#so like...............sorry about the self loathing i guess

[wild-at-mind]

I wonder if there's a correlation between lack of self image/comfortableness in being yourself, and being someone who had to watch a lot of how people were behaving socially and imitate it in order to slightly cope with school etc growing up?

[anadorablekiwi]

Okay I know I’m pathetic but bear with me please

I need to be yelled at to eat dinner and then get ready for bed after

[crowcryptid]

hearing the students in the hallways makes me dizzy. They’re either rich or???????? Ok with being in debt forever?? Idk man.

Not only did they move here, not only are they paying to study here, they’re choosing to live nearby. Which is the most expensive part of the city. There are multiple offers for roommates on our bulletin and it’s 2k-2.5k a month to live with multiple roommates.

Like. You came all the way here? For this? For real? Worst inflation in the whole country guys. Please stop coming here. Please..?

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues. 

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong. 

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs. 

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface. 

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more. 

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment. 

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable. 

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness. 

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak. 

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you. 

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down. 

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!” 

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time. 

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder. 

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.” 

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could. 

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs. 

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips. 

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade. 

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin. 

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh. 

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles. 

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg. 

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly. 

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs. 

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases. 

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents. 

Almost. 

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed. 

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention. 

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him. 

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm. 

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him. 

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back. 

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them. 

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again. 

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him. 

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good. 

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice. 

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

 He hums contemplatively. 

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum. 

“About what?” 

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn you first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine. 

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?” 

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?” 

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again. 

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you. 

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away. 

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet. 

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes. 

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it. 

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message. 

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky. 

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort. 

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh. 

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly. 

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile. 

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily. 

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck. 

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly. 

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy. 

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids. 

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin. 

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum. 

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you. 

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you

I love you. 

-

part two

[helluvapoison]

You were a rare soul— and that means something down here. You didn’t care about holding the title Overlord, nor the power that came with it. You had exactly zero souls under your belt, yet people… respected you. Not feared, respected. A peculiar word to hear in Hell.

Your name was uttered quieter than a whisper, like saying it an octave too loud would summon you.

The Rat King.

Soon you would meet…

˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer Morningstar ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: gn reader, language, angst, canon divergence

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• He thought it was very brave (re: idiotic) to carry the title king in his domain

• Lucifer came to you out of boredom, absurdity, and— no shit— the slightest bit of self indulgence! He was supposed to see this so called second king and rip them a new asshole. Except you weren’t a king— not even close

• He scoured you toes to head, seemingly unimpressed. Not rat-like, not king-like. Lucifer knew himself well enough to know he should have been bored by now. His expectations plummeted, nothing was going according to plan. And yet.. he found himself more curious than before

“You’re this ‘Rat King’ I hear so much about?”

“I guess so” You shrugged, “But I didn’t pick that name for myself.”

• You properly introduced yourself to the one and only king. Your real name tasted interesting on his tongue. Lucifer tested it thrice as he shook your hand, relooking you over like he missed something

• Apparently they called you The Rat King because you were in the secret trading business. Give one, get one. Simple as that. You explained the rules to him over a cup of tea that he asked for. It wasn’t his first or second choice of blend but he drank it to be polite. No other motive. Definitely not because there was a question on the tip of his split tongue

• Lucifer wasn’t the most observant of people. He couldn’t tell what people were thinking, he wasn’t fluent in body language. So when he caught your eyes bouncing between his tight grip on the chipped cup you offered him, to his jittery knee sticking out from where he sat. His body and his head were, for one, in agreeance; leave, they told him. He didn’t like to be sized up and that was always his go to answer for why someone was watching him so intently. But with his chest facing you, and his heart in control, he stayed put

• “Lilith.” He choked out, “I want any knowledge you have on her.”

Saying her name out loud hurt more than he thought it would. It was acid in his belly, smoke in his lungs, and fire on his tongue.

Your smile faded.

“What?” He scoffed, “Lemme guess, you want something, right? A deal? I have to make a deal to find my own wife? Let’s get this over with then! I’m the fucking King of Hell, whatever you want is—“

Your hand shot out so suddenly that Lucifer was almost disappointed. He was expecting this. Right? This is what Sinners did, it’s why they were here. Why was he hoping you’d be different? And, more importantly, when did hope creep into his system again? He hadn’t been on good terms with the feeling in decades.

• However, Lucifer’s disappointment was killed before it could spread. Gently, so gently he could cry, you took his hand and pushed it, palm down, onto the table. Your eyes never left his. There was something about them that captivated him. He loathed it. It made him feel small. Not the kind of small that equaled insignificant, either.

No, it was worse.

Vulnerable.

“I don’t do deals,” You said quickly and it had Lucifer wondering if those eyes of yours saw how his mind was spiraling.

Stealing his hand back, ignoring how he immediately missed the contact, he wiped it on his pants.

A suspicious glare took over his face, “You—?What? You don’t do deals? What does that even mean!?”

“I just… trade secrets,” You sounded so defeated, “I don’t need deals for that. But I don’t have any secrets about the queen. I’m sorry.”

• Lucifer expected pity to rear its ugly head from you any moment now. His pride couldn’t take that hit, not today. What was it about you that made him so fucking transparent?

• The uncomfortable silence began creeping into the insufferably small shop of yours. It was fucking suffocating.

“I wish I could help you, I really do.” You said softly.

He really wished you would stop doing that. Your softness felt like a dagger to the heart. Reminding him it existed was agony he thought he’d never feel again.

• “Not one?” Lucifer asked bitterly.

Not a single one of these undeserving demons and sinners that Lilith loved so much spoke about her? Not a whisper or a rumor? They just forgot about her? It’s only been 4 years!

“I’m sorry, your majesty, if I hear something, I can—“

“No… No, it’s fine.” Lucifer cut you off, holding up his hand. His wedding ring blinded him with a sparkling gleam. He sighed, “I think we’re done here.”

• You stepped behind him cautiously, walking him to the door.

“You’re welcome to come back?”

He scoffed out a laugh, grinning at you from over his shoulder, “You’re not getting any of my secrets.”

A smile of your own began to spread.

“I also dabble in conversation.”

_

(part one? or move on to the next character? i dunno if i feel like continuing but want this to be as interactive as possible so tell me what you would like to see!)

[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 ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚï�� ˚。⋆。

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.”

[weirdsht]

Cliché - LoTCF & Venion Stan! Reader

notes: ngl i took more time dwelling whether i should make this a series. but i never did two series at once because i can't handle the commitment, so i compromised by making it a long oneshot. ALSO TRIGGER WARNING: I put my psych major to work while writing this fic so...

tags: TRIGGER WARNING PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE TAGS (dw nothing too graphic for every warning) depression, eating disorder, anxiety, self-loathing, torture and abuse, guilt, like lots of guilt, passive to mild suicidal thoughts, not being able to control your body, catatonic depression, anhedonia, blood, cursing, vague novel spoilers, Taylor Stan being the best brother out there, open ending i think, can be seen as hurt/comfort

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

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Navigation Masterlist Platitude (pt. 2)

Tak Tak Tak

The sound of the horses of the carriage filled your ears as soon as you woke up.

…Wait horses?

How could there be horses when you were sure you were inside a lecture hall?

“Young master I’m glad you’re awake. We are nearing Viscount Tolz’s territory.”

Viscount Tolz? That sounds familiar, but you can’t quite put your finger on it as you just woke up.

You observed the unfamiliar place you woke up in. You seem to be inside a carriage, years of reading manhwas, manhuas, mangas and web novels have gotten you familiar as to what they looked like. 

Observing the interior a bit more, you notice that the carriage you are in seems luxurious. That and the servant riding a horse outside the carriage window just called you “young master”. 

‘Did I transmigrate? I swear I was just nodding off during one of my lectures…’

“You. What date is it? My head feels fuzzy from sleeping in this uncomfortable carriage.”

‘I’ve rotten my brain reading that damn isekai genre. I already know the drill, I should be a villain or something. I guess I should be glad I didn’t end up as an animal, those things have gotten popular these days…’

You silently shivered at the thought of being a bird or a snake.

“I’m sorry about the seat young master. You’re custom cushion should be arriving tomorrow. As for the date, it is currently year 780 of the Felix Calendar.”

Shit

By the calendar mentioned you could already tell what series you transmigrated to. There was only one series you know that uses Felix Calendar.

Lout of the Count’s Family

And it looks like you got sucked into that novel a year before things began.

“As soon as that arrives install it in my carriage. This thing is as hard as a brick.”

Contrary to what you say, the seat is very soft and comfortable. However, if you really did transmigrate as a villain like in all those manhwas you’ve read then you figured you have to act as bratty as possible. 

“I understand young master. We are nearing the villa soon, I’m sure young master Neo has prepared your room so you can rest.”

Fuck. You’re fucked.

Out of all the small villains in existence you just had to steal the body of a dragon abuser. You just had to get in the body of Venion Stan.

Venion out of all people. Even Neo Tolz or Adin or Duke Fredo would’ve been better picks.

But no, the gods of this world just had to put you in the body of an atrocious villain that has no use.

Never mind running away in the countryside while enjoying all the inheritance, there’s no way that black dragon is going to leave you alone.

…And for sure the black dragon is already 3 years old, there’s no saving you now. Anger and despair are already planted in that poor baby’s heart.

Everything moved too quickly to your liking. One moment you were in the carriage, then next Neo was greeting you. After you blinked you’re already in the black dragon’s cell.

‘Can I survive a year before Cale comes here to get the dragon?’

The black dragon can’t use mana, let alone dragon fear. But his vicious gaze full of animosity is already enough to make you feel guilt and fear.

He looked so pitiful. The cell might be spacious, but a cage will still be a cage. He was just there, in the middle of the cell. Chained and unable to fight back.

The buffet in the middle doesn’t help the queasiness you feel in your stomach.

“Do-”

‘Don’t bother with it, I won't be visiting the dragon further.’

The words you want to say are stuck in your throat. Some unknown force is stopping you from uttering them out.

You figured it was so that things would still go according to the plot.

‘I know I wasn’t the greatest in my previous life, but was I so bad that I must experience this?’

Tap Tap Tap

Heels of your shoes tapped against the ground as you walked towards the table. You tried to stop your body, but it was useless. No matter how hard you try to stop yourself you just keep moving.

“Start.”

Your voice- no Venion’s voice said and the torturer started whipping the dragon.

Gulp

There’s a bile in your throat threatening to show itself. However, you swallowed it. The scene may look horrendous, but you didn’t look away. You didn’t stop eating the feast in front of you. You didn’t stop laughing at the small dragon’s demise.

More like you couldn’t.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to go back to your world and curl up in your bed. You wanted all of this to be a dream.

‘Is this the doing of the gods? If so then why must they be cruel.’

“Is there anything else you want to do young master?”

“No just go out. All of you. I will follow in a short while”

Following your order, everyone in the dungeon started heading out. After a few seconds, there was no one but you and the dragon in the room.

Bleurgh!

As soon as there was no one else in the room you vomited. Good thing there was a bathroom attached in the dungeon. The bathroom door was wide open as you puked your gut out, showing the black dragon a view of your pale face. Despite that you didn’t care, your only focus was to get rid of the horrible feeling running through your body.

It’s not as if the dragon would care about its torturer.

That night you spent the entire time in your bed tossing and turning. Too tired to sleep but too scared to face the nightmares you have to combat every time you do.

“Go find a magician or something and commission a temperature-regulating device. I want it installed at the cave before we visit the Tolz territory again.”

“As you wish your highness. However, aren’t you spending a bit too much on a mere pet?”

“You dare think I’m buying all these things for that pesky dragon? I’m buying it for my own comfort, you should be aware of how I want to be comfortable all the time.”

“It seems I made a mistake. I shall prepare everything you desire for the next time you visit the villa.”

Six months has already passed since you became Venion Stan. Adjusting wasn’t easy, especially when there are more times when you can’t control your body than when you can.

But still, you persevered.

It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway. You have already taken over this body so you have to live in it. That and there’s also the fact that you want the original plot to go smoothly.

You want the black dragon to experience justice.

So you persist. Even when the atrocities you did make you puke. Even when you want to kill yourself.

You didn’t

It wasn’t right.

You may not be the original Venion Stan, but it wouldn’t be right to take away the revenge the black dragon deserves. That was why you decided to persevere.

Persevere now and suffer at the dragon's hands later before finally dying.

That was your plan.

You didn’t care about other things anymore. Money, territory, power; none of those things mattered to you anymore. Too disgusted with yourself and everything you have been doing to even attempt to enjoy those things.

However

There’s a silver lining in all of this.

After a month of being in your new body, you have found a loophole. You found a way to combat some of the restrictions to your actions. As long as you sound selfish and villainous enough, you can get away with saying and doing most things.

Using this knowledge to your advantage, you slowly made life for the dragon easier. You bought a lot of things such as cushions, a more comfortable collar, and the temperature-regulating device you just ordered. You also used this fact to lessen your hold on both Taylor Stan and the underworld.

“Venion, I heard you withdrew the people watching over your older brother.”

You scowled at Marquis Stan’s words as if the mere mention of Taylor Stan upsets you.

“Father, what can that cripple do? He has no legs, no power, and barely has any money. Putting people to watch over someone like that will only be a waste of resources.”

Luckily, the marquis agreed with your reasoning and let the situation go while praising how smart you are.

‘Hopefully by this Taylor Stan can gather more information now that my people are now hovering over him.’

That night you managed to sleep for approximately 30 minutes. The longest sleep you’ve experienced since coming over to this world.

Bleurgh!!

It was another torture session and once again you were vomiting everything you ate that week after the session. 

While you were busy trying to not make a mess on the bathroom floor, you didn’t notice a certain young dragon observing you.

He may be three years old and he may not know much but his still smart because he's a dragon. That was why he noticed the changes in his captor that started around 8 months ago. 

The young dragon noticed the hesitation in your eyes whenever you entered the dungeon. How you were puking from self-hatred and not because of how bad the food was like you said. How your laugh is soulless, especially when he’s being tortured. 

How you stagger the slightest bit while standing up after those sessions. How your hands shook ever so slightly from guilt. How you tried to make the cell as comfortable as possible for him despite saying you were doing it for your own comfort. 

How your eyes look more lifeless each time he sees you.

The young dragon noticed all of it. He may not know what caused the change, but he knows that everything you’re doing is against your volition.

“Fuck I lost my appetite already. I’m going back to my room. Feed those scraps to that dragon.”

You ordered your servants on your way out. Walking as if your entire body wasn’t shaking ten seconds ago.

The black dragon just watches you with observant eyes. 

The “scraps” you were talking about were the feast that was barely even touched. It had always been like this for a few months now. You would barely touch your food and give it to the dragon in the guise of treating him like a dog.

For now, the young one accepts the food. He’ll figure out your intentions later.

“Lessen the guards at the dungeon. Remove all the cushions too, I’m going to change them. Do the same thing to the dragon’s collar too. While you’re at it increase the guards stationed at my quarters. Put the guards in the cave to my room.”

It’s the fated day. Time passed and now is already the day the black dragon will be rescued by Cale, Choi Han, and the cat tribe children. You already met them earlier and acted as arrogant as you could.

Hence the preparation. You need to make it look like the dragon was kept in a horrible condition. Of course, he was… but like much more worse conditions.

“Assassins have been increasing their attempts lately. If I see someone assigned to my room not doing your jobs I’m going to feed you to the sharks. Oh, and you.”

You pointed at a random servant passing by.

“Here’s some gold, buy some alcohol from the inn. Don’t tell anyone I was the one who bought it.”

“May I ask what you’re going to do with the alcohol young master?”

Everyone knows that Venion Stan deemed things not noble enough as disgusting. But you felt guilty for pushing that old man around earlier so you made an excuse.

“Depends on my mood. I’m feeling generous so if you all guard my room tonight then I’ll give you the alcohol tomorrow to drink.”

Everyone held in their shock.

“But if you don’t then I’m going to throw each bottle in your heads while drinking real wine.”

With that, you turned around to lie down on your bed.

That night was the same as every other night you spent in this world. Sleepless. However, that night you felt some weight being lifted off your shoulders as you heard the ruckus Choi Han was causing outside.

‘He should be curled up in Cale’s lap while looking at me viciously’

You stealthily peeked at Cale as you walked towards your seat. Just a moment ago he was trying to rile you up by acting obnoxious. It was hard to try and act like you were keeping your composure when you agreed with everything he said.

“What the..!” 

‘Shit did I not put enough strength into my acting?’

You barely felt your blonde hair sway as you slapped the table in supposed shock at Taylor Stan’s entrance.

‘Maybe I should’ve forced myself to eat a little bit more before coming here…’

Gritting your teeth, you ignore the black spots dancing in your vision. Today is a vital day, you can’t ruin the script by fainting because you only ate 3 spoonfuls during breakfast.

Luckily, it looks like everything is going according to the plot. Based on everyone’s reaction, you looked like an enraged noble.

Days following that event were even more chaotic. Not only was the terrorist attack in the plaza terrifying but trying to act as if you were trying to hold on to your position when you just wanted to give it to Taylor was even tougher.

As usual, you persevered.

Comforted yourself at the thought that in a few months, you can embrace death’s sweet presence.

“Do I look different without the blood?”

You felt scared and relieved at the sight of the black dragon that now goes by Raon Miru.

Scared because even though you have resigned yourself to your fate, and felt like you deserve it even, you still feel fear for what’s about to come.

Relief because he looks healthy. Chubby even. You were glad that he was living a good life after he got away from you.

Disregarding your feelings, you let the poisonous fog into your body. Resigning yourself to the four days of hell waiting.

Ugh…

Your body feels sluggish when you wake up.

“What the… It hasn’t even begun yet why does that bastard’s eyes already look dead?”

“That’s what I was telling you human! That punk's eyes tell a different story from his actions.”

Soft. Whatever you were lying down on felt soft. It wasn’t like what you’ve read in the novel where Venion was lying down on the hard ground. The magic collar was also soft. It felt similar to the one you bought for Raon a year ago. 

You would know because you made sure to pick the softest one yourself.

“His eyes look more dead than when I last saw him at that cave.”

Eyes? Were they talking about yours?

You didn’t know. You didn’t care.

You just want everything to end.

Gasp!

Someone gasped, you think it was one of the kittens.

“T-tears! Why is he crying? I only put paralysis in poison earlier.”

Crying? You were crying?

You sit up. It was hard because of the chains tying your arms but you still did it.

As you look down on your lap, tears are indeed flowing.

‘Why am I crying? Wasn’t I waiting for this day?’

Everything was already planned in your head. You get tortured then you will go crazy. Then you will kill yourself and make everyone believe you did it because you’re crazy.

So why are you crying now?

Why are you in tears as if you don’t deserve what’s happening to you?

Why do you weep as though you haven’t committed several crimes this past year?

How dare you do so.

How dare you act so pitifully when the child you tortured is right in front of you?

Shameless. Till the end, you’re so shameless.

Click! 

Thunk!

Beacrox unlocked the magic collar. As he did you saw it falling on the ground.

“Ah, so there really was fur inside…”

Your voice sounded soulless. It sounded so dead that even you were shocked at how you sounded.

But it also felt cathartic.

After two years of trying to act lively. Two years of acting as if you were fighting for something.

You can finally let out your real emotions.

Two years. It took more than two years for you to be granted that privilege. 

“Speak. I heard you bought the same thing for Raon.”

“You really named him Raon…”

Beacrox grabbed your collar. He looked furious. If you remember things correctly, he just heard about the dragon’s story a while ago so you understand his feelings.

“He told you to answer. Why did you buy something like that after 3 years?”

“I was getting tired of looking at the hard metal… There was nothing in that cave but stone and metal…”

Your tears are still flowing. It looks like they were crying a whole year’s worth. 

Despite that, you were not shaking, nor were your eyes looked sad.

Contrarily, you looked like those creepy dolls with soulless eyes that cried in horror films.

That low-key scared everyone in the room.

“Before, when I was three, I saw you shaking every time you came to the cave. Why was that?”

What’s happening? Why is there a sudden interrogation? You signed up for torture not for a cross-examination.

Still, you answered the dragon.

“I can’t tell.”

“Is it related to how you can’t seem to say what you want at times?”

Just how much did that kid notice in the few times you visited him?

“Yes. When are you going to get started? I need to meet with my hyung after this…”

Meet him and then die.

So please hurry up already.

“Hey punk, you sound like you already know what’s going to happen.”

“It’s obvious. This place looks exactly like that damn cave.”

You were getting tired of talking.

Actually, you were tired. Period.

“But it doesn’t look like how I left the cave when you rescued him.”

“Yes, because that wasn’t how the cave I lived in looked like. It looked like this.”

And the “this” Raon was talking about felt more homey. There were soft lights and a bunch of pillows and cushions. There were even some stuffed toys and blankets.

Was this how you decorated Raon’s cave?

You can’t remember.

Not that you care.

“Can we get started already please?”

“I thought you were a sadist, not a masochist.”

Something snapped inside you at that moment. You didn’t know why it was Choi Han’s comment that riled you up. Maybe it wasn’t the comment but the waiting that set you off.

“Just do it already! Are you dumb?! This fucking plot will not move unless you fucking torture me!”

In that moment you felt a searing pain in your chest.

“Argh!”

Blood flowed out from your mouth.

‘So that’s what happens when I try to push the restrictions.’

Coughing out blood when you’re body was already weak from not eating and sleeping enough was bound to cause you to faint.

And faint you did.

“Young master Cale said you were unconscious for 4 days. The doctor told me you were both malnourished and fatigued. One of your servants confessed that it’s an achievement if you eat 4 spoonfuls every meal. The young master also mentioned how it seems like you were forced to do everything you’ve done… Just what is happening? Hmm? Tell this hyung of yours.”

“Hyung…”

In the end, you didn’t get tortured…

“What’s going to happen now? What’s going to happen to me?”

You diverged from the fate carved out for Venion Stan.

That made you scared.

The restriction placed upon you to prevent you from straying from the plot scared you.

“Everything will be okay. But you need to tell me what’s going on.”

Taylor Stan hugged you, and you felt disgusted with yourself that you dare find warmth and comfort in that hug. Disgusted that you dared cry in front of him when you tried to kill him in the past.

But you couldn’t help it.

You couldn’t help that your hyung was soft and caring even though he was stern and strict. 

“I’m scared hyung. I’m a horrible person.”

As you speak you notice Cale in the corner of the room. He was trying to go out to give you two some privacy.

“Please stay.”

‘You deserve to hear the truth too.’

Cale stopped moving at your words. 

At that moment you decided to spill everything. Venion Stan’s role was already done. Even if it wasn’t, you already strayed from the path written for him. So you’re pulling all stops now.

“I’m a horrible person that did horrid crimes. I know that, I did them with my own hands after all. But I didn’t want to do them.”

You felt that stinging pain slowly coming back.

“There are times when I can’t control the things I say or do. No matter how hard I try my body won’t listen to me.”

The taste of blood in your mouth is back. You tried to act as calm as possible and nonchalantly spit it out in a napkin as if you were just wiping your mouth.

“I think it’s the god’s doing. It’s fated that I must be a bad guy for everything in the future to work out.”

You wiped your mouth again.

“I couldn’t resist it. But I found a loophole.”

Wipe

“If I make it look like what I was doing is villainous then my movements will not be restricted as much.”

“So when you removed the people watching over my residence..?”

You nodded while wiping your mouth once again.

However, this time Taylor snatched the napkin out of your hands.

“You’re bleeding..!”

“Ah…”

You were wiping so much blood that it already seeped out. Causing for Taylor and Cale to see the blood.

“I should’ve used a darker colour…”

“Stop talking. I’ve already heard everything I need to know.”

“I have nothing else to say to you anyway.”

The two men started walking out of the door when you called out to someone.

“Young master Cale, can you please stay? I must tell you something.”

The marquis and the young master exchanged a glance before one of them left the room.

“What is it?”

At Taylor’s exit, Raon undid his invisibility.

“It’s not fate.”

Cale and Raon looked at you as if you’d lost your head. Honestly, you wish you did. Being beheaded right now is better than living with these horrible feelings.

“It’s plot. You should know what I’m talking about.”

Luckily, Marquiss Stan left the napkin so you could wipe your mouth again.

“I think the universe, not the gods, made a mistake with me. But despite their mistake, they are insistent on going with the plot laid out.”

You discarded the napkin. It’s already drenched with too much of your blood that it can’t be used anymore.

“But don’t worry. This plot is very beneficial to you. You just have to follow whatever you think is right. You can disregard whatever anyone says. Even if that anyone is a god.”

‘Unlike me’

Cale handed you a handkerchief and you wiped your mouth with it.

“Lastly, I’m sorry Raon Miru-nim. My only choice was to either keep torturing you or throw you out. I couldn’t throw you out, because if I did then you wouldn’t meet the young master.”

“It’s okay… I am great and mighty so I figured out long ago that you were being forced.”

“Thank you.”

With that the dragon became invisible again and the two head out of the room.

Cleanup was easy. Of course, it was. Everything was already planned out beforehand.

The previous marquis was arrested and his people were successfully rooted out. You got sentenced to house arrest.

Meaning, you got a slap on the wrist.

It confused you. Why did you get such a light sentence when you did so many horrible things? It didn’t even feel like house arrest because your hyung always kept you by his side and personally took care of you.

“How about you? How are you and your brother doing?”

You heard Cale speaking on the other side of the communication device. But you just kept your head low and stared at your palms, unmoving.

“That…”

Marquis Stan hesitated.

“His been listless since that day. I checked with an expert and they said his in a catatonic state.”

You blur out the rest of their conversation. It wasn’t like there was a need to listen anyway. There’s nothing for you to do now. Your role is done but you can’t die.

You're tired.

So so fucking tired.

Tired of waking up. Tired of moving. Tired of thinking. Tired of breathing.

Tired of living.

So you opted to not move. Tune out the world around you. Maybe if you’re lucky they’ll leave you to rot in that lavish room of yours.

“Your eyes look more lively today. Do you have enough energy to speak?”

You blinked once. Then twice. You don’t know how many days have passed already. All of them look like a giant blur in your mind.

For the first time in a while, you moved your body to look at your surroundings.

As you take in your surroundings you notice that there’s a storm outside. That and Taylor Stan seem to have put you in the wheelchair he used to use.

“Taylor Stan…”

“Call me hyung.”

Did you deserve to? Well, it doesn’t matter since he ordered you to.

“Hyung”

“Yes, my dongsaeng?”

“Why won’t you kill me?”

The wheelchair stopped in its tracks. It was because the one pushing it stopped walking.

“Why would I kill you?”

“Why would you not kill me?”

You had no way of knowing just how scared Taylor was at this moment. Your voice sounded so soulless. As if you were asking about the weather and not about your death. He was already scared that one day he would just wake up to find you dead. Your questions and your way of asking them are not helping his fear.

“I told you, I wouldn’t kill my family.”

“Ah…”

Silence lingered as the two of you went to your room. Inside, the first thing you noticed was the door on the wall.

“That’s a connecting door. It’s connected to my room.”

“Very fitting for a criminal like me that needs to be monitored at all times.”

“That’s not…”

Taylor Stan chose to sigh instead of answering. After he did, he called the servants to help you with your nighttime routine.

“You all can go now, I’ll take it from here.”

Servants filed out of your room as your brother took the brush from a servant's hand.

“You know that this is useless right?”

“Why is that?”

Taylor continued brushing your blonde hair that now reaches past your shoulders.

“It’s not like I’ll sleep. There’s never a night where I slept for more than 30 minutes. I think.”

“Maybe if I stay by your side you’ll sleep better.”

You didn’t respond. You just watched in the mirror how your hyung gently brushed your hair. At some point, you pulled your legs up to your chest and started hugging them.

Taylor Stan didn’t seem to mind your movements. In fact, he seems to encourage them.

“Let’s eat dinner now. Do you want to walk?”

“No.”

The mere thought of moving more than you already did makes you feel nauseated.

Your hyung nodded and started pushing the wheelchair again. As he did the sight of the food prepared on your table caught your eyes. It wasn’t a feast like how you were served in the past.

Instead, there were just two simple identical meals on the table.

It reminded you of how you used to eat your meals back on earth.

“You’re eating too?”

“I haven’t eaten yet. I figure we can eat together since Cage is not here.”

She must be in the super rock’s villa or something.

Eat together was what you did. Well, more like Taylor ate while you take a few bites and play with your food.

“Do you not want to eat anymore?”

“No.”

“It’s fine, just leave it there. You already ate thrice more than you usually would. It’s okay to take it slow.”

That’s true. You ate 10 spoonfuls today when you would usually just take a bite or two. Three at most.

Maybe a gentle company and a simple meal did the trick. But you aren’t sure.

After the meal, you brushed your teeth before lying down on the bed. Taylor was sitting on a couch beside your bed as promised.

That night, for the first time since you arrived in this world, you managed to sleep almost the whole night.

[cry-ptidd]

Laura genuinely makes me so sad, like I cried all silly sometimes ago cause we have a similar past but I went on and she’s like you know..stuck and I wouldn’t want that for anyone :( even if she’s fictional and a killer. I just wish to be kind to her for a moment and tell her a lot of women or really humans feel her pain, that it didn’t turn all of us into monsters. I guess it’s why I’m attached to her because I get it I do, but also…why I hate characters that have SA in their backstory cause it’s really depressing. She’s an amazing character but I can’t help but still wish her punishment and somehow through it all. Peace. That she gets all the punishment she needs and gets some peace right after..a good for good slumber. Even if she doesn’t get that, or feel worthy of it.

This ask actually made me a bit emotional, im gonna be honest. It's one of the most sincere messages I've gotten i think? I am very sorry about what you went through and I will do the same thing you'd do for Laura and tell you to please remember you're not alone and that i believe in you as a person, and that you're still able to move ahead despite everything that's hurt you.

Laura is a character built on cruel irony and tragedy, and many of her aspects are an exaggerated version of views that i also have because of my own trauma (aversion to men, aggression, anger, spite, stubbornness) and the crimes and attitude that would make her an irredeemable character are here to kind of cement the fact she went way too far in her revenge and how being hurt an turn a person into a monster.

But, i rally have to agree with you. Holy FUCK do i pity her. She's not reveling in her evil, she's not actively trying to do more harm (not anymore), and she's just in a state of permanent self-loathing and isolation, where her punishment isn't satisfying to watch or even really clear. You don't really wanna root for her morally, you just kinda wish she'd just... stop. And take a long sleep. Just like you said, a proper, defined punishment, and then let her sleep.

I think this ask sealed the deal of me giving her a canonically somewhat "happy" ending? Maybe a mild one? Where she starts to settle down and indirectly heal alongside Integra and Seras post-canon. A household of damaged women growing alongside each other. Im sure her Creator can decide on a rightful punishment when she passes. Let's just give her a bit of leisure for now.

[theslushiestnoob]

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American Boy (pt.5)

Word count: 2k

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I stood in Mandy’s kitchen the following evening, recounting the previous night’s events. Mandy listens attentively, clutching a mug of coffee to her chest with wide eyes.

‘Wait, so you went back to his house? What did you do?’

I sigh, hiding my face with my hand.

‘Oh my God, you slept with him?’ She asks, her hand jumping to clutch her chest with surprise.

‘What? No! No, we just played video games for a while,’ I hold up my hands defensively. ‘But then he went all cold, and he said that ‘we couldn’t do this anymore’’, holding up air quotes as I recount Hamzah’s words.

‘Do what?’ Mandy asks with a scrunch of her eyebrows.

‘I guess he meant the intensity between us, and we almost kissed again, and then we did kiss-’

‘Sorry, what? You kissed him? What happened?’

I take a deep breath before replying, the fresh pain from the moment still stirring in my chest.

‘He said that he had to do it just once. Then, I left.’

Mandy didn’t react as I had expected her to. She didn’t seem shocked at the dramatics of the situation, rather angry.

‘You just left?’ She said.

‘It got awkward,’ I shrug, ‘and I could tell he didn’t want me around.’

‘y/n, that’s awful. Now it’s going to be impossible for us all to hang out,’ She says accusatively.

‘I hadn’t thought about that,’ I say quietly, looking down at my feet ashamedly.

‘I mean, he's Martin’s best friend. They spend pretty much every second together. You didn’t think how this would affect us?’

I stammer, unable to defend myself.

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to complicate things-’

‘Well, you did. Will he be able to hang out here if you’re here too?’

‘I don’t know, Mandy, I haven’t spoken to him about it.’

Mandy takes a deep breath, shaking her head at me with narrowed eyes.

‘I really wish you had thought about it more,’ she says with a shrug.

‘I’m sorry! What can I do now? I’ve messed things up with him, I know, it was stupid, but you don’t need to act as if the world is ending!’

‘I’m sorry that this is important to me? I care about him, and I care about Martin. This makes everything so messy,’

‘Well, I’m glad you care about them so much,’ I snap back, hurt from her piercing words.

She groans and turns away from me, and I feel myself start to well up. I hate fighting with her. She’s my longest ever friend, and we hardly ever argue, making when we do hurt even more. I hide my face from her, not wanting her to see me upset.

‘I’m just going to go.’ I say, turning towards the door. She says nothing as I leave, not caring to say goodbye.

*

I don’t even register where my feet are taking me until I am standing in the dim porch light of Hamzah’s apartment.

‘y/n?’ Hamzah asks, an expression of pain and curiosity overwhelming his face.

Seeing his confused expression brings forth all of my memories of him, of our tension and intimacies, and the guilt I feel.

‘I- I didn’t know where else to go,’ I say, breaking down into a sob.

‘Shit, y/n, are you alright?’ Hamzah rushes forward, wrapping me in his arms as I begin to cry. The comfort of his touch mingled with my self loathing overwhelms me, and I break down into all-consuming tears. The fortified strength of his arms encircling me felt like a defence against my wrongdoing.

I sink down to the ground, Hamzah copying the motion to keep me held in his arms. My tears are uncontrollable as he pulls me further into him, holding me against his sturdy chest.

He nestles his face into my hair and shushes me soothingly as he rocks me back and forth.

‘What happened?’ He whispers gently.

‘I… I had an argument with Mandy. It’s so stupid. I got defensive and I- I messed up,’

Hamzah sighs, then pauses for a moment. I look up at him, and his face is contorted with sympathy.

‘y/n, Mandy loves you so much. You’ve known each other for so long, there’s no way she won’t forgive you for whatever happened,’

My voice warbles into another sob as I try to reply, and Hamzah pulls me in tighter. The outdoor night air whips across my face, chilling my tear-streaked cheeks.

‘I’m screwing everything up,’ I mumble between sobs.

‘No, you’re not,’

‘Yes, I am! I screwed things up with Mandy, I screwed things up with you, I-’

‘What?’ Hamzah interrupts.

Hamzah pulls back from the embrace to look at me, his eyebrows knotted with confusion. There is a beat of silence as I search for something to say, a way to retract what I said.

‘I… uh, I didn’t mean that.’ I mumble, wiping my cheeks with my sleeve.

‘Yes, you did. What do you mean you screwed things up with me?’ Hamzah says, his tone concerned and genuine.

‘I thought that… for a second I thought that we could be something, y’know? Didn’t you feel it? But I ruined it. I should’ve never entertained the idea when I know I won’t be here forever. It was stupid.’

Hamzah sighs, shutting his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall.

‘Of course I felt it, y/n.’ His eyes flit back to me, his gaze piercing and subtly solemn.

‘Fuck, I can’t watch you cry,’ He adds with a humourless smile, covering his eyes with his hand as if to hide from me.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you at all-’ I start, but am interrupted. Hamzah grabs my flailing hands, clasping them between his own.

‘Stop. I’m glad you’re here, you could never bother me.’

I suddenly become aware of the fact that we are still outside, curled up together on Hamzah’s doorstep. I feel Hamzah shiver beneath me, and know that he realises it too.

‘Come inside,’ He says, standing up and extending a hand for me to take. I let him hoist me to my feet and follow him inside his familiar flat. I realise with a pang that the last time I was here, I was wearing his clothes with my hands in his hair and his mouth on mine.

Hamzah yawns, stretching his arms out above his head.

‘I’m not gonna lie, I was about to go to bed when you knocked,’ he smirks softly, looking down at his plaid pyjama bottoms and ‘nap queen’ hoodie. I sniffle and manage a small laugh, which he beams at. There is a beat of silence, where I try to compose myself more, running my hands through my hair and smoothing my shirt.

‘Sleep here,’ Hamzah says, fixing his eyes on mine.

I open my mouth to speak, but Hamzah begins again.

‘You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch. You can wear my pyjamas, too, if you’d like,’ He rests a hand on my shoulder.

‘Hamzah, I couldn’t-’

He cuts me off before I can finish my sentence.

‘You shouldn’t have to be alone right now. In a whole new country, jeez, a whole new continent, you need a friend.’

My heart pangs at the word ‘friend’, but I am warmed by his kindness.

‘Thank you. Really, this is so generous,’

Hamzah smiles at me sympathetically, before taking my hand and leading me to the bedroom.

‘Do you want a hoodie? Or a T-shirt or something?’

‘A hoodie would be lovely,’ I reply, feeling the cold now in my jumper-less state.

Hamzah nods, and begins searching around his room.

‘Crap, I don’t know if I have any clean ones…’

‘That’s okay! Really, don’t worry-’ my sentence trails off as I watch Hamzah peel off his grey hoodie, bundling it into a heap and thrusting it into my hands.

‘Take this one,’ He smiles at me, before turning to the bed and fluffing up the pillows.

I thank him, pulling the hoodie over my head. His sharp scent envelops me, fresh, heady, and strong. Hamzah rubs the back of his neck, and gestures toward the door.

‘I’ll be in the other room, if you need me,’

I nod, but as he walks past me I intercept him with a hug.

‘Thank you. For everything,’ I whisper.

*

As I bundle myself into Hamzah’s soft white sheets, a sense of comfort and belonging overwhelms me. His kindness envelops me like his blankets, leaving my heart warm and my mind wooly. I slowly drift off as rain begins to patter the small window.

*

The booming sound of thunder jolts me up from my slumber, echoing around the room. I glance at the clock on Hamzah’s bedside table, reading 2:04 am. I look around the room, settling back into the comfort of the bed, when I hear heavy breathing coming from the other room. Hamzah must have also awoken from the sound of the thunder, but his breathing - quick and laboured - indicated his discomfort. I throw the thick blankets off of me and walk toward the door, feeling exposed in just Hamzah’s hoodie and my underwear which I had stripped down to.

I push open the door slowly, looking out into the dark room and listening to the heavy rain.

‘Hamzah?’ I whisper, approaching the sofa. I look to see Hamzah sat bolt upright, a cat cradled tenderly in his arms, his doe eyes widened with fear.

He looks at me, a sheepish expression on his face.

‘I don’t like thunderstorms,’

Another flash of light blazes through the room, followed by a sharp crack of thunder. Hamzah flinches, the cat bolting out of his arms and scampering across the floor. He leans back against the sofa with a hand over his face, his breath so fast he was hardly getting any air. I rush toward him, perching beside him on the sofa and resting my hands on his leg.

‘Hamzah, breathe. Deep breaths, you’re alright,’ I soothe, combing my hand through his curls.

His eyes lock on mine, his accusatory stare piercing through me.

‘Breathe, Hamzah,’ I insist, moving my hand to his chest to comfort him. I emulate deep breaths, getting him to copy my pace. The only reprise from the darkness of the room was the distant city lights, their faint gleam streaming in through the window. Hamzah’s face was almost completely cast in shadow, his glassy brown eyes reflecting the subtle lustre.

Gradually, his breathing returns to normal, and he breaks my gaze.

‘I’m sorry, they always freak me out,’

‘Don’t apologise,’ I say gently.

We look at each other for a lingering moment, before I break the silence.

‘Come and sleep in the bed,’

‘Huh?’ Hamzah’s eyes widen further in surprise.

‘You can’t stay out here, not when you get this scared,’

‘I’m fine, don’t worry about me,’ Hamzah waves nonchalantly.

‘Hamzah, you were hyperventilating. Please? It’s literally your bed.’

‘Mhm, yes, sure,’ He agrees, standing up and wiping his eyes tiredly.

He follows me back into the bedroom, where I pull back the covers for him to crawl under. I get into the bed beside him, meeting his unfaltering gaze.

A low rumble of thunder reverberates through the room, and Hamzah reaches out to me, his face panic-stricken. I snuggle up to him, wrapping my arms around his broad back and resting my head against his chest. He takes a deep breath before tilting his face downward to bury it in my hair. He wraps his big arms around me, pressing me flush against him. His firm grip and warmth fill me with a tender feeling of security, a feeling that no matter what, I would be safe here.

It is not long before Hamzah drifts to sleep, his breathing slowed and his face slackened.

As my eyes flutter closed, I hear the soft patter of paws walking along the covers, one cat settling against Hamzah’s neck and the other snuggling up against my hip.

The four of us fall asleep soon after, basking in the rightness of the moment.

——————————————————————————

I hope everybody is enjoying this story!! Have a lovely day 💕

[ghostofthemost141]

Cherry Soda

Pairing: Ghost x GN!Reader, First POV, no use of (Y/N)

Word Count: 2,062

Themes: Fluff, Angst, Comfort, Self Loathing

!Warnings!: Mention of Self Harm and Scars but nothing explicit

About: After coming home from a mission, Simon sees the effects of how you are coping and knows how to help you out.

Notes: I felt like I didn't great on this one but I hope y'all enjoy it regardless! Nickname for you is Ace. Enjoy!

“Ace?”

“Yes?”

I was almost startled to hear Simon's voice enter the house, but then I remembered the letter he sent me a week ago, that he would be home soon. He didn't say exactly when but soon to him is usually within a week or so.

“Where you at, love?” Simon called for me.

I felt so terrible. Usually I would have his favorite dinner ready for him when he would come home, but here I am, rotting on our bed in solitude.

“Bedroom.” I softly answered.

Seconds later, I could hear heavy, but gentle footsteps come down the hallway and stop at our doorway.

“Are you in here?” Simon asked.

“Yes.” I croaked.

Even though I was happy he was home, knowing he was home means he would have to leave again. And who knows how long he will be home for until he has to leave once again. The bedroom door swung open, with Simon standing there in the doorway in all his glory. His handsome glory.

“There you are.” I felt Simon sit on the bed and place his hand on my shoulder.

“Hey. I'm sorry.” I apologize.

“For what?”

“I didn't have dinner ready.” I said, feeling immense guilt invade my stomach.

Simon didn't say anything back, instead he just rubbed my side, up and down, making sure his skin was touching mine. Despite being in combat all the time, his skin was always soft to touch and so smooth. I guess that's why he always wears his gloves to not damage them. It was silent between us though, and that worried me. Was he mad at me? He has to be. But if he was mad he would communicate with me about it. I wish I could read his mind and figure out how he was feeling.

“Love?”

“Yes?”

“I'm fine with takeout.” He said.

I could feel the guilt increasing in my gut.

“No, I'll get up and cook.” I said as I started to get up but Simon stopped me.

He still wore some of his tactical gear, his boots and his balaclava mask but his blue eyes told me everything he was saying without saying it.

“Let's go eat somewhere. Just me and you.” Simon suggested.

He just got done from a month-long mission and nearly died doing so, as he does with every mission, and he wants to cater to me? What is he on? I should be the one catering to him.

“No you pick, Si.” I said.

“Ace.”

I felt a chill down my spine as Simon spoke my name. It wasn't out of anger nor annoyance but it was definitely in severity. He definitely wants to make it known to me that he is being serious right now.

“Where do you wanna eat at? You pick.” Simon urged me.

I thought about it for a moment.

“Um..I've been kinda wanting Italian. I just don't like going out by myself.” I suggested.

Simon held my hand and rubbed it with his thumb. I loved the feeling of his skin on mine. Just so soft. So comforting. It sent good chills down my spine.

“You been saying you wanted to try that local place, right?”

“Yeah.” I said.

“Well then let’s go. I’ll pamper myself up real quick.” Simon told me as he got up from bed.

“You going to powda yo nose, love?” I asked, in my overexaggerated accent.

SImon laughed in amusement.

“You’re funny, darling.”

Simon stripped off all of his clothing and my eyes were all over his body. I have never been with a guy who was as ‘ripped’ as Simon, but my god was it like looking at a perfectly sculpted statue all the time.

“A picture lasts longer, you know.” Simon knocked me out of my trance.

I rolled my eyes at him as I slowly got my ass out of bed to do the same. I don’t exactly ‘look bad’ but I definitely need to change clothes and whatnot. Before I stripped off my clothes though, I remembered. I didn’t know how Simon would react to seeing ‘that’ on my body. I slowly approached the dresser as he went into our shared bathroom to clean his face up. I quickly opened the drawer and just grabbed the first T-Shirt and pair of jeans that I saw. I don’t want to be suspicious but also didn’t want Simon to see what I did to myself. He doesn’t need to worry about me. He already has a lot on his plate. Right as I buttoned up my jeans, Simon entered back into the room. His mask was off and his face was cleaned off of his black face paint that he always puts around his eyes. God, he was so handsome. How did I get so lucky? He should be with someone else, not me. Someone who is stable mentally and is perfect and has a better figure and body and-

“What’s on your mind, love?”

Simon’s gravelly voice was close and I felt his touch on my cheek. He leaned in close to me, looking down at me. He knows.

“It's nothing. I promise, Si.” I lied to reassure him.

Simon peered his eyes at me. I know he doesn't believe me, I can just tell.

“Alright.”

This conversation wasn't over but he just didn't want to fight with me right now, even though I should be the one to cater to him. I wanted to protest once again but I knew he wouldn't be happy if I did, only cause that's just how Simon is. He would rather me be catered than him even though he deserves to be catered to as well.

“You ready, my love?” Simon asked.

“Yes.”

~

“So many choices.” I comment, eyeing the menu.

Not only were there a lot of choices, but the prices were a bit steep too. Granted it is a local place, but if I would have known about the prices I wouldn't have made the suggestion. I feel awful now. I don't like Simon spending money on me.

“What are you feeling like tonight?” Simon asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders. As Simon scanned the menu, I took notice of him and his features. It's not often that Simon will go out in just plain clothes and something concealing his face. I know he does it to protect us, even though I don't think it's necessary. He shouldn't hide his beautiful face. In fact it's me that should be the one-

“Hello, welcome to Mama Rita's! My name is Gary and I'll be the one taking care of y'all tonight. Can I start y'all off with some drinks?” A male waiter approached us with a chipper attitude.

“Do y'all have gin and tonic ‘ere?” Simon asked Gary.

“We do. Would you like one of those?”

“Yes, with water too, please sir.” Simon added.

“And for you?” Gary asked me.

They have cherry soda here. It's one of the very few sodas that doesn't make me bloated nor feel like shit when I drink it compared to the usual cola sodas. But it is quite pricey, since according to the menu they make the sodas the old fashioned way.

“Just water.”

“Actually she will have a cherry soda. I almost didn't see that on the menu, but it's her favorite.” Simon butted in.

What? What is he doing? I don't get it.

“Alright a cherry soda. Do y'all know what you want to eat or do y'all need a minute?” Gary asked us.

“A minute please.” I said.

“You got it!” Gary said and he walked off to give us a moment.

Of course that was just a diversion so Simon could talk with me.

“Love.”

“Yes?”

“What's wrong? You're not your usual self.” Simon said, holding my hand and running his thumb on my hand.

I held back tightly.

“Why did you get me the cherry soda? You know we are trying to save money.” I said, trying to hold back tears.

“What in bloody hell do you mean, Ace? I don't understand.” Simon questioned me, but also tried to comfort me.

“It's nothing, Si.”

I hung my head down to avoid looking at him. I felt so much shame and guilt with myself. I don't deserve him, I don't deserve him.

“Darling, you're about to cry. I need to know what is going on.”

“I'm such a bad partner to you.” I spat out, with it coming out harsher than I meant to.

Simon was silent for a moment and he was about to speak when Gary came back with our drinks. He sat down Simon's drink and water in front of him and my cherry soda in front of me. The piercing red syrupy drink stared at me as if it was mocking me.

“Are we ready?”

“Uh yes, sir.” I spoke.

“What can I get started for y'all?”

Simon stayed silent waiting for me to go first but I motioned for him to go first.

“We will get an order of mozzarella sticks, some spinach and artichoke dip.”

Those are my two favorite appetizers in the world. Simon, stop.

“What else?” Gary asked him.

“For my meal, I'll take the Creamy Tuscan Salmon.” Simon added.

Gary quickly wrote down what Simon said and he took the menu from Simon.

“And for you?”

“Get whatever you want, love.” Simon commented before I could even speak.

He meant it too.

“Just the chicken Alfredo will be alright.” I say, handing him my menu.

“Alright I'll go put those in for y'all.” Gary said.

“Thank you.” Simon and I both thanked him in unison as he walked off.

I already knew what was coming so I hung my head down.

“Ace.”

“I'm sorry, Simon.”

“You don't need to be fucking sorry for nothing.”

His tone was harsh, but only because he wanted me to know he was being serious. I wanted to say something back, but I couldn't find the words to say. Instead, the tears rush down my face. He knew I wasn't crying despite not making any noises.

“I saw the marks on your body.”

I felt my heart stop and start racing all at once, if that was even possible.

“W-What are you talking about?” I ask, trying to play dumb.

“Ace, you're a bad fucking liar.”

He got me there. I indeed am.

“I just..”

“How long have you been doing that for?” Simon asked me out of genuineness.

“I just fucking hate when you leave. I get so depressed when I am left alone and just pray everyday you get to come home, even though there's a high chance that you won't and my brain just gets to me and I hate myself for it.” I spewed out.

I sobbed silently as Simon squeezed my hand in reassurance. I know he was only silent because he was trying to find the right words to say.

“Love, please. You don't need to do any of that to yourself.”

“I didn't mean for you to see it.”

“But I'm glad I did.” Simon said.

“What?”

“It's so I can help you. Ace, you're my special person. If I didn't love you then I wouldn't be with you but here we are. We've been together for a while now. You don't need to think that way about yourself nor do any of that to yourself. I want to help you. You said you hate being alone so maybe we can get you a companion.” Simon suggested.

“Like a cat?”

“Maybe.”

“A dog?”

“Eh, maybe.”

“What about a pony?”

“Okay you're pushing it now, love.” Simon chuckled.

I chuckled as Simon lifted my hand up and placed a gentle kiss on my hand. His soft lips sent little tingles throughout my hand and into my body.

“We will talk more when we get home but for now let's enjoy a meal, ‘kay?” Simon said.

“Okay, Simon Riley.” I said as he peered his eyes at me, “does Johnny or any of them call you Simon?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Cause they would already be dead if they did.” Simon half joked.

I laughed, knowing he meant it as a joke. Simon laughed as well, laughing at me. Even though I still felt the guilt in my chest, I had a feeling that maybe everything would be okay.

END

[jess-the-vampire]

I love how Philip and Biscuit's dynamic amounts to something along the lines of...

Philip: I live a life of solitude, and my misery and self-loathing know no bounds.

Biscuit: Hi Philip! Biscuit get flower for Philip! Philip happy now?

Phillip: ... Yes, Philip happy now.

biscuit's development is super funny in retrospect, because i created him as a response to this staff we're shown in philip's journal:

and at the time, my assumption was that this was his own palisman, and the fandom and wittebane community wondered if he had one at some point and uh....ate it, which is where the palisman eating idea evolved from (This is given no answer in the show itself).

other creators have some other ideas, like the lovely @captainmera have interpreted it as evelyn's palisman, but the show itself kinda never gave us an answer which i still find kinda strange to this day.

i mean, why show us a palisman at all in this book if we never get to know who it belongs to and why philip was studying it? And it was post-cut too (Since this appeared in KKKOHD and we were told they were informed back in ER), so it can't be entirely waved off as a cut concept either.

I get the impression now the crew didn't think we would care and just thought of adding a random palisman to the journal (Especially given it seems unlikely philip ever had a palisman at this point) , but i prefer it to be more relevant then that if they were going to show us it.

but at the time, since that was where my head was at, i made biscuit as a result, expecting to eventually update him design and name wise, only for that to never happen since the spider staff never got answers.

so i basically made an original character out of what i thought would be an established character?

and because i prefer giving the palisman a lot more personality, and because spiders are typically seen as scary, i figured making the spider actually very cute would be a perfect way of going about it.

Which i guess worked because people tend to love biscuit, i have had people happily draw him, some try and make plushies of him, he's gotten nods even in the wittebane collab, and i think that's cute.

i think deer, horses, ect also do fit philip's character, especially aesthetically, but i do think spiders also quite fit his personality with the weaving of the web, the trickery, and consumption and draining of smaller creatures.

also the duology of Philip in this au being reclused and miserable paried with a creature whose ungodly supportive and a ball of sunshine makes for funny and interesting comics around them. It also allows for philip to have a character that helps him develop in this au and progress as a person, especially in periods where caleb and hunter aren't there. The palisman eater, growing a bond with his palisman.

sorry for the tangent, it's always just funny how we ended up in this position regarding them in the au, cause boy is it quite the evolution

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Soft Lovin’

Chubby!Bucky x Female Reader 

Summary:You show Bucky just how much you appreciate his new larger, softer frame.

Warnings:18+, Smut, Blow Jobs, Cum Swallowing (is that even a thing???)

Word Count:1,090

Authour’s Note:I wrote this way back in 2021 and I just thought I’d pull it up from my AO3 account and post it here too! I’ve read SO many chubby!Bucky fics and they are my absolute favourite to read, and I guess this was my attempt at writing for him! Also wanted to show that I do write for characters other than Eddie Munson and Steve harrington.

MASTERLIST

Bucky came out of the bathroom, towel tied around his naked body as he moved into his adjoining bedroom before coming to stand in front of the full length mirror.

He'd long retired from that world of saving people, he had you now, and he planned on spending every second of that time enjoying your presence.

Although, looking at himself in his full length mirror, he'd noticed that since retiring from the superhero business, his stomach was a lot softer than he remembers, his ab muscles given away to more softer curves and a few stretch marks that he's certain that they weren't there last time he checked.

He was still very strong, that fact he was absolutely sure about, but now looking at his larger, softer frame he couldn't help his mind wondering why you never mentioned anything to him about his size before. There's absolutely no way that you hadn't noticed, not when you spend your mornings, evenings and nights snuggled so close to him.

Perhaps he should go for those morning runs that Sam's always pestering for him to go on.

Just as his mind was about to spiral further down that dark rabbit hole of self-loathing, you walked into the bedroom.

Spotting his half-naked frame, with the towel slung dangerously low around his hips, you couldn't help the blush rise to your cheeks, even the simplest of things like him fresh out of the shower, the droplets of water running down his body made you want to jump his bones.

"Hey honey" you said, coming up behind him wrapping your arms around his soft tummy, leaning your head on his shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell me I was getting fat?" he says, a hint of disapproval in his tone. "I mean, look at all this.." he says pinching a roll of fat around his stomach with his metal fingers. "You can't possibly tell me that you haven't noticed anything."

"Truth be told, I did notice, but I rather enjoy having a bit more of you to snuggle up to at night" You answered with the heat rising to your cheeks.

"Oh really..." his voice trailed off.

"Yeah, you know I love you so much. That means I love you, whatever shape you are. Besides you look good with that cute tummy of yours" your hands wandering over his stomach in a soft caress.

With the warmth of your hands caressing over his soft stomach, Bucky felt his cock harden, causing the towel he was wearing around his hips to tent. The feeling of your small hands exploring the expanse of his much larger stomach was something that he didn't know he would like so much, but by god, now he knew, he never wanted you to stop.

"Oh well hello, Sarge" you teased, noticing the tented towel hiding his erection.

"Sorry, Doll your hands all over me just felt so good" he huffed out.

Moving around to stand in front of him, you moved your hand down, raking your nails down his rounded belly in a teasing scratch, before your fingers worked to untie the towel from around his waist. Letting the material drop to the floor, his hard length slapped up against the curve of his lower stomach.

You got to your knees in front of him.

"Let me show you how much I love your body, baby.." you said as you began your trailing kisses over that soft curve of his lower stomach. Continuing your trail of kisses even lower you took Bucky's hardened length in one of your hands and began to slowly stroke him. Working your hand in a steady pace, smearing the bead of pre-cum as your thumb swiped over his sensitive tip to aid your movements.

Briefly flicking your eyes upwards to look at him, you could see Bucky's chest heaving with heavy breaths, you knew he was enjoying this.

Leaning forward you opened your mouth, and began to bob your head over his large cock, hollowing out your cheeks, the rest of what you couldn't fit in your mouth you worked with your hand. The saliva making it very easy for his length to slide in and out of your mouth.

Reaching forward you grabbed his hand and placed it on the back of your head, knowing he loved it when he could control your movements over him.

The hand on the back of your head encouraged you to take him even further into your mouth, even coming as far to hit the back of your throat. Bucky always loved it when you would deep-throat him. He Began to thrust his cock down your throat, his hips stuttering forward with the pleasure. The sounds of you gagging on his cock driving him wild.

Pulling of him briefly, looking up to the man you loved so dearly, he looked absolutely wrecked. Eyes screwed shut and his perfect pink lips parted to let out groans of pleasure.

Going back to his cock, you worked your hand in short fast strokes, concentrating your movements over the head, your lips and tongue working together, your hollowed out cheeks creating a suction around his length.

Still holding his hands at the back of your head, his fingers tangled in your hair, he moans out.

"Oh g-god fuck, don't stop, doll. I-I'm so close"

Continuing in your mission, you kept going with your movements over his cock. It wasn't long before Bucky came down your throat.

"F-fuck" he swore as his seed spilled down your throat. His length twitched for a moment, the release of his orgasm making his chest rise and fall.

You swallowed all of what your boyfriend had to give you. Using your finger to swiped some of the spilled cum at the corner of your mouth your greedily sucked your finger clean.

Removing him from your mouth with a lewd pop, and getting up off your knees to stand in front of him he wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug as he kissed you passionately.

"I told you, Buck, I love you and I love your body. Whatever shape it takes" you smiled.

"Thanks, doll. You always make me feel so good." he said as he picked you up in his strong arms and carried you over to the bed and set you down amongst the pillows.

"What? You didn't think we were finished, did you? Oh baby, no, I've still got to return the favour" he said smiling as he settled between your thighs on the bed

[theeio]

If u have the time could you pls give us ur jim analysis based on this post im very interested in hearing it

headsup for some heavy mental health talk:

so my interpretation of jim, and the reason why i drew him the angsty way i did was because i looked at his character in ToA from like, a mental illness metaphor perspective. i dont think(?) it was ever the showrunner’s intention to do that, but its just a personal way i viewed it bc i saw and felt a lot of his struggles between the lines of the series.

like in episode 6: Win Lose or Draal- where Jim thinks hes going to get killed in battle, writes letters to his loved ones, cooks a last meal for his mom, felt and acted like was the last day he was going to live. Claire interpreting his letter to her that he was talking about having “internal monsters” and “being in some kind of trouble” didnt help much as well AHAH

jim hiding so much from his mom, that one shot in season 1 episode 12 or 13 where he hides the damage on his arms from the goblins behind his back-AHHHHH

and dont get me started on the bathtub scene in A House Divided like idk what the showrunners were thinking doing that but okay i guess😭 that one made me sob on the floor like TWICE

and Jimhunters-god that really felt like your life being altered, and seeing everything in a much darker lens when going through depression. the first time i watched it and when Jim ran to the school rooftop i was legitimately horrified and scared out of my MIND but thank god they didn’t go much beyond that. STILL. thanks for the heart attack 😭😭😭

so back to the tags on that post:

i never liked a hero w a thousand faces because of how chaotic and exaggerated everything was but i guess its because it was different parts of jim split and personified.

but i guess it just messed me up seeing that episode again and having Hunter Jim, the highest functioning one out of them all being the one hunting HIMSELF DOWN, one by one. it really felt like a lot of self loathing going on, and he literally was looking to “kill” other parts of himself, and then the Real Jim as a whole. sorry that was jumbled up and a lot but it was what made me go like

thats kinda the gist of how i saw some moments of Jim’s character back then, and i guess it explains why so much of my art leans towards angst and that hurt comfort, because of all those interpretations i had going on in my head. it was rough a couple years back and this series helped me to reflect and process a lot of what happened and the feelings i had, through Jim. it was a like a safe little sandbox i could toss around in and it genuinely helped so much in healing :”D!! so yeah its more of a personal take, but hope this answers ur question?

ty for sending this ask!! hope you’re well💖💖💖

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

You Learn Something New Everyday... I Guess

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: none really, just Matt being a little self loathing

Genre: fluff? very very minor angst

Summary: You have a theory about your local vigilante that your friends think is silly (spoiler alert; it's literally not)

A/N: Because I refuse to believe no one has ever seen Daredevil and considered the fact that he is NEVER LOOKIN AT SHIT

***

You spin the straw in your drink while half listening to Foggy and Karen talk to each other about something you lost track of a little while ago. Something about a case last you were paying attention but they tend to spend so much time talking about work even on nights out you can't always keep track of it all.

"So what're your thoughts about the whole thing?" Karen asks as you stare into your glass.

"Y/n!" Foggy nudges you and your eyes snap up.

"Yes! Sorry. What was the question?" You ask.

"Daredevil, what're your thoughts on him?" Foggy nods towards the TV in the bar that's apparently playing a news story about Daredevil's latest escapades.

"He doesn't see." You shrug looking back at your drink.

"Doesn't see what?" Foggy frowns.

"Sorry, that's not quite what I meant to say; I meant he doesn't use his eyes to fight." You say looking up again.

"Wait what?" Karen shakes her head.

"I dunno, the eyes in his mask look opaque but also if you've ever watched him fight he doesn't really... look at things. The whole time his head does this twitchy thing like when dogs hear a sound but can't see it, as if he's trying to hear everything better." You explain.

"Are you- suggesting that Daredevil... is blind?" Karen asks.

"Well it's hard to know for sure if he's completely blind or not but I'd bet that he's probably at least visually impaired."

"You think a vigilante is visually impaired." Foggy scoffs.

"I know it sounds absurd but I mean before the fancy suit and the moniker he was the man in black, he wore like a black cloth that covered his eyes he's obviously not using them." You shrug.

"Maybe he could see through it." He says.

"No- for it to be sheer enough for him to see through it, especially at night it would also probably be sheer enough to see him through, at least in the light, and he's got like an airtight lock on his secret identity. Even before he had the suit." You shake your head. "Maybe that's why." You add with a hum.

"Maybe what's why?"

"If he's visually impaired as I suspect he is, nobody would believe he's Daredevil! I mean he takes on gangs singlehandedly in the shadows of Hell's Kitchen all the time there's no way you'd expect a blind man to be doing all that. It would make the perfect cover story, plus if he gets injured I mean- he's blind nobody would question him saying he bumped into something or fell or even someone threw something and he didn't know. It's kind of genius."

"Look who decided to join us!" Karen smiles excitedly and you turn to see Matt standing between you and Foggy.

"About time loser! Why are all of you so obsessed with work?" You scoff.

"Hi guys." He chuckles.

"Hey man, you'll never guess what theory y/n here has cooked up." Foggy says.

"Hey! Don't talk about me like I'm some tin foil hat looney alright." You point a finger at him.

"Even you admitted how absurd it sounded!" Foggy says.

"Sure but I provided ample evidence to support my claim it's not some baseless conclusion I'm jumping to!" You say.

"It's circumstantial at best." Foggy says.

"Well this isn't a court of law Nelson we're at Josie's and I don't have to be an expert witness to draw conclusions here I think I've more than proved my stance."

"Not beyond a shadow of a doubt!"

"Excuse me we aren't running a criminal trial there's no reason I should have to work to those standards I think- what's the other thing y'all use? A preponderance of the evidence, I think that's more than sufficient-"

"Is one of you going to tell me what this is about or are you going to keep throwing around legal jargon in a bar?" Matt cuts your arguing with Foggy short with a question while Karen gets up to grab him a seat at your table. "Honestly y/n you spend too much time with us, when did you pick up all those phrases anyway?" Matt muses.

"I dunno Foggy likes to throw them at me and I like to be able to fight back." You shrug.

"Y/n thinks Daredevil is blind." Karen tells Matt, returning to her own chair.

"You think Daredevil... like the vigilante is blind?" Matt chuckles.

"See what I mean?" Foggy gestures.

"I don't know that I'd go with totally blind but I think he's visually impaired at least." You nod.

"How do you figure that?" Matt asks.

"Something about his helmet." Foggy says.

"Well that one I can't verify but before he had the devil suit, when he was just the man in black he was basically fighting with a blindfold on. Why would someone with perfect vision handicap themselves that way? Especially taking on criminals severely outnumbered every time it doesn't make sense. Oh and he does this head twitch thing like he's seeing with his ears and not his eyes. Like an animal when locating a sound they turn their ears to it first. It's the perfect cover honestly." You shrug. "Kinda like that kid in Queens."

"What kid?" Foggy asks.

"Another masked hero type, red and blue suit, they call him Spiderman over there." You pull out your phone to find one of the several viral videos of Spiderman you've seen. "To clarify, I don't think he's also blind or anything like Daredevil but I'm pretty sure he's a teenager." You say once the video ends.

"You think that's a child?!" Foggy looks at you incredulously.

"I mean I've seen a few of these clips of him, and between his build and his voice, because he talks in some of these, and his movements- there's almost no way that's an adult, but he can stop a bus with his bare hands so no one is looking at him and assuming a high schooler is doing that. I just happen to know a little too much about anatomy and physiology and he looks like a teenager. Again, another perfect cover, the least likely person."

"So- you watched that guy, do that, and your first thought was 'he can't buy alcohol yet'. Seriously?" Foggy asks.

"Well no actually I didn't think much of it at first but after a few clips, I started to wonder. I mean it's just a guess since his suit covers him from head to toe but I'm pretty confident in it." You shrug.

"You're insane. For this and the Daredevil thing." Karen nods.

"Excuse me for daring to consider all options." You say dramatically and Matt chuckles beside you but doesn't offer much on the subject. From there your conversation pivots topics and you all spend another hour or two talking and drinking before eventually calling it a night and going your separate ways home.

~*~*~

"Y/n." The voice startles you as you walk into your apartment and you let out a scream, clutching your chest as you take in the intruder by your balcony.

"Okay. I know you're a vigilante so you work outside of the law kind of by default here but you better have a damn good reason for breaking into my apartment, as in someone better be on their way to kill me right now or I am going to be so pissed off." You say after a moment because why the hell is Daredevil standing in your apartment?!

"No one is coming to kill you." He shakes his head.

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" You cross your arms.

"I wanna know how you figured it out."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You figured out that I'm- I don't see when I fight. How did you know that?"

"Better question, how did you know that I knew that? Although, I didn't know for sure until you just said that, but how did you know I thought that?" You ask. Daredevil pulls off his helmet and you gasp. "Matt?"

"Don't act coy okay, we both know you knew it was me already." He rolls his eyes.

"No I didn't! If I knew it was you, or thought it was you, I would've said so the other night when we were talking about the whole thing. You know I've never been one to shy away from sharing what I'm thinking- oh my GOD you're daredevil!?" You shake your head as the information sinks in. You don't know which piece of this you're more interested in, the fact that you were right about Daredevil being blind or the fact that he's coincidentally also part of your friend group.

"Oh come on, you spent twenty minutes arguing that you think Daredevil is visually impaired are you telling me it didn't cross your mind for even a moment that it was me?"

"Okay first of all Matthew, you're not the only blind guy this side of the Hudson you know. Going from Daredevil may be visually impaired to Daredevil is the only blind man I know personally is quite a jump considering it was just a theory. Not to mention fair skinned man average height, average build, describes so many men in Hell's Kitchen not to mention the rest of New York. Hell, Tony Stark fits that description and if he wasn't already such an obnoxiously public superhero on the other side of the city I'd believe someone suspecting him of being Daredevil too."

"So you never once thought it was me?" Matt scoffs.

"I mean it crossed my mind once or twice but it's not like I could know for sure. That helmet covers like 80% of your face and you work almost exclusively at night it's not exactly cut and dry to ID you. I mean you've already had a copycat come around once." You explain.

"Why didn't you ask?"

"What?"

"At the bar, the other night, if you thought it was me why didn't you ask me?" He asks.

"Well if I asked and you told me the truth anyone at the bar could've heard and, I know Daredevil has quite a few enemies. If you lied to protect your identity because we were in public well, we both know I expect honesty from you so why risk that rift? And then of course there's the possibility that I was wrong in which case all of you would look at me like I'd grown three heads- not that the whole 'Daredevil is blind' theory didn't already have them looking at me funny but that's besides the point. There was no good outcome for me asking in public. Plus there wasn't even a reason for me to ask you really, I didn't know enough to say you, Matt, and any distinct similarities with you, Daredevil besides the way you react to sound." You shrug.

"What?"

"It was watching you- as Matthew- react to sound that made me piece together the Daredevil thing." You say.

"And you still didn't think it was me?"

"Again you aren't the only blind man around here, I figured reacting to sound that way was just a common trait for people who have to rely on senses other than sight."

"You got everything all figured out don't ya." He shakes his head.

"Well come on I am kind of known for it." You smile and Matt chuckles in spite of himself.

"You're taking this better than I expected. You're not mad."

"That you're a vigilante in your free time? Of course I'm not mad. I've always encouraged you and Foggy and Karen to have lives outside of your job and while your choice is a little... unorthodox, I think everyone should have a hobby. If this is yours I'm all for it. Although it does feel kind of work adjacent since you're like a lawyer but I'll let it go." You muse.

"Foggy and Karen had... very different reactions to the news."

"Wait- Karen and Foggy know?" 

"Yeah- yeah they know. But, I had to tell them because of extenuating circumstances. You, you just guessed it."

"I mean technically it was more of an inference than a guess, plus I didn't even guess that it was you just that the red devil didn't need his eyes for a fight." You shrug. "I can't believe they knew and had me feeling crazy at the table." You chuckle.

"It wasn't their secret to tell. I had to be the one to let you know, they were just keeping their promises-"

"I know. I'm not even mad about it. It's just funny." You shrug.

"You are being very chill about all of this." Matt says.

"So are you like- not fully blind? Because I was operating with the idea that Daredevil didn't have 20/20 vision or anything but like I definitely wasn't thinking total blindness which- I thought you had. So is that not the case? Like are you not fully blind?"

"I am. Kind of. It's hard to explain." He grimaces.

"Well have a seat and we'll discuss i- actually, is your suit clean or did you just get done vigilanteing because I do not want blood or mud on my couch so you'll have to clean up, I can go find one of your accidentally left here hoodies if you need to change." You offer.

"Tonight's battles were pretty clean I think I'm good." He says with his hands up.

"To be on the safe side sit at one of the kitchen stools."

"Yes ma'am." He nods and walks over to a chair to have a seat.

"So- are you totally blind? Yes or no?"

"Technically yes."

"Technically?"

"The entire world looks like it's engulfed in flames. I can see silhouettes sometimes but they're are angry reds and oranges. They do not paint a picture at all really." He explains.

"Interesting." You hum.

"But, I've learned to see in other ways. Sound is a big one. I can even hear people's hearts beating."

"You can hear hearts beating?!" You blink at him.

"Yes." He nods once.

"Can you hear mine?!"

"Yes." Another nod.

"Woah. What do you use that skill for?"

"Number of enemies in a fight, counting the people in a room before I enter it, seeing if someone's lying to me." Matt lists off.

"Have you ever used it on me?"

"You don't lie to me." He shrugs.

"So that's a yes."

"It's a no. Not intentionally anyway. You've never given me a reason to even suspect you of lying." He says.

"So how else do you see?"

"Smell kind of, touch when I can. Sound is the main one though."

"You're like a bat." You giggle.

"Ha ha." His laugh is dripping with sarcasm that only makes you want to giggle more.

"Wait so- if you can do all this shit I take it you don't really need your cane then, do you?"

"Not- not really no."

"It's part of the cover then- isn't it?"

"Correct." He says.

"Hm, I assume this is also why you don't date, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's just that I imagine this Daredevil thing takes quite a bit of time, between that and the job that you never take a break from you basically have negative 2 hours of free time both of which you spend with either me or your coworkers. Plus I'm sure this would be one hell of a secret to try and keep from a significant other because it's not like you can tell them on the first date right? You never know who's working with your opps so you need to vet people so having to hide it until you know it's safe, which would probably totally suck." You rattle off your explanation.

"Okay first of all I date." He scoffs.

"You don't. You hook up with people sure but you do not date.  I was honestly starting to think you were some level of aromantic and I guess you still could be and that's totally fine by the way but not having time because you're a part-time vigilante makes sense." You shrug.

"I'm not aromantic and me 'not dating' isn't because of the Daredevil thing."

"Of course it's not." You say.

"You're being sarcastic aren't you?"

"A little, but hey you don't have to explain your lack of romantic life to me. I was just being nosy."

"What about you? You don't date either." Matt crosses his arms.

"I do date actually and the reason you don't know that is because you never ask but if you don't wanna talk about your not dating that's fine." You say.

"I have my reasons."

"I'm sure you do Matty, you're entitled to them. No need to defend yourself to me."

"It's not related to being Daredevil." He says.

"Do you want to tell me about it or no? If so, great let's talk about it, if not I've had a long day and I'm a little tired babes. You can go back out the window I assume you came through or you can use the door-"

"You." He cuts off your last sentence with a single word.

"Excuse me?" You frown at him.

"You are the reason I don't date."

"What did I do?" You blink incredulously.

"Nothing. I have feelings for you so I don't date other people. I'm Daredevil so I don't tell you that I have feelings for you because it's dangerous, because it was a secret I couldn't tell you, because I don't get the girl."

"You don't get the girl? Do you think you're the antihero in a movie? It doesn't work that way Matt. If you liked me the proper course of action is to say something to me don't make it into some big dramatic story arc that's doomed from the start, everything with you is self sabotage mission. Do you really believe yourself that undeserving of good things, of things you want, of happiness?" This isn't the first time Matt has done something in direct conflict of his happiness so you're not surprised, but since the thing in question regards you, you can't help but feel exasperated.

"I-" Matt trails off with a frown that makes his entire face squeeze. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Why tell me this now? If you 'don't get the girl' if you can't have a relationship because it's 'too dangerous' or whatever silly reason you have for hiding it in the first place. Why are you telling me now?"

"You asked and I'm tired of hiding it I guess."

"Tired of hiding it. You didn't have to hide it."

"I didn't- do you honestly think that if I told you like six months ago, that I'm Daredevil and that Hell's Kitchen's notorious vigilante has feelings for you, do you think you would've reacted well?"

"I like to think I would, yes, but who cares that's not what happened. You told me tonight so, now what?"

"Now what?" He blinks at you.

"You're Daredevil and you have feelings for me so what happens now? Do we- continue as we've been? Do we see where this goes? What do you want now?"

"See where this goes? You'd want that? With me? To see where it goes?" He asks, he looks so lost that you can't help but sigh.

"Yes that's why I asked. Is it so unbelievable that I could also have feelings for you?" You ask softly.

"Well you didn't exactly say that-"

"I'm saying now. So- ask me on a date, or go home."

"Ask you on a date?"

"That's what I said Matthew. For a fancy defense attorney who graduated from Columbia Law, you are lost in an extremely too easy to follow conversation."

"None of this has been easy to follow okay? I never thought I'd get the chance to-" Matt trails off and shakes his head remembering your instructions. "Would you like to go to dinner with me tomorrow night?"

"Yes I would. Eight o'clock. Don't be late." You say with a smile.

"Eight o'clock. I'll be here. See you tomorrow." Matt nods with an adorable grin on his face.

"Goodnight Matthew." You hum.

"Goodnight." He says putting his helmet back on and climbing out your window.

"He could've used the door." You mutter to yourself shaking your head. You still can't totally believe you were right about Daredevil being blind but more shocking is that it wasn't even the biggest reveal you got this evening. Life really does come at you fast.

***

[solradguy]

Recently I've started to try and study a lot of the artwork for Guilty Gear, particularly the artwork by Daisuke. I was reading your translation of the notes in the XX artbook and I realized that on a lot of the artwork I really liked, Daisuke mentioned mistakes he made. I found this odd since, again, most of them I thought were absolute masterpieces.

I know that people always say "You're your own worst critic", especially to artists, but I guess that it never really set in until I was reading those.

I get nobody's art is perfect (Daisuke is no exception, there are pieces in the artbook that even I could see were rather flawed), but the fact that I am staring in aw at some artwork and I then read that the creator of it was upset that the perspective was all off feels insane. Kinda makes me think about how I critique my own art when I have so many people in my life who think I'm an amazing artist.

I know this is gonna sound stupid and corny but I wanted to get this out of my head since it's been in there for at least a week or two now. Probably didn't word this the best since it's getting a bit late since I decided to stay up to listen to the new (and by new I mean two years old) Red Hot Chili Peppers album while drawing and I thought of this again.

Also thanks for translating the art book. Although the artwork by itself is still great, the comments (as I have stated) were really insightful for me personally. You really are a rad guy, at least in my eyes.

When I first translated Artworks of GGX 2000-2007, I thought Daisuke's harshness towards his art was possibly a Japanese cultural thing, since it's not uncommon for creators in Japan to kind of talk down their own accomplishments ("kenkyo"; [1] [2]). But then I got a bit better at Japanese and read commentary and autobiographical works by other artists—Hirohiko Araki, Kentarou Miura, and Ryoko Kui [3]—and they're much more positive about their creations. They're still humble about it, as any professional generally is, but they certainly aren't as critical as Daisuke is in Artworks 2007. It's definitely odd.

Artworks 2007 is an updated/expanded reprint of an edition that came out 3 years earlier, Artworks of GGX 2000-2004, so a little over half of the captions in Artworks 2007 were written between 2000 and 2004. If it wasn't kenkyo that made Daisuke critical about his art, then, I thought, maybe all the work he had on his plate leading up to the Sammy-Sega merger, which threatened the Guilty Gear IP as a whole[4], had him in kind of a depressive/hyper-critical mindset? That still feels like it could be plausible; his more recent (>2010) commentary is a lot kinder.

It is reassuring knowing that even incredibly skilled artists like Daisuke can still fall into being mean about their own art. Some things never change haha Here's hoping, like Daisuke, we all crawl out of that hyper-critical borderline self-loathing art pit 💪

Thanks for reading the translation!! And for the compliment. Artworks 2007 was my very, very, first large scale GG translation project and I'd like to redo it some day, some of the translations are a little wobbly.... I didn't make a Japanese manuscript for it though, which means I'll have to rescan every page again to get the text off them 😵‍💫

~ https://sakuratips.com/2020/10/20/humble/

~ https://interculturalwordsensei.org/kenkyo/

Hirohiko Araki is known for Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, Kentarou Miura for Berserk, and Ryoko Kui for Dungeon Meshi

~ https://www.siliconera.com/arc-system-works-now-owns-the-rights-to-guilty-gear/

(sorry for the ~ before the links lol tumblr really wanted to turn them into embeds...)

[tswhiisftteedr]

Hey there, I hope your having a nice night or day, I saw that you wrote nsfw and was wondering if I could request something for chenya wit a female s/o who has a hard time gaing any weight, and a very skinny and tend to become insecure due to it.. and chenya "cheers" them up 👀

(I have this problem ☹ and would like to feel a bit better w some indulgence you know 🤷‍♀️)

Sweet-scented pigeon wing ☆ Headcanon + Drabble

☆RSA Student!Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker(Che’nya) x Skinny!Fem!Yuu!Reader :

Feeling insecure and self loathing sucks, but luckily for you, your act beastmen boyfriend Che’nya is here for you. And he’s going to ‘cheer you up to the best of his abilities!’

Warnings: Mature content, Che’nya is aged up to 18+ and NCR is an actually college, fingering, begging, not anything graphic(violence) reader is just insecure. Not proofread.

Note: Hi thanks for requesting, I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you were looking for, I’ve never written comfort for subject like body image, especially people who are ‘skinny’ as I’m more on the chubby side my self. (Working on it girly pops, I’m about to become a slim thick queen and you won’t see it coming, hdhhdjd lol) So if this isn’t to your taste I’m sorry, but I real hope it is!! Also some crack halfway through the smut, I guess it was to make it more cheerful and comforting, though idk if it’s good \:<

Before you two started dating, Che’nya had picked up on the fact that you were insecure in your appearance. Mostly wearing oversized clothes to hide your figure, and how you would panic whenever he hugged you out of nowhere, tensing as he fully embrace you in his warmth.

Back then, he used to think that the issues you had with your physic were temporarily, or mood related. ‘We all have those times we’re we feel low and unsure of oneself, right?’

Well to his somewhat ‘displeasure’ he was wrong. It’s not like he was mad at you for not liking everything about yourself, but more that it made him sad that you didn’t see ‘you’ the way he did.

Sure he understood the fact that being at risk of developing health issues like osteoporosis, higher chances for hypothermia and lower immunity system, just because of your weight, could make you insecure. And he also knew you did your best despite your struggle in weight gain.

The way he sees things, you can’t do much but you’re still already doing your max. So since you’re doing your best already, you shouldn’t worry to much about it.

He doesn’t expect you to change your opinion towards your body from one day to the other, even when you got together, he still saw the hesitation behind your eyes whenever he would compliment your looks.

But he did feel proud of the way your gaze slowly shifted through time, how you would look less ‘untrusting’ of his words after each time he would call you beautiful, cute, lovely, hot, ‘sexy mama~’, etc. The way you would wear clothes that were a bit more your size after each interaction, the way you felt more comfortable when he touch and caress you.

He knew your self doubts were still present, though he also knew that they were less dominant in your mind. As if every time he would hold your hand, hug you, kiss you, make out with you, those thoughts would be push further and further away.

Of course there were the days where those thoughts would resurface, hitting you with a wave of sadness and self loathing. Maybe someone had said something about your looks, maybe you weren’t so sure about you were wearing halfway through the day, or maybe it just one of those off day. The ones where you felt like shit no matter what you did, from the moment you awake, to the one you would fall asleep.

In cases like this, your lovely cat boy of a boyfriend would help by bringing your moral up, in his own very special way~

☆ more under the cut. ☆

You and Che'nya were hanging out in Heartslabyul’s rose maze, he had snuck once more to spend sometime with you. The both of you were laying down on the grass, staring at the clouds. When he turned to sneak a glance at your oh so beautiful face, he noticed a look of somewhat unease and despair on your face, so he decided to do something about it.

He knew what that faced meant, so he scouted closer to you slowly, his movement almost silent due to the soft grass under his body. His hands reached out suddenly, wrapping around your waist gently yet firmly before he lifted both you and himself off the ground effortlessly.

Now with you in his arms, without warning, he carried you towards the magic mirror in the dorm.

You soon found yourself back at your dorm, the ramshackle.

Once inside, he placed you down on the bed, keeping hold of one arm over your head while using his free hand to undo your buttons and zippers without hesitation.

Within moments, he had ripped your clothes apart revealing your naked body in all its glory. The sight of your figure and softness sent waves of desire coursing through him.

"You know, its pretty inconvenient for me not knowing when you’ll be down in a slump." He told you in a cheeky manner, obviously not serious. You can always count on Che’nya to tease in any given situation. “But it’s not all so bad, after all, when your like this I get to play with you.” he murmured against your neck, nipping lightly at your sensitive skin. “Though I would prefer it if it just some random fun, not me having to fuck into you just how perfect you are.” He told you with a rather serious tone, different from his usual one. Thought the softness behind his eyes told you, he wasn’t blaming or reprimanding you. He just wish you could see what he saw when he would gaze at you. But before you could think on that for too long-

"Now, lie back and enjoy yourself." Che’nya spoke out in his usual oh so casual tone.

With that said, he pushed your legs apart wider than they wanted to go and started playing with your ‘sweet-scented pigeon wing’ as he would call it.

Wait- the hell?! “Sweet-scented pigeon wing”, where does that even come from, like what the actual f- oh, right, you remember now.

Sweet-scented pigeon wing from potionology, it’s also known as Clitoria fragrans hence their vaginal shape. What a fucking bastard that he is for calling your coochie that!

Well at least if you had any doubts about sex, your mind was now well off them. But before your mental insulting and name calling of your boyfriend could continue anymore, it was abruptly cut short, by the one you were previously cursing out.

As Che'nya touched your sensitive areas, you could feel a mix of pleasure and shock coursing through your body. His cold hands contrasted with the warmth that was beginning to spread between your legs. He teased you mercilessly, rubbing circles around your clit before dipping his fingers inside of you. Every move sent waves of ecstasy throughout your entire being, making it hard for you to resist him.

In response to his actions, you arched your back involuntarily, moaning softly as he continued to torment you. "Che’nya stop... please..." You begged, but there was no real resistance in your voice. Instead, it sounded more like pleading for more.

"Feeling good, aren't you?" he purred, nibbling on your earlobe playfully. "You know you want this." With that, he pushed two fingers deep inside of you, stretching you wider than ever before. The sudden invasion caused another loud moan to escape your lips, followed by a whimper as he began to thrust them in and out of you rhythmically.

Che'nya chuckled at your moans and whimpers, loving the power he had over you. He increased the pace of his thrusts, going faster and harder until you were on the brink of orgasm. Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, he pulled out suddenly, leaving you panting and yearning for more.

"Not yet," he purred teasingly. "I want you begging for it, and obviously you got to explain why you deserve it, also you being attractive must be one of those reasons, ‘Kay!” With that cryptic remark, he stepped back slightly, exposing his erect member to your eager eyes. It was throbbing with anticipation.

You couldn't help but stare at his thick, throbbing dick, your eyes widening in a mixture of fear and desire. "W-What do you want me to say? T-That I... need this?" Your voice cracked slightly as he stepped closer again, pushing his cockhead against your entrance.

"Good girl," he praised, before sliding the head inside of you slowly. "Now tell me why else you deserve it." His pace remained slow, allowing you to adjust to his size while teasing both of them.

You bit your lower lip nervously, trying to gather your thoughts. "I... umm... I guess because... uh... well... it feels so good when you touch me like this... And that I’ve been good ..” You managed to stutter out between pants.

"And?"

"And, I suppose... that I'm somewhat pretty." You reply.

"You 'suppose' that you're 'somewhat pretty'? Hmm, I don't think that's going to cut it. You need to be confident about that sort of thing, especially if you want me to start pounding my dick into you." He tells you, giggling.

You blush bright red, feeling both embarrassed and aroused by his words. "I... I-I mean..." Stuttering again, you gather your courage and look him straight in the eyes. "I'm beautiful, okay? Okay?"

His grin widened as he heard these words leave your lips. "That's more suitable," he praised. He increased his pace little by little, gradually thrusting deeper inside of you. Each powerful stroke sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making it difficult for you to maintain composure.

"You smell so damn good," Che'nya groaned, burying his face in your neck and sucking on your tender skin. His hands moved downwards, once more, grabbing your legs firmly and spreading them wider apart, exposing your wet and needy pussy to his hungry gaze. "Yes, you are perfect, there’s no other way to think about it."

You blushed deeply at his words, feeling both embarrassed and aroused. "I... I mean, I—!"

Before you could finish your sentence, he thrust himself fully inside of you without warning, stretching your tight hole to accommodate him completely. A cry of pleasure mixed with pain escaped from your lips as he began to move steadily, claiming you body inch by slow but powerful inch. Each time he pulled out slightly, only to push back in deeper than before, hitting your G-spot just right, sending waves of intense ecstasy coursing through your entire being.

"That's better," he praised between heavy breaths. "You sound so much better when you aren’t worrying about how you look, but instead of how deep I’m fucking you." He said that last part with a snicker.

You moaned in pure ecstasy as he continued to thrust into you, his thick member stretching and filling up every inch of your tight passage. The combination of pleasure and pain was almost too much for you to handle, but somehow, you wanted more.

"Oh god, Che'nya," you cried out, arching your back towards him. "I want... more..." Your words came out breathless and desperate.

He picked up the pace even faster, pounding into you relentlessly. Each powerful thrust caused a loud slapping sound against your sensitive flesh, adding an erotic rhythm to their passionate dance. His hands gripped tightly onto your legs, leaving marks on your skin as evidence of their intensity.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. "Take all of me." Owing to his size, each deep penetration felt like hitting a new level of pleasure that left you begging for more.

Feeling his orgasm building up inside of him, Che'nya slowed down slightly, savoring every moan and whimper that escaped from your lips. "I can feel how close you are too," he panted between breaths.

"C-Come with me..." his voice cracked as he spoke those words, urging you to reach climax alongside him.

The feeling intensified beyond anything you could have imagined, pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. And then, just when you thought it couldn't get better, another powerful thrust sent waves of pure bliss coursing through your body, sending you over the edge into a mind-numbing orgasm unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Your entire being shook with intense pleasure as wave after wave of orgasmic bliss washed over you, leaving you completely lost in the moment.

As for Che'nya, he held on tightly, his own release drawing near. With one final, forceful thrust, he let out a primal growl, burying himself deep within you to the hilt. Quickly pulling out, his hot seed spurted forth, painting your stomach and chest with thick, sticky cum. He stayed there for a moment, observing his work. “See, your such a lovely thing.” Was all he said while looking at your fucked out face and and cum cover body.

Thanks anon for requesting!

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