completely preserved from where she’d left off.

“It is.”

“Good.”

More silence. You wondered if that was your cue to leave. You’d done your job. You’d made yourself useful. There was no need to stick around.

Then, she said it; quiet, demure. 

“Thanks.”

A simple word, solidifying the belief that none of this had been worth it. Putting your feelings first was never worth it.

“You're welcome.”

A deep breath. 

“And, listen, Iseul. I'm sorry about what I said on the phone.”

She lifted her head, looking directly at you for the first time that night. 

“I was really stressed out about my own stuff, too, and I let my anger get the best of me. So, I’m sorry.”

Her expression changed, and though she looked like she was already prepared to forgive you, she didn’t quite say it yet.

“Is that really how you feel about me?” she muttered. “Like you’re my babysitter? Am I just a burden to you?”

A burden. It was such a heavy word, you knew it couldn’t be correct. Still, how could you explain to her that you were the problem in this situation? Worrying yourself with details about her that she didn’t even ask you to worry about, wearing yourself down without ever bothering to tell her, then snapping when it all became too much. 

It was an issue entirely of your own creation. She’d have to be as stupid and maladjusted as you to understand.

“No,” you said firmly. “You’re my friend, of course I wanna help you.”

“…But?”

“But…” you bit your lower lip. “Sometimes it feels like you just expect me to do things for you. Like, you don’t care about what I have going on as long as I can be there for you.”

You couldn’t explain why you felt near physically ill. You’d known this girl for three years, been friends with her for two, and spent practically every day with her for one. So why did being upfront with her seem like the most terrifying thing in the world? Like you were exposing yourself to a predator, completely vulnerable if she chose to swoop out and attack.

"Of course I—" Just as you braced yourself for another burst of indignation, Iseul forced herself to bite back her words, a rare display of her common sense trumping her impulsivity. She swallowed. "Oh. Okay."

“I’m always gonna want to help you,” you explained softly. “So, sometimes, I just need you to care enough about me to make sure that I can.”

You could tell she still felt wronged, and maybe, she had all the reason to. The way you’d gone about it was less than ideal. All that care you’d always tried to treat her with, nullified in a matter of seconds, just like that.

“I guess I just never thought of you as the type of person who’d need anything like that.” She picked at the skin around her nails. “But sure, okay. I’ll try.”

You leaned back against the cushions, exhaling. It seemed unreal to you, all things considered, that you’d reached this point. That telling her what you’d kept buried in your heart for so long could have ended in anything other than disaster. 

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

Iseul turned her attention back to her laptop, high-strung as ever as she scanned over her paper once more. A thought seemed to cross her mind, and when she spoke up again, you could tell she was doing her best to sound casual.

“Are you gonna go back to Chan, now?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.”

“You can go,” she mumbled. “I get that you’re like, in love with him, or whatever.”

The sting was back in your eyes. The pounding was back in your head. The chill was back in your skin.

“Chan and I aren’t together anymore.”

“O-oh.” 

Then, more troubled. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I…I didn’t know.”

You straightened yourself up, forcing a feeble smile.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “Let’s not talk about it.”

Iseul frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m tired.”

“We'll talk later though, right?”

A lump rose in your throat. You could only bring yourself to nod.

For the next hour, you sat, unmoving, as the sound of Iseul’s rapid typing and frustrated huffs filled the room. Once she’d made the finishing touches to her paper, she submitted it with plenty of time to spare, lifting the weight off both of your chests. You sank your head back against the cushions just as she shut her laptop, a sigh of pure relief easing her nerves and yours.

Through her window, you could see that the sky outside was still blocked out by the low-hanging clouds, but even so, the world grew a bit brighter as day began to break and the sun began to inch its way up behind them. Iseul rested her head on your shoulder, and you at last allowed yourself to succumb to the fatigue that had been gripping your body for the past two days.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

When Chan's eyes blinked open, he wondered, faintly, if he’d been drifting off. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. Exhaustion consumed him so perpetually these days, not even standing upright could prevent his head from hanging and his eyelids from drooping. He adjusted his vision to take in his surroundings—kitchen, he realized for the first time—but the fuzz in his mind didn’t clear. That was nothing new, either. It hadn’t left him since you had.

He hadn’t slept in three days, not for more than just twenty or thirty minutes at a time. Not even enough to complete a single sleep cycle. Not even enough to dream.

He’d been kept awake by thoughts of you before, more than he’d ever be confident enough to admit out loud. But it was different now. He used to be perfectly content lying wide awake, staring at his ceiling with the giddiest of smiles plastered on his face over the mere memory of you. It had been better than any dream his mind could conjure up. Now, he wished, more than anything, to drift off instead. At least that way, he could be in a state where he didn’t have to think at all. Or maybe, if he was lucky, a state where he could dream of you, to pretend like you were still here with him.

The shattering of glass snapped him out of his thoughts all at once. With a start, he registered that he’d dropped the cup of water he was holding.

He stared blankly at broken shards, scattered amidst the puddle spreading across the wooden floor. He should probably clean it up. The remains could hurt someone.

He sank down to collect the pieces. Changbin liked this cup, he remembered suddenly. He’d gotten it on vacation. He was probably going to be upset. 

An unexpectedly sharp sliver of glass grazed Chan’s thumb, cutting it open and earning a slight hiss from him. He winced, dropping the fragments he’d gathered in his palm.

Blood began to bubble up on the surface of his skin, and he brought the injured finger to his lips. 

“Good job, Chan,” he mumbled, unsure of why his eyes were starting to sting. “You’re a good boy.”

The words didn’t calm him down like they typically would. In fact, they had the opposite effect. He didn’t want to hear himself say them. He wanted—

He curled into himself, shrinking under his clothes and barely managing to keep his balance as a sob racked his body. He pressed the wound closer to his lips, trying to get it to stop bleeding. But the blood kept flowing, and so did his tears.

He didn’t even process the sound of the front door unlocking, or the approaching footsteps that followed. A familiar pair of green sneakers shuffled into his blurred field of view. Chan lifted his head, tears falling freely as he met Minho's deep stare.

He looked concerned, but not surprised. Not in the slightest.

“What happened?”

Chan kept his thumb to his mouth, chest aching from the cries he was so desperately trying to hold in. 

“I’m okay,” he choked out. “Just c-cut my finger.”

Minho crouched down, coming face to face with the older boy. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Chan held out his hand, placing it in Minho's waiting palm. Minho gave a light click of his tongue, as if unimpressed by the injury. 

“It doesn’t look that deep.”

Chan squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a fresh wave of tears down his cheeks, hot and suffocating. “Feels like it.”

Minho hummed, half-sympathetic. But it was soft. The same way Chan would hear him murmur to his cats back home. He let go of Chan's hand, lifting his gaze to look him straight in the eyes, unfazed by how red and swollen they were.

“What did she do?”

Chan sucked in a shaky breath, nowhere near ready to talk. Minho waited for a few moments, then rose from his spot, opening the medical cabinet to find something to treat him with. He turned his back to sift through their sparse first aid materials, and the absence of his scrutiny was enough for Chan to muster up enough courage to answer.

“She left,” he managed to gasp. “Think it’s over.”

Minho said nothing.

“A-and, please, before you say you told me so…it’s not the same.”

Through the soft hiccups and shallow pants that filled the room, a sigh met Chan’s ears. 

“I got tired of telling you that a long time ago,” Minho replied. “And it never made me happy to be right, for the record.” 

He lowered himself to Chan’s level again, ripping open the antibiotic packet he’d retrieved and pressing the alcoholic wipe delicately to the cut. Chan tried not to pull his hand away as the harsh burn rippled through his skin.

Once the wound was thoroughly cleaned, Minho put the bloodied wipe to the side and wrapped Chan’s thumb carefully with a bandaid. Chan tried to rasp out a thank you, but it only came out as another pathetic sound. He never felt more pathetic than when he cried in front of Minho. Minho, who he was supposed to be strong for. Minho, who, even at his lowest, only betrayed his heartache before others with a subtle twitch of his lips or a few rapid blinks, shooing his tears away for later.

Minho redirected his attention from the now patched-up injury, stone face softening when he caught the uncontrollable shake in Chan’s shoulders.

“It’s okay.” He rested his hand on Chan’s back. “You’re okay.”

Chan took a deep breath, scolding himself, berating himself, screaming at himself to get it together. To stop being so fucking pathetic. He’d cried so much already, cried until his head throbbed and his lungs ached. He was surprised he had any tears left in his system to begin with. Minho’s voice was gentle, but Chan knew what he must be thinking. He knew the frustration, the judgment, the disappointment that must be boiling beneath his composed visage.

“I c-can’t—” he swallowed down another gasp. “Can’t be okay without her.”

“You can,” Minho said simply. “You’ve been okay before, you will be again.”

“Really hurts.”

“I know.”

“Feels…” Chan touched his index finger to his thumb, running it along the smooth texture of the bandaid. He pressed down, just hard enough to draw out the light pain. “Feels like I lost a part of myself.”

Minho frowned, hand pausing its rhythmic movements along Chan's trembling back. He stayed quiet for several heartbeats, letting the weight of the admission fully sink in.

“Tell me everything.”

[ilovelyneysm07]

Shooting Stars - SAGAU!Lyney x Player Part 1

Summary: Shooting Stars were always a weird occurrence in the world of Teyvat, so when they suddenly stop, certain magician can't help but wonder if it has to do with the strange aching in his chest.

CW: Self Aware AU, NOT Cult AU or Creator AU, Angsty, the Reader is referred as Player, Based on my own Genshin Account, Pretty Self-Indulgent, GN!Player, Cross-posted on AO3, English is not my first language and I'm not an experienced writer

Taglist: @yurislilygarden @yurislotusgarden

Lyney had a weird feeling in his chest for a while, like a strange ache that won’t go away, it didn’t affect his shows in any kind of way, having perfected his stage persona, a little ache in his chest is not going to make him fail, but in the back of his mind, he can’t help but wonder what’s going on.

It all started a few months ago, the once bright blue sky turned dark and shooting stars fell from it, a golden star different from the rest, falling towards the Palais Mermonia, or rather, near it. Many people were worried about what was going on, but many others were already used to the phenomena that was the strange “shooting stars” that happened from time to time. Some stars fell into Inazuma, some others into Liyue, even some fell into Sumeru. Nobody knows why this happens, only that if a star falls on you, you receive a strange aura around you.

After that month’s event, and Miss Furina was walking around freely and with a smile on her face, the shooting stars suddenly… stopped, the sky returning to the usual bright blue. No clouds, no movement, just blue.

With each passing day, the ache in Lyney’s chest increased, the lack of dark skies made his mind wonder if it had something to do with the ache he felt in his chest. Why did the shooting stars stop falling? Does it really have something to do with him?

The magician went over to his dear sister, to ask her if she felt something similar, but she just shrugged, saying that she suddenly felt an aura surrounding her, no shooting star needed (Lyney failed to notice the way her eyes avoided his gaze, slight frown in her face).

Then the magician wanted to ask his younger brother, but he already knew the answer, as the month before the last dark sky, a shooting star fell into Freminet while he was diving in the waters of Fontaine, purple aura surrounding him (Lyney also failed to notice the nervous stare Freminet send his way).

Questions kept surrounding the magician’s mind, while his eyes were glued to the starry night sky, wondering if one of those stars is gonna fall. Maybe fall on him too, please?

Lyney can’t lie that he felt a little bit jealous of his siblings, both being “blessed” (that’s how many people saw it) by the shooting stars, both being surrounded by that weird purple aura. He didn’t want to feel like this again, feeling like he’s falling behind his sister or that he’s not strong enough to be the “older brother” figure anymore.

He can’t help but feel helpless. Will he be blessed like his siblings? What’s so special about this “blessing” anyway?

While looking at the night sky outside the window in the Opera Epiclese, his thought bubble gets interrupted when he hears people muttering among each other in the dressing room. Now, he’s not one to eavesdrop (at least, not when he’s not commanded to), but the topic of the conversation catched his interest.

“Why do you think the shooting stars stopped?” one of the staff members of his shows said, Lyney could hear the sound of boxes moving inside as he got closer.

“Honestly? I have no idea. They were already inconsistent, but to suddenly stop? Now that’s weird.” the other staff member said, their steps giving the hint that they were moving around rather quickly.

“Do you have any theories, though? I heard that the last one to receive the blessing was Lady- Miss Furina, and she sometimes is seen walking around with a golden aura around her! Golden!-” a loud sound could be heard, alongside the kinda loud scream of the staff member. “Sorry!”

“Be careful, but yeah, that never happened before, right? Miss Lynette has a purple aura, alongside Mister Freminet.” some steps could be heard, and more boxes were being moved around.

“Wait- what about Mister Lyney? Did you see any kind of aura in him?” Lyney felt his body tense at the mention of his name. A silence fell in the place, no boxes were moved and no footsteps could be heard. “Wait… does he have an aura?”

“I… don’t think so. Then again, only a few people in Fontaine have it.” more silence, and then footsteps started coming to the door, startling Lyney.

“His siblings do… Why not him?”

The door opened, and the two staff members started walking towards the hallway, some boxes in their hands. Lyney emerged from his hiding place, his gaze strangely blank.

“Why not him?”

-

On the other side of the screen, an excited player was looking at their primogem count. 296 wishes in their virtual wallet and 20 intertwined fates. They then watched all the materials needed in the ascension planner; everything was good, all of the materials checked, including his weapon’s materials (if they get it).

The player smiled to themselves and opened the wishing menu, seeing the 3 day(s) left message under the iudex’s banner. They took a deep breath and closed the game for the day, determination in their eyes.

Lyney, you will be mine. They thought with a smile on their face.

A/N: In celebration of Lyney's rerun, I made this. It's kinda angsty, but don't worry, things will get better when his banner comes out :P

[slutforalastor]

Confessional

Human Priest Alastor has a particularly committed parishioner with an unholy request. NOT APPROPRIATE FOR THOSE UNDER THE AGE OF 18. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Tags: SO MANY CHURCH REFERENCES, light voyeurism, temptation, bloodletting, church AU I guess if you wanna get technical, way too many big words for plotless smut

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

You kneel before a shadow, crossing yourself. You know the shadow's face, having spent countless Sundays smiling from your lips and weeping from between your legs during his service. You know that he can see you, perhaps even recognizes you. You're aware of the purpose of confessional, the supposed tenants guiding the practice, but you are not here to absolve yourself. You seek indulgence, not purification.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been eleven months since my last confession. These are my sins. I harbor impure thoughts, thoughts that I know have been given to me by the Lord. He is guiding us towards a union, perhaps to conceive, but for some holy purpose, regardless. There can be no other reason why you'd occupy my every waking thought, why my maiden's bed feels so cold and empty, as though incomplete without your body next to mine. Each and every night, I sin in that bed, allowing my own hand to guide me to an incomplete release. It never gives me any feeling of blessing, only of deeper desire to blaspheme. My soul is forever lost without your faithful shepherding, Father."

The shadow moves, clears its throat, no trace of emotion to be gleaned from his intonation.

"My dear child, you seem lost, confused. As a man I am flattered, perhaps even humbled, by this confession. But you must hold steady against these impure delusions, for God has placed me on a different path."

His rebuke only serves to hasten your desire. You feel yourself laden with honeyed need, leaking against the inside of your thighs through your underwear. You know he can see you kneeling, prostrating yourself before the judgment of your holy superior. Still on your knees, you lean back, hiking up the fabric of your skirt, pushing your hips up to present your ruined panties. "Holy Father, you are a servant of the Lord, are you not? Would you deny that one of your flock is in need? Would you leave them to temptation in solitude, with only their hands, the devil's playthings, for companionship?"

His voice betrays the first sign of will being tested. "This could just as easily be a test, a bit of trickery from the Devil himself."

"Who better to rid me of devilish desire than one who speaks on God's behalf? Who baptizes the young, unifies lovers, grants last rites to the condemned? Serve your Lord and banish this Devil from my loins, if you be pious, if you be merciful."

His voice is trembling now, thick with an intent you had hoped to provoke. You are intriguing him, winning him over. Summoning your courage, you draw your underwear down to your ankles, clumsily preening your sex the same way you have been whenever the heat between your legs burns like Hellfire. "See for yourself how the Lord makes me a conduit. Would you call this the will of the Devil? The need of a woman for a man?"

"I have taken an oath..." he stutters, choking on his own words.

"An oath to serve your parishioners... Would you bear witness to sin, knowing you can make it holy?" you bleat, the lamb on the altar, bound by ropes fastened to your soul. The Priest stands, and you can see his shadow making the mark of the cross, muttering a prayer to himself. Your self-defilement doesn't even slow, the low, wet sounds of hungry flesh accepting your phallic substitute the only sound in the confessional. In another moment, you hear the door opening, and your savior stands framed in the light of the jamb.

"Bless you, Father," you moan. He shuts the door, and in the dimness, you capture the full depth of his radiance. His brown hair drapes in front of his eyes, standing as a buffer between those nearly-black irises and the small circular frames that grace the bridge of his nose. A nervous sweat shimmers on his dark skin. His cassock is disheveled, his silver cross hung up on one of the higher buttons, collar greyed at the edges from sweat.

"We must make haste to rid you of this curse," he breathes, tugging at his collar. Thinking on its symbolism, he detaches it entirely, leaving it hanging on the doorknob. With rough strength, he brings you to the chair one could use to confess face-to-face, bringing your arousal level with him when he drops to his knees. He inhales, something within that bouquet seeming to pique his interest. "You reek of unholy desire."

"It has tormented me, Father."

"I can see now what you mean. It would be irresponsible to leave you in such a state. I shall grant you this mercy, my child. God will heal you through me."

With a slight tilt of his head, he partakes in your communion, his lips brushing over the outermost of your folds, murmuring a prayer against the electrified nerves. You can feel every syllable evoked against your body, sending ripples of heaven cascading through your system. You are certain that God's holy presence is being imparted from the teasing edges of his lips into your body. His tongue parts from between his pursed, muttering lips, lapping at the inside of your sex, searching for something buried deeper still. Your hands dare to caress his head, guiding him towards the spot he seeks. Charting into fresh territory, he stakes claim to it, his eager tongue seeking out places you've yet to even map yourself. Each press of it is a blessing, the burning ache in your flesh the doubtless throes of a demon being flayed from your soul.

"My dear, I'm beginning to wonder if I misjudged. Your taste is divine."

Your fingers dig into his thick locks, pressing him to persist even further, to reach past the purgatory of your desire. You feel his nose grinding against your most sensitive spot, something you have never had a name for, feeling every time he inhales and exhales, his mouth far too preoccupied with more concerning matters. You are fighting to keep your carnal affectations from becoming any louder than a whining wail you smother in the small of your throat, lest it be loosed completely unrestrained.

"You're doing well to keep your voice lowered," he praises you. "You are a true servant of your Lord."

"I-I am in his service," you affirm, your words snaring every time his tongue darts against your walls.

"Your dedication deserves to be rewarded," and he pushes himself as far as the limitations of flesh permit, lodging his lapping extremity so firmly within that you startle nearly upright, sharp nails that bite against the fabric of your clothes urging you back down. "He says 'be still and know that I am God.'"

You groan against the scripture being branded on your innards, a new sensation creeping across the tensed muscles of your legs. With a muffled moan, he is baptized in your release, and he offers a satisfied sound of approval. Your legs quake against the ceaseless undulating of his attentions, finally extricating himself when he's had his fill of you. He runs the long, thin thing that just concluded making a mess of your insides over his glistening grin, still slick from your consecration. Your focus drifts downward, to the crook that will shepherd you to salvation tenting the fabric of his soutane.

"Traces of habitation still remain, my child. We must take measures to save your spirit." He undoes the lower buttons of his robe, exposing himself to you, as he would have been in Eden. You can feel it against you, afire with purifying heat, sliding against your sopping entrance with anticipation. "Accept these rites."

"Bless me, Father," you whine, grinding yourself against him.

"Please, dear, call me Alastor." It's not permission; it's a demand. He waits, poised against you.

"Please give me your blessing, Alastor."

His lips curl into a grin, his canines so jagged and long that they're the first teeth you see. "God answers all prayers in good time." With a shove, he enters you, your teeth clenching, your breath shorting at the feeling of this union. He can't help but let a pleasured grunt leave his lips, and he catches your eyes as the last inch of him slips inside, brushing an errant strand of hair from your eyes. You feel cold, flushed at the overwhelming relief of finally being face-to-face with what you'd thought could only be in a fantasy. He gives a thrust, testing the waters, shaking your faith. You whimper against the force of it, still growing accustomed to the sensation of being taken. "Do you feel the sin drying up? The demonic need being purged?" Alastor wonders, driving himself into you with ever-increasing force, his restraint abandoned. "In its place will be holy admiration, a want to submit, as all of God's good creatures must possess."

"I will be a good creature," you promise.

"The best their ever was," Alastor croons, his jagged incisors hunting for the soft of your neck, carving runes against the submissive skin, seas of red pooling in the canyons. "Will your blood run black, as a demon's, or red, like the dust of the Earth? You have the allure of a succubus, but the taste of a virgin." His nails ribbon your collarbone, leaving oozing trails like spilled wine. He partakes of this communion with the same vigor as before, drinking it like an elixir. Your nervous hands grasp against his back, enfeebled fingers digging into the fabric of his clothing. Through all of this, his rutting has never slowed, increasing in desperation when he samples your blood. When he pulls away, you can see it trickling against his teeth, his tongue dragging over the surface to crudely clean them.

"I have dreamed of this, Alastor."

"Our lord works in mysterious ways," he assures you, clawed fingers still tracing thin rivulets across your skin. "I am nearly at my limit," he pants, burying himself against you. His thrusts finally slow, each push against you deliberate, purposeful. With his body laid against yours, his mouth is laid by your ear, and you can hear every facet of his breathing, every pant, moan, and inhale he makes broadcasting into your brain, the only sound you can hear. You are as close as he is, and you wrap yourself around him as he pumps into you one final time, his holy fire coating your insides, his assured breaths becoming high-pitched whines as he spasms against you, driving you to your own climax. It is nothing like what you've made yourself feel; it sends shockwaves through the taut fibers of your lower half, makes you cry out in uncontrollable lust, leaving your limbs clenched around Alastor as the last of his climax is left spilt within. You feel his chest heave with a deeply drawn breath, his sigh in your ear scattering chills across you. "Do you feel purified, dear?"

"I worry that I will have further need of your services, Alastor."

He pulls away from you, his smile sadistic yet sincere. "The clergy lives to serve, after all."

[cvlutos]

“God of Teyvat”

| Repost: 02.15.23 | 0.9K | Rated Mature |

Genshin!Various X GN!Reader

| Characters 18+ | Yandere | Cult AU | Obsession | Mention of Self harm [Not the Reader] | Sexual Suggestions | Genshin Impact | Self-Aware Genshin | Proceed with Caution, Beloved. |

T.Manor.Notes: Repost from my old blog, this was first posted in like 2021 so it’s old as hell.

They are your vessel.

The twins that came from a different world. They are how you see the new plane in which you inhabit. Their eyes—yours. Their breath belongs to you. They are how you exist until you gain a body of your own. No one knows of your arrival but them. For the twin is selfish and wants you only to themself, for they view themself as the only one worthy. To be the body that you control, to feel you within them.

To be one with you.

To be one with you.

══════ ♡ ══════

Barbatos is the first to know. The first to feel the wind shift and wrap around him, drawing him to you, to the twin you chose as your vessel. He is jealous. For he has sung your praises for so long, for he has sent your tales across all of Teyvat. For he is your most devoted. Yet you chose another over him.

It will take time for Venti to subdue his jealousy, but he will remain cheerful. Staring at you through the eyes of the Traveler. For he will become the most suitable host, if only for a mere moment, to gratify you. Venti is devoted. He will destroy Mondstadt if it meant that only for a mere second, he is able to see your form. Your true form, and to witness a fraction of your power. The idea makes him weak and hot, and though he speaks kind words to the traveler, they are meant for your ears. He will make sure you hear him, that you understand the lengths he’ll go to make you love him.

══════ ♡ ══════

Morax is the second. He learns of your arrival the moment you step into Liyue and he is angry. The earth bends and sways beneath his feet as he glares through the eyes of the Traveler’s, into yours. He has existed since the beginning; he was watched friends and lovers fall to their demise, all under your wish, under your control and desire. He will not rejoice in your return, not now, not yet.

He wants to rid of your existence. To end you, to force you back into your slumber, but he cannot. For he hates you, but not even his spear will harm a single hair upon your head, no matter the body you use. He will ignore your existence, forget that you are above him, until you appear everywhere, as if mocking him. Soon he will bend and break, before kneeling before you. He will apologize and praise you, but still, his anger has not been quelled. It will take time, but soon he will love you.

══════ ♡ ══════

The Raiden Shogun is the third. She learns of you the moment you step into the Plane of Euthymia for the second time, within the body of the Traveler. She will fight, blinded in sadness, until you win and she is defeated. She will cry and cling to you, clinging onto the Traveler, with wide eyes. She will beg for forgiveness, for you have learned of everything of Inazuma and her carelessness.

She will claw out her own eyes, peel at her skin, if it meant you revealed yourself. She feels the most shame and willing to toss everything aside, if it meant you’ll be happy. She loves you, adores you. Will wipe everything off of your path, give you anything to make your journey easier. She will ramble about your grace and if you want her gone, she will no longer to exist.

══════ ♡ ══════

“Welcome.”

They all kneel to the Traveler, to you. Who sits cross-legged, a smile across their lips. Your first vessel, a name the Traveler has taken upon themself, to show their own superiority. Venti, Zhongli, and Ei, all eager to appease you, adoring your bedroom with the finest of materials, the freshest of food, and the highest quality of products.

Venti feels weak, his face flushed. He wants nothing more than to touch you. He nudges his nose against the boot of the twin, staring into your eyes. His nails dig into the wooden floor. He can feel your presence as you stare down at him. His hips buckle blindly, a soft whine leaving his lips as he crashes to the ground. Merely a look sent him over the edge and into the pleasure of release.

Ei begs to be next. Her hands grabbed at the leg of your chair, inching closer with wide-pleading eyes. Resting her head against the twin’s thigh, squeezing her eyes close, feeling the energy of you radiate off and through her body, like electricity. A muffled whine leaves her throat, her body twitching, her chest heaving as she clung to the traveler’s clothing, drool rolling down the side of her lips. Your aura alone sending her into a frenzy as she came.

Zhongli kneeled as the other archons fell weakly to your knees. The twin says something to him, but all he can hear is your voice. “Zhongli.” As if he was lit on fire, his body burned. He was not as strong as he would like to believe, a low groan leaving his mouth. He looks up at the traveler, a scowl on his lips, while his body tense. He hated you so much. How could such a God, a God without a form of their own, control him to such lengths?

All weak to the power of the true rule of Teyvat. One that stood above and used those with visions as their vessel. One should count that alone as a blessing to come true.

[writingforatwistedworld]

The order fits into self aware au. How would Malleus, Jade and Leona react to an extremely caring reader?

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, obsession, possessiveness, manipulation, violence, murder, injuries, family problems, unhealthy relationship

Leona Kingscholar/Jade Leech/Malleus Draconia-Player is extremely caring

Let's be honest, Leona is a sucker for attention even if he doesn't show it

I mean, house cat over there was deprived of affection throughout his entire childhood so what did you expect? A healthy headspace? Haha no

So when he was sitting there, daring at the student who just stepped on his tail when he felt it for the first time

And at first it was not a great sensation

He always felt someone looking at him, watching him, him never being able to escape...

But after he also watched the black haired annoyance he soon understood what was going on... or at least he thought he did

Malleus and his little fanclu-I mean his “friends” were known for having a rather “interesting” interest in the Overseer and since that started they were saying that they were watching them

Ok so he has his own little pair of eyes staring at him no. Great great. No way he likes tho-WHY IS HE PURRING??!

Now that things have been going like that for a longer while he does notice though that you treat him different than others

Whilst you would be like “may, I can wait with your spell material” you are with him “OUT OF THE WAY! I NEED TO TAKE CARE OF MY CAT!!!”

Whilst everyone is just trying to get a tiny bit of that attention and care he is just like “I have no idea what I did but I like it”

But I think I mentioned him being starved as a kid of attention and care from his family and his general surroundings, right?

Well it's going to show right here, right now

Whilst he basis in what you give him like sunbathing he is more or less just terrorizing others

If someone dares to try to get close to him so that they might get some of his cake he will create a new sand pit

Even though his family doesn't know Leona is aware that they would be at least thankful that his magic doesn't leave any trace to follow at the scene of the crime

Just keep that attention up! Otherwise he might just snap and make short process with everyone

Confusion. Just confusion (at first at least)

Here he is, hat stand extravagance, witnessing how an all-knowing entity starting down on them is especially caring towards him

I mean, it all started on the day that exchange student ran after their friends after they got entangled in a contract with Azul

At first he thought you hated him

You were known as someone who was for fair contracts

And danger noodle over here knows that Azul plays dirty

Like “dumping mineral oil into the sea” kind of dirty

Why else were you always sending him out there to “squeeze the fishies” (-Floyd Leech, the not-so-extravagant hat stand)?

Why else were you always staring at him when he was talking to Yuu?

You gushing about him and how much you liked and wanted to take care of him didn't even cross his mind

Well, until the team was defeated for the first time

Oh boy, you were angry

But you were even more concerned about him

S-so you were just caring for him? Ha...Haha... HAHAHA- (Don't forget to breathe, Jade)

Is he overjoyed about that? Yes

Does he play dirty to keep that care to himself? Absolutely

The next time you see an NPC they might be a bit silent and avoid you

Jade is good at collecting dirt on people, you know?

Aww how cute! We like the lighter!

Jokes aside, Malleus knew immediately that you were there even though he wasn't present in the prologue ceremony

So when Lilia came home that night he just bursted through the front door, doorknob in hand, yelling words about the Overseer

The general had to calm down so that the "young" fae could finally understand what the was saying

Ah, so you were here... WAIT WHAT??!

But then... *sad dragon fae noises*

Why? Well he thought he was either so boring that you left him alone or that you avoided him because you disliked him

I mean, imagine, the one being you always looked up to, thinking they understood you to some degree, is now staying far away from you

But then why were you always heading into battle with him? And why were you so angry the first time he had an elemental disadvantage?

When you finally had enough material you shoved that straight down his throat, saying something about “can't let him get hurt” and “not this pretty nifty little thing!”

So... you liked him? Why were you avoiding him then? ... You know what? He won't ask

That doesn't mean it's good for his ego though

Whenever he sees the house cat in the garden he just has that expression that literally screams smugness

But if someone dares to say that you don't care for him?

Roasted chicken my friend. Roasted chicken

His letters to his granny are now always filled with “how kind and caring the Overseer is” and “if there is a spell to get you here”

... You know what is waiting for you, right?

[enmasae]

Desire of the fittest - Part 1

Self Aware Genshin Alternate Universe - Guide AU (my own take on sagau)

Next

Warnings :

Adult content (such as violence, bullying, toxic relationships, cursing, angst, nsfw, and others) and yandere behavior (such as obsessive and possessive display)

Theories and lore informations

Since this is my take on an alternate version of Genshin Impact, I've taken the liberty to include elements that may not align with the game's lore but will make sense in this particular story.

Content : Kaeya and Diluc's wonderful sibling dynamic, Pantalone's charisma, Ningguang and Beidou making me question things about myself, Venti's poetic rumbles, Aether's sister issues

As it is a "x Reader", i use the pronoun "you" and wrote the protagonist as gender neutral.

In the city of contracts, one might never sleep admidst the lights adorning the starry night. The milliths exhibit strong commitment to the protection of their people and, to some extent, their alcohol. Priorities vary, with some indulging in their duty while others drink to their heart's content. For example, a reckless young knight in training sneaks in the few dim alleys the town might provide, a risky task considering his bright red hair. However, this detail doesn't dissuade him from neglecting his duties and following his own sense of justice.

"I hope you got a good excuse for this one, you know. I'm running out of ideas to give Varka and Jean to save our badges."

The knight's face betrays little surprise as he observes the other man leaning on his shoulders. The redhead stares at his coworker and gives him a forceful shove, clearly irritated by his mere presence. The other knight raises his hands as to surrender, a quirky smile growing on his features.

Seizing the man by his collar, the redhead forcefully pins him against the nearest wall. One hand silences the sweet talker, while the other firmly grips the weapon's pommel at his belt. Despite this, the knight's focus remains fixed on the pair strolling past the concealed alley. Only when the target disappears from his view does the redhead shift his attention to the restricted man.

"If you're so afraid to lose your career, why do you keep following me ? Tell me Kaeya, is it funny for you to stick your nose in my business ?"

Kaeya, as he's called, emits a dry laugh before forcing himself out of the redhead's grip. He brushes off his shoulder pads and arranges his hair to his preferred style, tidy yet with a hint of wildness.

"I care about you Diluc, is that so hard to catch on ? You're the only family i have left. You know ? Your brother ?"

The red hair is quick to rectify the man.

"Adoptive brother."

Unfazed by the knight's irritable mood, Kaeya crosses his arms and nonchalantly toys with his nails. Diluc, rolling his eyes, shifts his attention to the pair he's been tailing. He silently curses upon spotting them entering one of the numerous restaurants lining the main street.

"Fantastic, just splendid. Now, either you willingly return to Varka and the Tianquan, or I'll simply knock you out and leave you here until I'm done."

"Or, I could help you get to the bottom of your self-assigned heroic mission, because I know troubles come when you get impulsive like that."

Diluc grunts in his breath, accepting the situation as it is, much to the patched eye knight's delight.

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In the Liuli Pavilion, customers savored their meals in tranquility, engaging in cheerful conversations about their day and the latest gossip. However, an air of tension hung over the staff tonight. While some attributed it to the festivities taking place, little did they know that the luxurious VIP room, a privilege only accessible to a select few in Teyvat, had been reserved for the evening by one of the renowned harbinger.

Raising his wine glass, the ninth harbinger subtly toasts the occasion with his present partner. Sipping the drink, he places it meticulously on the table, ensuring his actions meet the standards of the person sitting across from him. As his lavender eyes gracefully meet yours, he can feel his smile growing fondly.

"Now that I think about it, you never gave me one of your intertwined fate, hum~?"

His comment makes you scoff in slight mockery, amused by his phrasing.

"You know very well that's not how it works."

Sadly for you, he isn't one to back down easily, he tends to lean more towards negotiation. Despite having performed numerous deeds for you, the unfortunate truth is that you've settled every debt owed to him. Your shared appreciation for fairness is a quality he respects. Even if he loathes the lack of any blackmail's materials he could use against you, it's very unlikely that he will take action to remedy this fact.

"Even if I generously provide the goods~?"

Setting aside your chopsticks, you emphasize your point. Normally, engaging in a debate with him would be enjoyable, but at the moment, you don't have the mind for such mental games.

"Pantalone."

Considering his personality, you should have known that such a small display won't faze him.

"[Name]."

You sigh and focus your attention on the meal he graciously covered for you. Though you could have easily afforded it, you appreciate the care. While savoring your food and avoiding prolonged eye contact, your pointed ear twitches at a sudden yet subtle sound.

"Is something disturbing you ?"

Glancing discreetly at one of the open windows, you reassure the man, hoping to lessen his keen interest in your every move. His meticulous gaze is bound to make you uneasy. It would be in your best interest to change the subject.

"A war is brooming."

The revelation doesn't appear to surprise the man greatly as he gestures for you to carry on.

"Hum ? And, what kind ?"

"I cannot see what the future unfolds, Pantalone, I'm no seer. It could be harsh, fierce or treacherous, I wouldn't know."

Chuckling, the man runs his finger along the rim of his glass before indulging in another sip.

"I'm gonna need more information, my dear. I'm afraid I can't do much with only an assumption."

Seizing your food in a more aggressive manner, you point your chopsticks towards the man's face.

"It's far from a possibility, it will happen."

Pantalone leans to eat the food held between your utensils with a rather teasing smile. He finishes his mouth while whipping any condiment that might have clung to his lips.

"Hm, quite salty if you want my opinion. Anyway, how come one who can't grasp the future like you, your words not mine, seems so convinced that a war will occur, hum~?"

As a way to turn back on him, you snatch a portion of his food directly from his plate. Deliberately savoring each bite at a slow pace, your resentful gaze remains fixed on his. You're not one who likes to share.

"I didn't know you could be childlike, it's quite cute~."

Clearing your throat, you refuse to get embarrassed by such words.

"As I was saying, I am sure it will happen because it concerns my kind."

As you finish your plate, you fold your hands together, creating a makeshift headrest. You catch the curious gaze of the harbinger as he gestures you to pursue.

"They have started to show an interest in this world. And believe me that it will get ugly once they come here. After all, Teyvat and its people are one of a kind."

Pantalone appears to think for a moment, his usual smile shifting in a subtle frown.

"I understand now the kind of problems such scenery could cause... What about you ? What would you do if- I mean, when the time comes ?"

You smile brightly, seemingly eager to answer this specific question. The man cannot help but notice the subtle glimmers of light shining softly around your head. While you may view it as an annoying flaw, he appreciates the element's reactions to your mystical presence. These manifestations are a giveaway on your feelings, making it easier for him to read.

He chuckles to himself while reminded of that one time steam literally came out of your ears.

"I already planned everything to the last minus detail, you don't have to worry about me."

Pantalone returns your smile and not so subtly extends his hand toward yours. He smoothly intertwines his fingers with yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

"Oh I'm not worried, I know you're capable~. I was merely curious if you would be more... open at the thought of fulfilling your role as a guide, especially in this context. After all, you still lack a main vessel, don't you ?"

You swiftly withdraw your hand from his grasp before standing up. Your gaze shifts to the open window where a little wick of red could be seen next to a soft looking lock of blue.

"Our time together was pleasant, but i'm afraid you'll have to excuse me."

As you take your leave, Pantalone's smile fades as he too stands up from his seat. It seems he took things too personal again. He approaches the staff member, seemingly waiting for the dinner's payment, and gives him the right amount via a lavish bag full of moras.

"H-hope to see you again, s-sir."

Disregarding the pitiful display, he leaves the establishment , wondering when he might have the opportunity to see you once more.

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"Ningguang, please, i beg of you to listen to reason. This kind of threat doesn't loom over Mondstadt alone, all of Teyvat is at risk."

The grand master of the Knights of Favonius searches fervently for any signs of concern in the reddish eyes of the woman before him, yet her smile remains calm and unfazed. Her presence commands respect as she speaks to the man in an eloquent tone, dismissing his concerns with a flick of her fan.

"I am well aware of the situation in the north and the peril it poses, Varka. However, I feel the need to remind you that our capabilities are limited in addressing this issue."

The towering man forcefully slams his fist on the woman's desk, causing some paperwork to flutter down gradually. Under normal circumstances, Varka isn't someone to easily lose his composure. Yet, with the recent surge of problems, even his usual calm begins to falter.

"Stop beating around the bush !"

Displeased with the man's tone, Ningguang rises from her seat and strides toward the irritated knight. She seizes the man's cheeks, causing him to grunt from the pressure made by her claw-like jewelry.

"The Qixing and I are currently deeply engaged in the construction of the Jade Chamber, i cannot allow half of the millith's forces to join the knights of favonius in a perilous mission doomed unsucessfull. Do i make myself clear ?"

Varka attempts to free himself from Ningguang's grasp by reaching for her hand, but the noblewoman prevents him from doing so by stepping back herself. Seated elegantly on her desk, she discards her fan to take a slight inhale from her pipe, attentively observing the resentful gaze of the man.

"I came to Liyue believing that the Tianquan would be the most understanding. Unfortunately, it seems that selfishness plagues all nations."

"Cut her some slack old man, not everybody is willing to die for some greater good. Here, have a drink."

Varka looks at the half-naked woman slouching on the expensive couch while presenting him an opened flask, most likely containing alcohol. The man averts his eyes, embarrassed by her shameless behavior.

"Oh archons, please, have some decency."

The woman slowly rises from the couch and approaches the man with an unusual sway. As she walks towards him, she struggles to maintain balance on her two feet. Her body moves uncontrollably, resembling the unsteady motion of a boat. Stopping uncomfortably close to Varka, to his displeasure, she fervently pokes his chest.

"Well, look who's talking! You're the one who barged in uninvited in the middle of the night while this elegant lady and I were enjoying a wonderful night of passion."

Ningguang observes the interaction closely but takes no action to intervene as the woman keeps on intruding the man's personal space. However, her passive behavior changes abruptly when her loved one begins to slide her hand under Varka's uniform.

"Beidou, i must advise you to refrain from teasing him, the gentleman appears to be on the brink of mortification~."

The sea woman gives the man some space without making a fuss, returning to the couch. Flopping onto it crudely, she sips her beverage while muttering inaudible words to herself. Ningguang lets out a sigh as she glances at the drunk woman pouting.

On the other hand, Varka straightens his knight's uniform, choosing to close the topic and avoid dwelling on it any further.

"Your nocturnal escapades are not on my list of interests and i'd like to keep it that way. Spare me the details and we'll all sleep a little more soundly, thank you."

Just as Beidou was about to voice her mind, the door to the private room burst open. Two young knights hurriedly entered, slamming the door shut as if sealing themselves off from a pursuing threat. Judging by Kaeya's heavy breathing, he seemed as if he had just sprinted for his life. Diluc, though equally exhausted, maintained a more composed demeanor.

"Care to explain where you two were ?"

The brothers instantly straightened from their slouching forms, standing at attention, fists over their hearts. Varka folded his arms, seemingly awaiting a response. Diluc broke the silence, his eyes challenging the Grand Master's gaze as he spoke first.

"On duty."

Kaeya scoffs dismissively, adding a sardonic remark to punctuate his disdain.

"I'm not sure discretely following a harbinger and a guide, getting discovered and almost dying on the spot was part of the mission we were assigned to."

The Tianquan's ears perk up at the mention of such individuals by the young knight. If his statement proved to be true, then troubles were brewing right under her nose. The prospect doesn't sit well with her.

Diluc quickly retorts with a tone laced with disdain, his brother's attitude getting on his nerves more than it already has.

"Would it kill you to shut your mouth once in a while ?"

"Would it kill you to respect the knight's code once in a while ?"

Beidou erupts into a loud laughter as it slowly fades into amused chuckles. In her inebriated state, the interaction between the two unfolds as a hilarious spectacle. Varka doesn't appear to find the situation funny as his facial expression twitches with carefully concealed anger.

Interestingly, Diluc appeared to share a similar state, albeit for different reasons.

"You don't even know what you're talking about."

Kaeya makes a concerted effort to maintain formation as he turns his head to look at the redhead.

"Oh, forgive me ! All you ever do is chase your damn heart's desires in the guise of justice, and that's precisely how you put not just yourself but everyone around you in danger ! You're downright inconsiderate and recklessly hot-headed."

Sensing a headache starting to form, Varka decides to finally intervene.

"That's enough, both of you. Childish bickering is unbecoming of knights. Now, I want to know where you were and what you were doing. Keep it brief."

The bluish knight keeps his eyes shut and mouth silent. His brother decides to confront the Grand Master, seemingly unimpressed by his towering composure and the fact that he could send him flying with a flick of his wrist.

"It doesn't matter what we witnessed, you couldn't possibly do anything about it anyway. Just like your expedition in the north, they won't amount to anything in the end."

The fiery attitude of the knight briefly snaps the drunk woman out of her clouded mind. She cheers with her nearly empty bottle before sleep reclaims her once more.

"Ah ! The kid got some spunk ! Reminds me of... what was his name again...?"

Diluc coughs as smoke wafts into his face. He glances at the woman responsible, who smiles while inhaling from her pipe again.

"It would be in your best interest to learn what to keep to yourself and what should be shared, boy. If a guide is indeed involved with a harbinger, something serious is looming. Trust me, you don't want the weight of people's lives on your shoulders."

The knight ignites the remaining essence inside the pipe, allowing it to burn and depriving her of anything else to smoke. The woman scoffs at the man's use of his Pyro vision. It's akin to witnessing a child throwing a tantrum for not being taken seriously. Yet, unlike the hollow threats of a kid, the fire in his eyes dared the Tianquan to change his mind.

Surveying the remaining people, he briefly locks eyes with Kaeya. Sensing his concern, yet dismissing it, he storms out of the room.

"I know what i must do, and it doesn't concern any of you."

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　　　.   　　˚　a few years later 　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

A loud shattering noise brings Diluc back to his senses. He glances at the culprit and frowns upon seeing the local bard laying on the floor with a broken wine bottle. Giggling to himself, the drunkard appears to be in his own world, thoroughly enjoying himself. The bartender grabs him by his shirt, hoisting him back onto his stool.

With the late hour upon him, Diluc finds himself with only the lonesome bard as a customer. Eager to begin his journey home and well aware of this specific client's penchant to be annoying when it comes to alcohol, he decides to employ a different strategy than his usual approach.

"So, when do you think i should kick you out ?"

Venti continues to giggle slightly, leaning on the bar counter. He toys with the glass Diluc so gracefully served him, mischief forming in his eyes as he glances at the redhead. Strangely enough, he doesn't seem to be that drunk anymore.

"Let's say... If you tell me why you were lost in such a thoughtful row, i might let you know~."

The bartender dismisses it with a simple shrug, clearly not in the mood to satisfy the bard's curiosity.

"I was just reminded of something."

As the breeze softly wafts through a small crack in the bar's window, Venti's smile takes on a more knowing gleam. He slides his empty glass playfully along the counter, a silent request to get a refill. Unfortunately, Diluc only takes the glass to clean it, refusing to pour more alcohol for him.

As he resigned on getting more of the sweet beverage, Venti sighs and settles on trying to decipher the bartender's thoughts.

"Well, I don't mind to guess~."

Diluc scoffs, skeptical of the drunkard's boastful claim. While he doesn't feel the need to engage in Venti's game, a hint of curiosity lingers. Who knows, perhaps the bard might have something intriguing to say.

"I've caught wind that the traveler's back from their journey. We haven't crossed paths, but rumor has it that their tale isn't quite cheery."

As Venti's concern reflects in his eyes, Diluc can only wonder what's hidden behind those poetic rumbles.

"I've known about their return in Mondstadt for quite a while now, but i haven't gotten the chance to meet them yet."

The bard contemplates the redhead's words with a thoughtful hum. Determined to get under his skin, he retrieves his lyre, creating a gentle tune that pierces the silence in the tavern. His expression bears the weight of sorrow as he poetically expresses his thoughts.

"Let his story be a lesson.

One learned from past takes,

To steer clear of repeating mistakes.

Beware of ones who claim as guides,

for their path conceals deceptive tides.

As stories have shown,

they cannot be trusted to bring you home.

Truth easily brushed aside with vows so sweet,

Yet, remember, once humans, their hearts did beat.

Let their story be a lesson,

Unspoken, like an untold confession.

One that shall not be named,

so it may never repeat again."

As the melody gently fades away, satisfaction spreads into the bard upon witnessing surprise on the man's features.

"Hehe, told you i was good at guessing~."

In his silent contemplation, Diluc gazes at the sword that once symbolized his knighthood, now relegated to a mere wall ornament. There was a time when he wielded it with pride. These days, when confronted with his nocturnal 'duties', he opts for heavier armaments. Regrettably, without his claymore in close reach, his former sword remains the sole option should the need for self-defense arise.

"Such strange beings... Aren't they fascinating ? While not being from these lands, it feels as if they've existed here long before life itself."

Venti follows the redhead's gaze, unbothered by his cautious demeanor. After all, he, too, once felt intimidated by the mere mention of guides. Nevertheless, his past fear primarily stemmed from his unfamiliarity with them. Having personally witnessed their exceptional powers, he understands that while one should avoid provoking them, it's quite simple to earn their favor.

"Some cruel, some benevolent, they only share their pride. Powerful yet feeble, to survive, they are reliant on what they term a 'vessel'. To their host, they may seem divine, yet in truth, they're nothing but a parasite."

Observing the bard rise from his stool, Diluc steps away from the counter to obstruct the main entrance of the tavern. Crossing his arms, he challenges Venti to take another step, his pyro vision blazing brightly as a silent warning.

"How do you know so much about them ?"

Amused by the situation, the not quite inebriated individual appears unfazed by Diluc's fiery demeanor, lifting his arms in mock surrender. His eyes emit a faint glow as a gust of wind forcefully opens the window, extinguishing all the candles illuminating the tavern. Irritated by the incessant noise of the window slamming against the wall, Diluc promptly closes it. Turning his attention back to the bard, he furrows his brows upon realizing that Venti hasn't made a hasty retreat. It's peculiar since the bard is renowned for employing cunning tactics to escape undesirable situations. Venti nonchalantly shrugs in response to the accusing gaze from the redhead, as if he weren't the one responsible for the sudden gust of wind, despite the 'anemo vision' resting on his belt.

"That's a tale for another day~. What's more important is why you seem to hold such an interest in them."

Realizing the bard has no intention to utter another word, Diluc sighs and clears the path to the exit. He gestures to Venti with a nod, signaling him to leave while he allows it.

"I have my reasons."

Entertained by the fact that he didn't need to be forcibly kicked out, the bard chuckles to himself before making a swift departure, leaving his parting words to resonate in the air.

"Hehe, fair enough. But if you do wish to learn more about them, heed my advice. Fools seeking aid from those with selfish desires rarely find anything good in return."

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As waves gently caress the shore, a symphony of memories, both ancient and recent, courses through them. The gentle cadence of the sea does not drown out the melody hummed by the young man standing in the water. Unfazed by the sea reaching his knees or the cool night breeze, he stands with eyes open but vacant, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moonlight.

With utmost care, he places on the water's surface a leaf-crafted vessel bearing a delicate arrangement of flowers, a tribute to his sister. As the final notes of his haunting melody linger in the night, a lament of anguish and sorrow, he releases the makeshift boat to be carried away by the current.

Soft tears flow down his face as his voice gently wanes. Upon arriving for the first time at this shore with a solemn vow to reunite with his sister, his ignorance veiled his eyes. Admidst the new sights this world had to offer, a strange familiarity embraced him. As the wind tousled his hair down to the way the soil felt beneath his feet, it was as if he had returned home.

He reflects on his past as a soldier, an obedient one who never questioned orders, devoid of a sense of morality, discerning neither good nor bad. He was merely following commands.

He recalls about her once gentle nature, a soul averse to causing harm, adorning herself not for personal satisfaction but for others' admiration. Her explanations of right and wrong were delivered calmly, never raising her voice.

They both changed so much, left with nothing but themselves and memories to nurture. Their relationship was at the time a delicate balance, with even the smallest mistakes sparking intense fights.

With time, she developed a stronger personality, becoming more reserved and secretive. He, however, found a way to articulate his feelings, expressing himself in ways he couldn't comprehend before. She loved to tease his newfound soft side.

But someone had robbed him of that. When he encountered her again at the end of his journey, he realized he was too late. In their final meeting, although her body was still breathing, there was no soul inhabiting it, no mind radiated from her mortal shell.

As she was no longer herself, he had no option but to end her suffering.

"Well, it's not often i get to meet with you alone. Where is that little fairy friend of yours ?"

As he feels tender hands cupping his face, a smile graces his features, whispering your name. To him, it has been too long since the last time you two shared such a peaceful moment. The infrequency of your meetings only heightens the value he places on them.

"Paimon is currently receiving care from the sisters of Mondstadt's cathedral. She got quite injured during our latest adventure. As for why i am here, I needed some time alone to bid a proper farewell."

He opens his eyes, savoring the sight of yours. Their intricate hues bear untold secrets that he longs to unravel. The patterns on your skin accentuate the natural bioluminescence of your body, preserving tales from times long past. Gently, he raises his calloused hand to your own, relishing in the comfort. As he senses your delicate fingers wiping away the tears from his face, more flows out.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

As his guide, he understands the price to pay for the honor bestowed upon him. Deep down, he understands the strength and knowledge you provided were for your own survival. The love he receives depends on the satisfaction he brings to you. He doesn't care if you use him as a vulgar puppet, as long as he remains by your side. He can't lose you, not you too.

"My sister liked to say that home is wherever we are together. Since we were all that were left of our home, i guess it was true."

His voice is parched and laden with sorrow as he clings to you like he would for a lifeline.

"She was the one determined to find somewhere for us to settle. But everywhere we went, troubles came. Either we had to flee or we were chased away. Times were hard, but at least we had each other. She was the only one I could rely on."

"But times have changed; you don't have to flee anymore, you don't have to follow orders, you don't have to live in her shadow. You can listen to your heart's desires."

In the silent exchange of glances, Aether notices the profound emptiness in your eyes, a void untouched by the shared sadness or comfort he seeks. The weight of realization descends upon him, as denial attempts to cloak the newfound awareness. The touch that he craved for earlier radiated no warmth. A sense of betrayal settles over him, sending chills coursing through his body.

"... you knew."

With the guilt slowly making itself evident on your face, he pushes your hands away from his. Stumbling on his feet, the world around him spins as if he has just awakened from a profound dream. The thought of you betraying his trust unsettled him. After all, the bond you shared wasn't a trivial pinky promise but a deep connection where he lived for you, and you for him.

"... you knew it would happen... you knew and yet... you did nothing ?"

He retreats slowly toward the shore, and as you follow, your hands gently signal him to calm down, much like one would soothe a frightened animal.

"It was already too late the day i saved you from that shade."

His heart aches as your words sink in. Closing the distance between the both of you, Aether decides to listen. He allows you to take his hands in yours, feeling the squeeze accompanied by a sudden cold. It's a familiar chill that he's come to associate with your moments of sadness.

"Then why did you save me ? Why didn't you save her ? Why. Me."

You guide him gently to the dry sand, ensuring his gaze follows your movements. As you start drawing shapes on the ground, they soon come to life in a light green hue, dancing around both of you. Aether recognizes himself in one of them and reaches out to touch it. Luminescent particles spread apart at his sudden movement, only to reform elsewhere near them. The scene changes, depicting the fateful day he lost Lumine.

"... you were both destined to die. I chose you because you reminded me of my old self."

He witnesses the divine being capturing his sister only to target him next. Aether perks up by the appearance of another shape. He observes how you protect him from the deity before the scene changes once more. Nostalgia fills him as he watches you forge the bond between the two of you. A soft laugh escapes him at the sight of Paimon being fished out, breathing life into your dynamic.

"You were quite stupid and ignorant."

Beads of sweat flow down his face as the shapes replays some of his past mistakes. In an attempt to avoid further embarrassment, he raises his hand to dispel the particles. You intervene by gently seizing his hand and guiding it to his heart.

"Yet, I could sense your determination to protect what you hold dear."

His ethereal counterpart proudly raises his blade against the final obstacle in his journey. It appears fearless, prepared to confront what he believed would be its greatest foe. However, that confidence crumbles when the monstrous shape morphs into the likeness of his sister. He observes as his particle self thrusts its sword through her, taking her life. As the particles slowly disperse, he meets your gaze, bitterness filling his throat.

"If I were to apologize for all the secrets i kept from you, that would be a lie. For all I did was solely to protect you."

You embrace the boy one final time before fading away. Aether's arms linger in the air before he wraps them around himself, trembling slightly. Shivers run down his spine as he comprehends what you've left behind. He gingerly picks up the small gemstone on the sand and clenches his fist. Anger wells up within him as he gazes at the cracked little starshaped orb, a symbol of your shattered bond.

You abandoned him.

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"Ugh, are you done yet ? Witnessing your sickening sweetness with him is making me nauseous."

Upon opening your eyes, you sense cramps crawling through your body, as if emerging from a deep coma. You snatch the helmet-like device off your skull and shove it away. The man attending to you utters an annoyed "watch it" in response.

"Deal with it."

The man assists you in exiting the machinery, disconnecting various tubes and electronics that monitored your health and body state. He grunts upon witnessing your attempt to straighten up quickly, and he gently compels you to lay back. Muttering additional curses, he likely expresses irritation at your impulsive actions, fully aware of the associated risks.

"Do you really need to go to such lengths? First, you toyed with his memories, and technically, you're the reason why he lost his dear 'sister.' And now, after all the efforts you put into him, you're just giving up ?"

You forcefully pull his hands away from your body and swiftly rise to your feet. Letting out a grunt, you massage your temples as a headache begins to intensify. Moving slowly, you skip a few steps, struggling to stand on your own but determined to reach a proper bed for some rest.

"I know what i have to do and i don't need your concern."

Depriving you of the chance to take another step on your own, the man hoists you onto his shoulder and carries you like a sack of potatoes. With no strength left, you acquiesce, but in silence, you mentally note to make him pay for this humiliation.

"Ugh, guides. I would never understand your kind."

You snarl and swiftly retort to his remark, delivering a quick hit to his hips.

"I am nothing like them."

The man appears unfazed by your punch, softly placing you on a very comfortable bed. He sighs at your angry gaze and flicks your forehead. It perplexes him how careless you can be when it comes to taking care of yourself, yet how gentle you are when it comes to your vessels.

"And yet, here you are, acting like one."

"And yet, here you are, taking care of me."

You lock eyes with the man, urging him to look away, but he continues to relish the moment. He neatly folds the cozy blanket atop you and tenderly traces the features of your face with his fingers. Despite his harsh and unyielding tone, his facial expression reveals another narrative, one where he could have been more sincere about his feelings.

"We just have a common enemy, nothing more."

Frustrated by his contradictory tenderness and attitude, you opt to usher him out.

"You never know when to shut your mouth do you ? I wonder where you got that."

The man scoffs and exits the room, clearly offended by your words. Finally relishing a peaceful moment, you close your eyes and envision the starry sky you've come to know by heart, one you hold dear, even if it's a mere fabrication. You identify a few constellations and recollect which ones align with your favorites.

After spending countless years in these lands, your meticulous preparations are on the verge of paying off. All the accumulated resources, weapons, and artifacts are about to prove their worth. Finally, you'll have the opportunity to engage in a game that truly fulfills your desires. One marked by chaos and unforeseeable events, where rules are broken and laws cease to matter.

Anticipation builds as you look forward to witnessing the expressions of newcomers when things deviate from their expectations, struggling to survive in a world they believed they knew.

It's going to be a gameboard where, finally, you hold the advantage.

Doesn't it sound fun ?

{Words : 5629}

Thank you for reading the first part of the series !

I hope you enjoyed :D

Next

[mermaidfanficlibrary]

oh ok, then I'd like to request phony by tsumiki (I think?) with furina, wanderer and childe

idrc abt whatever else is in the fic, it could be fluff or angst (maybe that's more for furina or wanderer since the lyrics are abt not knowing their purpose/who they are)

I think that's all I need to write to request-

thank you <33!!

.·:🎼¨༺ Songs from the heart ༻¨🎼:·. | Phony

Characters: Wanderer, Furina, Childe

Song: Phony by Tsumiki

Warnings: Angst, identity crisis

A/U: Self aware genshin AU

CHILDE

You were doing a domain with Childe, obviously because you loved fighting in domains with him. He was doing really well, hitting high numbers, but the world around him paused. He knew this wasn’t a normal pause as you open one of the various menus of the game, but it was him having a sudden realization. Childe was used to you playing music as you fought during domains, but this one particular song struck a chord within him. You had thought you game broke because Childe was just standing still, but wasn't taking any damage.

“The rain of despair pelts my umbrella and. Dampens my bangs and the hidden side of my heart”

That one lyric out of this whole song made him snap. All of a sudden you had control over him and his numbers were a lot higher. Childe was putting a lot more force into his attacks. You didn't notice, but this song was heavily affecting him. That one lyric connected to him more than anyone else, and the fact that it was coming from you made it even worse. He tried to think why this one lyric hit so hard to him. 

This feeling hit him like a tidal wave, not knowing what to do or say. After you exited the domain, he just stared at you. He had this feeling that you were punishing him for hiding so much from you. The previous times where he hid the truth, not revealing who he truly was or what his intentions were. He hated himself that he had to lie to you, the deception he subjected to you.

He was sincerely remorseful about ever deceiving you, but it was for the greater good. If you had known, he was sure that you would have hated him. You just had Childe stand outside the domain, trying to figure out what you needed to do next, while Chide was having an anxiety attack. His eyes were shaky, and his hands were trembling as he couldn’t still his racing mind. He was sure that you must have hated him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t try hard enough to hide my truths from you.”

WANDERER

Wanderer may have seemed annoyed that you had him on the field to do boss fights, but deep down he was very prideful and proud about it. Of course you chose him out of all the others that you had, he was the best out of all of them anyway. Wanderer had this smirk on his face after every boss he had defeated, but that smirk disappeared as he heard a song play. This was normal, you obviously needed background noise, but this one song cause Wanderer’s mind to spiral. He didn’t know what to do as he felt trapped, but one lyric made it even worse.

“I can’t understand even the simplest of things; what even am I?”

He paused in the middle of his attack, the wind he was using quickly dissipated from his hand. All his memories came flooding back to him, as he tried to compose himself. Wanderer thought he was over this, he already confronted his past. So why was it all coming back to him so suddenly? It didn’t make any sense to him, especially since it was triggered by that one lyric. It was true, he didn’t understand anything, even after all the work he had done to understand humans.

He internalized this lyric and started to think it was how you saw him, but it didn’t cross his mind that it was how you saw yourself. You noticed that Wanderer wasn’t fighting anymore, thinking it was odd, so you decided to move him to a teleporter. You didn’t know if it was the game glitching or what, but you just let the game run on its own, hoping it would be fixed by itself. Wanderer started to cry, he didn’t think such a simple song could affect him and cause him to have a panic attack. He looked at you, hoping you would notice his pain in his eyes.

Wanderer kept his sole focus on you, trying to make sense of the purpose of the song that was playing. Were you trying to give him a sign, perhaps, or were you simply telling him you didn’t see him as what he wanted. His mind spiraled as he kept thinking on why you played that song, and if you even chose to play it. Wanderer didn’t want to accept the reality that he wasn’t real to you, that he was just a mere puppet with no emotions. As the screen dimmed, you still waiting for the game to fix itself, his eyes stared on with disbelief.

“Am I even real to you, creator?”

FURINA

Furina was skipping, even if you couldn’t see it through the screen, as you explored with her. She loved that someone as prestigious as you thought of her to be good for the job. She hummed to herself, seemingly enjoying the music that was playing in the background. You were fighting some monsters in Fontaine, and she was more than delighted to reign victorious, even if they were easy enemies. That delighted feeling got sucked out of her the moment she heard the song change to one that she couldn’t help but connect too.

“I cried, still unable to say even goodbye, phony phony phony. Tangled up in lies, I am a phony”

She felt tears well up in her eyes instantly. She couldn’t stop herself from crying, as she froze in front of the items of the fallen enemy that was just defeated. Her eyes were darting everywhere, trying to not focus on this one lyric. Furina instantly came to the conclusion that you saw her as a phony. She couldn’t blame you, however, since she felt like one herself. She wasn’t the true Hydro Archon after all, so what was she meant to be?

Tears feel onto the sand that she was standing upon, causing it to clump together. Her eyes stayed away from you, she couldn’t bring herself to even see you looking at her. She felt so much guilt and fear that you didn’t see her as anything but a phony. Furina tried her best to pull herself out of this negative spiral. She fell to her knees, more tears overwhelming her vision.

You hadn’t noticed as you became distracted with the music playing. Furina had held her hands as if she were praying to you. Her eyes were wide as she was fighting herself in her mind. Her breathing became labored as more tears fell around her. She started to yell out to you, hoping you’d hear her pleas.

“I’m not a phony! I’m not. I’m not. I’m not! Why won’t you believe me, oh great creator?”

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[itneverendshere]

cowboy casanova - rafe cameron AU (one shot)

part ii.

synopsis: no real plot line just me thinking about cowboy!rafe while listening to cowboy casanova lmao...might write a part 2...idk; thought my rafe phase couldn't get worse..but it's WORSAA than ever, drew got me on a leash jesus; anyway enjoy

warnings: cowboy!Rafe Cameron; no smut per se yET; kissing; a LOT of pet names;

word count: 1.648k

You’re smarter than this.

At least, you thought you were. Until Rafe Cameron managed to get his hands on you, and now he’s all you can think about. 

He stands a few feet away, back leaning against the passenger's side door of his truck. His arms are crossed over his chest, biceps straining, against the sleeves of his white t-shirt.

Holy fuck. 

Had it been his usual tank top and you'd be on your knees the second you saw him.

Instantly, his gaze turns towards you, indiscreetly sweeping down your body. He tips his hat in greeting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his eyes are wandering as if he isn’t practically undressing you in his mind.

“Missed your face, darlin’.”

His eyes linger on your lips as your tongue traces its outline. The intensity in his gaze deepens, a dark heat simmering behind his blue irises. The air between you becomes charged with palpable tension as if a silent understanding passes between you.

“Can’t say the same thing, Casanova.”

He thinks it’s real fucking cute when you act like you don’t care about him. 

“Breaking m’heart,” Rafe's smirk widens, and he takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. One of his hands finds home in your waist, wrapping his warm and calloused fingers around the skin, the contact sending a jolt of awareness down your spine.

His presence seems to envelop you, and his voice drops to a low, gravelly tone, “Be nice.”

It’s entirely too hard to focus when he’s this close and all you can do is remember the last time you saw him. 

Last time, you didn’t expect things to get heavy so easily, but you couldn’t complain when you were pressed too snugly against him on the back of his truck, with your dress off and one of his hands, the same one he’s touching you with now, hooked under your ass. 

You clear your throat, slowly becoming yourself again, “What are you doing here?” 

His index finger is hooked under your chin, “Already told ya sugar.”

“And I know you better than that,” You flick the brim of his hat with your finger, “Spill, cowboy.”

A few tendrils of dark blonde hair slip loose over his forehead, and you fight every goddamn sinful thought in your mind. Like, how you had a fistful of his hair in your hand while you sat on his face.

Every time he turns those burning eyes on you, you feel something tighten deep within you. 

“Missed ya’, that’s all.”

His words give you a surge of stupid confidence roll, and you reach up, plucking his hat off his head before plopping it down on your own. His lips slowly slid into a sly grin as you tilt your head back slightly.

Rafe thinks it’s so cute when you get all red and flustered by his frame pressing against yours. His knuckles brush against your jawline, his grin melting into the sweetest smile. 

“And you wonder why I can’t get enough.”

A breath hitches in your throat, your lips parting in surprise. As much as you want to pull that beautiful mouth against yours, there’s a lot more to you two than meets the eye. You’re not supposed to do this…feelings were strictly prohibited the moment you started sleeping around with the Rafe Cameron.

You know better than that. 

“Don’t go all soft on me now, Cameron.”

He brushes a kiss on your cheek, and it takes every ounce of self-control to hold yourself back.

Rafe’s breath is ghosting over your neck when he leans over and asks if you’re doing all right. He knows exactly what kind of effect he has on you, and you hate it. 

“Lookin’ real pretty today sugar.”

“You think so?”

You want to argue back and call him out on his bullshit, but you don’t. You’d been working an eight-hour shift at the bar and after putting up with disgusting men all night, it feels nice to have someone call you pretty instead of a nice piece of ass.

His tongue darts out, sweeping over his bottom lip and your eyes track the movement like it’s the most mesmerizing thing you’ve seen in your life.

His lips stretch into a smug, satisfied grin, “Want me to prove it?”

“You wish.”

So maybe you’re also a terrible liar and your body likes to speak for itself. 

Rafe’s lips roll between his teeth as he fails to stifle a grin, “Is that why you all pressed up against me, sugar?

He loves the way you pretend to be surprised when he calls you out on your bullshit. 

Especially loves the way you always whine out that you really shouldn’t do this again when he got you in his bed, lips swollen from his kisses, and chest heaving. 

“You’re the one pressed up against me.”

“Yeah?” His hands glided with gentle precision up your arms, their touch leaving a tantalizing trail of goosebumps in their wake. The roughened calluses on his palms make delicate contact with your skin, further heightening the electrifying sensation.

As his hands continue their exploration, they caress over your shoulders, exerting just the right amount of pressure to melt away any tension, as he moves over your shoulders and cups the side of your neck.

You’re still marked up from the last time he had his mouth on you and it makes his chest swell with pride.

“Yeah.”

“Too bad, ‘cause I have no intentions of letting go, darlin’.”

Your hands fist the sides of his shirt, trying to give yourself something to keep you tethered to reality, “Cameron.”

“Got you right where I wanted ya.”

“Acting like you ain’t got a string of women pining after you.”

You try so valiantly to keep your voice from warbling, but as he kisses down the column of your neck you can’t help the sigh that slips through your open lips.

“Only want one,” Rafe tuts against your collarbone. You screw your brows together and open your eyes to look down at him as he pauses his administration to get your attention, “She’s right here.”

Your mouth drops open a little wider as his words work their way through your mind. 

You find yourself momentarily speechless, unsure of how to respond to his unexpected declaration. His statement carries a weight that you hadn't anticipated, and it takes a moment for it to fully sink in.

As you gaze down at him, your eyes meet his, searching for any hint of jest or insincerity. However, what you find in his gaze is a genuine sincerity and affection that leaves you breathless.

A mix of emotions swirls within you—shock, disbelief, and a glimmer of hope. Part of you wants to question his words, to delve deeper into his intentions and understand the magnitude of what he's saying. But another part of you simply wants to savor the tenderness of the moment, to bask in the vulnerability and the possibility of something more.

You feel his lips press against your collarbone again, his touch both comforting and electrifying. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but let out a soft sigh. The sound escapes your lips, betraying the longing and desire that are now coursing through your veins.

“You mean that, cowboy?”

“Got my hat on ya, don't I?”

You don’t wait another second, before grabbing the collar of his shirt and tugging him down to meet you as you rise on your toes. His lips are just as hot as his hands as they meet yours tentatively as if he’d never kissed you before. Your hand slides behind his neck, using it as an anchor to keep your knees from buckling.

Then, in one swift motion, his hand slides below your ass and hoists you up on his lap, pushing your back against the truck. You realize he’s holding your entire body weight with just one arm, and it almost makes you cum on the spot. You can feel yourself growing wetter at the idea of his strength.

So maybe you like it when Rafe Cameron manhandles you…who wouldn’t.

Breaking off for air, you rest your forehead against his, eyes closed, “Showoff.”

He grunts against your lips, “Only for you, sugar.”

You groan, pulling him back to your lips. He chuckles against them but stops as your fingers delve into his hair. Rafe pulls you closer, so your core is pressed up against his, and you squirm at the feeling of him slowly grinding into you.

His fingers brush against the bare skin of your waist where your shirt has ridden up, sending a shiver through you. A whimper escaped as you part your lips and his tongue plunges inside.

He tastes exactly how you remember, whiskey and cigarettes. You hate smokers, and yet he still pulls it off. He smells like he's yours.

His right-hand slides around to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head back to give him better access to your mouth as his tongue swiped greedily against yours. 

Rafe pulls away, both of you panting to catch your breath, his forehead pressed against yours, “Not fuckin’ you against my truck, sugar.”

You’d let him fuck you anywhere at this point.

“Inside, then?” You rasp before you can give into temptation, “Need you.”

His forehead falls on your shoulder as he groans, “You can’t do that sugar.”

“Do what?”

He grips your wrist, dragging your hand down his body until your palm is pressed against his cock, “Killin me here.”

Rafe stifles a groan when your hand grips the hardness beneath his pants, “Inside, now, cowboy.”

“Fuck, baby—” He meets your gaze through hooded eyes, “Gonna ruin you, yeah?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as you whimper, tangling your fingers through his hair, “Please.”

“Don’t gotta ask twice sweet girl.”