#volume masterpost

[letterboxd-in]

.₊ ⟡ ݁ volume 3 masterpost ⟡ ݁₊ .

ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ

hello all! you’ve reached the masterpost for volume 3! these are all the stories that were released after my october hiatus – consisting of 25 rings apart, beneath ashray lane, the never-king, thumbtack moths, and witness me.

below is relevant information and instalments for all of them! hope you enjoy!

(if you want to browse a specific story, each instalment is tagged with the story’s title, plus typically another tag that reads “[title] official chapter” (or episode, lesson, session, etc. – use the instalment names for guidance!))

⌞25 Rings Apart⌝

❝ It’s about being a good person, I think. We’re all in this together.❞

Somewhere in the vast ocean of space, there was a small deserted planet and a small colony of humans who’d made it their own. With Earth no longer viable for human life, the remaining survivors stole away to a mysterious planet with 25 rings. Saturn, a chronically curious teen in this colony is suddenly brought to the public eye when they create a new radio show to entertain the jaded population. When complications arise, Saturn finds themselves facing all the issues they have been fighting their whole life to forget.

genres include: sci-fi, post-apocalyptic, drama

if you're fond of: radio format, post-apocalyptic space domesticity, small communities trying to hold themselves together, lowkey disney princess style restless mc, young people asking questions they're not supposed to, you might like this!

[broadcast 1]

⌞Beneath Ashray Lane⌝

❝ There isn’t a single other house in Ashray with this many locks.❞

If there’s anything the people of Ashray Lane love, it’s a marketable mystery. So, when two-year-old Mollie Donoghue goes missing, the reporters, podcasters, and every nosy citizen sink their teeth into the perfect crime. However, for her family, it’s another story. Rival top students Ciaran Donoghue and EJ Lykoudis team up to get to the bottom of the mystery – past all the facades, lies, and the tireless pursuit of a perfect case.

genres include: mystery, found footage, thriller

if you're fond of: script/found footage style, pining mayhaps or maybe they're too focused on the murder, rising against shitty family structures and familial neglect, a critique of true crime culture from another angle, you might like this!

[episode 1]

⌞The Never-King⌝

❝ This is the perfect story.❞

Verity is the hero. Entropy is the villain. Damsels, dragons, kings, knights, swords, magic, and everything in between. Everything an audience has come to love and expect. We strive for only one thing: to tell the perfect story. But… that story begins to fall apart as many problems faced by our otherwise stoic and virtuous hero leave him questioning his place in his world. Back on track again, the story can still be told the way it must be told. There will be no distractions this time. Verity, the damsels, the dragons, the swords! It all has to go according to plan this time.

genres include: high fantasy, psychological thriller, action

if you're fond of: pointing at old boring high fantasy tropes and laughing (and making them fucked up), dynamic and slightly sus narrator, interactive/personal writing style (canonically a story being written and rewritten), playing with the rules and making them better, you might like this!

[chapter 1]

⌞Thumbtack Moths⌝

❝ There is less than nothing at the bottom of the well.❞

In a small, unsuspecting, unremarkable village, there is a well. The well has sustained that village since its founding, and the townspeople have no idea what a life without it would be like. However, when siblings Rhydian and Alis wake one day to discover the well despairingly empty, mysteries, deceit, and corruption are revealed within this humble village, and the life they once knew ripped apart at the seams. Rhydian and Alis navigate the lies they’ve told both themselves and the town in the confronting tale of Thumbtack Moths.

genres include: psychological horror, speculative mystery, surrealist

if you're fond of: allegories about mental health and denial, sibling duos with pets, the not-so-secret-moreso-neglected secrets of a small medieval town, playing with amnesia and personhood, you might like this!

[chapter 1]

⌞Witness Me⌝

❝ What has happened, and what will happen, is not your fault.❞

Cillian O’Cleary has many regrets. The biggest one – also the source of much of his intrigue and activity in this new place – is the series of events that led him to the Euthymia family’s doorstep, to be engaged to their youngest daughter. Through a twisted narrative told by Cillian’s partner and confidant, Faine Havenmeyer, a disturbingly intimate tale of hatred, uncertainty, and fear is unwoven as Cillian attempts to protect himself from the increasingly terrible situations he finds himself in, so far from his true home and real safety.

genres include: gothic horror, psychological thriller, drama

if you're fond of: victorian thematic inspiration, fucked up narrator and protag relationship, use of first and second person, unashamedly dark plotline, the kind of story that made my english teacher ask if i was okay, you might like this!

[chapter 1]

ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇ���

[zozoistireds-blog]

Rwby master post

Modern mythcials of remnant au

Story pieces:

Late night snuggles

A long awaited visit home

A happier time

Happy couples day (pride post)

Bumbleby kid #2

Bumbleby kid #1

A fiery autumn

Afternoon meditation with a little interference

A dad and his daughters thought the years

A normal day out

Character designs:

MMORA Taiyang xiao long

MMORA Yang Xiao Long

MMORA Ruby Rose

The Light Of The Future Au

Charecter desgins:

Weiss schnee

Blake belladonna

Lie ren

Raven branwen

Summer rose

Yang xiao long

Jaune arc

Ruby rose

TLOTFA outfits:

Yang xiao long

Blake belladonna

Ruby rose

Story pieces:

Str vacation

Late night talks

Au's lore deatils:

Dragon ages

Mythical ages part 1

Ruby's hair

TLOTFA Yang Xiao long details

Fanfics:

A wonderful life

The loss of you chapter 1

The loss of you chapter 2

Miscellaneous:

Rwby headcanon #10

Rwby new au poll

Rwby headcanon #9

Rwby oc #3 (iris belladonna-xiao long)

Rwby oc #1: Scarlet Cards (updated)

Rwby headcanon #8

Rwby headcanon #7

Rwby oc #2

Rwby headcanon #6

Rwby x viz media art share celebration

Rwby TLOTFA OUTFIT POLL

Rwby headcanon #5

Rwby headcanon #4

Rwby oc

Rwby headcanon #3

Rwby headcanon #2

Rwby headcanon #1

Rwby redesigns (old)

Strq redesigns (old)

Fanfic prompt + fanfic prompt with more detail

[sysig]

Damned Masterpost

Original run

ZEX wasn’t there for that, Dex!

Getting started

Kissing Strangers 💋

Captain Dating Sim

If I become lost...

It started with a whisper

Perfect comedy routine

Flowers for you!

ZEX loves wild horse!

Dexter’s first visit

Pivotal bright spot

Sunshine Captain ☀️

But ZEX loves humans!

Uniform ♥

Hard learning curve

Big Guy Teisel

VUXisms

ZEX’s hair <3

Haunted by Kayako

Zelnick has two hands

Zelnick’s gone :(

ZEX’s MU (blood)

Them (blood)

Leaving weird impressions

Last man standing

Wake up somewhere better (blood)

Despite everything, he’s still ZEX

New Daay

DAX profile

DAX Expressions

VUX duo Expressions

Lover’s tiff Expressions

Action heroes Expressions (blood)

Roughed up VUX Expressions (blood)

Too busy flirting

The Little VUXmaid ---

What if DAX was there

DAX’s Special Counseling

Homesick

After ZEX’s MU

Hope we die (blood)

Max’s visit

Karaoke Night

The girlies are fightinnggg

Different sensibilities

ZEX’s hair, again

Protect him, please

VUXémon

The three of them

Wander I mean Dr. Doran

More Dr. Doran

“Wake up” configurations

More VUXémon ft. Larry and Kabu

Dismissed ---

First re-meeting ♥

Chill, Sub-Commander

Each other’s VUX

Pyramid Head fight (blood)

Dr. Vargas

VUX silliness

Therapy went great

Nightly squabbles

You must snuggle

Obeying commands

Locked In

Damned, but make it Osmosis Jones

Wants to fight so bad

Some familiar faces

Drix Uniform

Main three’s profiles

Other

Stanley profile speculations

Max wants out

Crystal Gem VUX

All those missing eyes

2024 Sketchdump

[yohohonabottle]

The (mis)adventures of 'Merlin'

Link to the series on Ao3 just in case. Canon-compliant mostly with some deviations. Thanks to @fgfirenation for being my wonderful Beta reader! ☄️ Back to my writing masterpost

The great Magister decided to not take the journey this time 'round, so from the balcony of the Mystical House--The amnesiac cast forth a spell. Called out.

A surge of energy pull, burning like Talene's flames and a star shone brighter than the rest on the sky. An answer. A will-o-the wisp floats down, a spirit of shimmering gold, teal, blood-red and yellowish-orange that swirled like wind. And from that wisp, formed a wyvern with flowing runes of sonorous tongue.

"To what end?"

"See the world anew, find your answers within time present. Gain what you always sought in cycles prior."

"So be it."

-——————————————————----————————————---————————————--

Arc I - The beginning

🖋️ Chapter 0 - Prologue | Posted on 08.01. 2025 🖋️ Chapter 1 - The contract | Posted on 10.01 🖋️ Chapter 2 - The crisis | Posted on 16.01 🖋️ Chapter 3 - Aftermath | Posted on 16.01.25

--------------------------------------------------------------

[dungeon-meshi-tournament]

It's the first group tournament on this blog, the

Best Volume Cover in the Manga Tournament

This is the masterpost for the tournament. I'll pin it and update it with every new round, so you'll be able to find all polls easily.

The rules are as follows: Every volume cover polls against every other volume cover once. You vote for whichever one you like best. The winner of the poll gets 3 points and the loser 0. In the case of a tie, both volume covers get 1 point. The winner is the volume cover with the most polls after 11 rounds.

If you have propaganda, please leave it in the body of the post so I can reblog it! (so long as reblog chains keep existing)

Round 11:

Volume 1 vs Volume 2 (Volume 1 won)

Volume 3 vs Volume 12 (Volume 12 won)

Volume 4 vs Volume 11 (Volume 11 won)

Volume 5 vs Volume 10 (Volume 5 won)

Volume 6 vs Volume 9 (Volume 9 won)

Volume 7 vs Volume 8 (Volume 8 won)

Previous rounds under the cut

Round 10:

Volume 1 vs Volume 3 (Volume 1 won)

Volume 2 vs Volume 4 (Volume 4 won)

Volume 5 vs Volume 12 (Volume 12 won)

Volume 6 vs Volume 11 (Volume 11 won)

Volume 7 vs Volume 10 (Volume 7 won)

Volume 8 vs Volume 9 (Volume 8 won)

Round 9:

Volume 1 vs Volume 4 (Volume 1 won)

Volume 2 vs Volume 6 (Volume 2 won)

Volume 3 vs Volume 5 (Volume 5 won)

Volume 7 vs Volume 12 (Volume 12 won)

Volume 8 vs Volume 11 (Volume 11 won)

Volume 9 vs Volume 10 (Volume 9 won)

Round 8:

Volume 1 vs Volume 5 (Volume 5 won)

Volume 2 vs Volume 8 (Volume 8 won)

Volume 3 vs Volume 7 (Volume 7 won)

Volume 4 vs Volume 6 (Volume 4 won)

Volume 9 vs Volume 12 (Volume 12 won)

Volume 10 vs Volume 11 (Volume 11 won)

Round 7:

Volume 1 vs Volume 6 (Volume 1 won)

Volume 2 vs Volume 10 (Volume 2 won)

Volume 3 vs Volume 9 (Volume 3 won)

Volume 4 vs Volume 8 (Volume 8 won)

Volume 5 vs Volume 7 (Volume 7 won)

Volume 11 vs Volume 12 (Volume 12 won)

Round 6:

Volume 1 vs Volume 7 (Volume 1 won)

Volume 2 vs Volume 12 (Volume 12 won)

Volume 3 vs Volume 11 (Volume 11 won)

Volume 4 vs Volume 10 (Volume 4 won, definitely destroying Volume 10's chances of winning the tournament)

Volume 5 vs Volume 9 (Volume 5 won)

Volume 6 vs Volume 8 (Volume 8 won)

Round 5:

Volume 1 vs Volume 8 (Volume 8 won)

Volume 2 vs Volume 3 (Volume 2 won)

Volume 4 vs Volume 12 (Volume 12 won)

Volume 5 vs Volume 11 (Volume 11 won)

Volume 6 vs Volume 10 (Volume 6 won)

Volume 7 vs Volume 9 (Volume 7 won)

Round 4:

Volume 1 vs Volume 9 (Volume 9 won)

Volume 2 vs Volume 5 (Volume 5 won)

Volume 3 vs Volume 4 (Volume 4 won)

Volume 6 vs Volume 12 (Volume 12 won)

Volume 7 vs Volume 11 (Volume 11 won)

Volume 8 vs Volume 10 (Volume 8 won)

Round 3:

Volume 1 vs Volume 10 (Volume 1 won)

Volume 2 vs Volume 7 (Volume 7 won)

Volume 3 vs Volume 6 (Volume 3 won)

Volume 4 vs Volume 5 (Volume 5 won)

Volume 8 vs Volume 12 (Volume 12 won)

Volume 9 vs Volume 11 (Volume 11 won)

Round 2:

Volume 1 vs Volume 11 (Volume 11 won)

Volume 2 vs Volume 9 (Volume 9 won)

Volume 3 vs Volume 8 (Volume 8 won)

Volume 4 vs Volume 7 (Volume 7 won)

Volume 5 vs Volume 6 (Volume 5 won)

Volume 10 vs Volume 12 (Volume 12 won)

Round 1:

Volume 1 vs Volume 12 (Volume 12 won)

Volume 2 vs Volume 11 (Volume 11 won)

Volume 3 vs Volume 10 (Volume 3 won)

Volume 4 vs Volume 9 (Volume 4 won)

Volume 5 vs Volume 8 (Volume 5 won)

Volume 6 vs Volume 7 (Volume 7 won)

[claire-starsword]

Authentic Story of the Shining Force - Saint Fencer Max - Chapter 6

Translation notes:

I got nothing, this is a very straightforward ending. I did retranslate the game's ending though, if you want to look at it.

[kitsuneisi]

MOTHER SPORE

Part III

With this chapter we close the first volume of Double Hearted ! There's still more of the story to come so thanks for all the patience and support. Once again shout out to maru not only for being an amazing friend but also being the best co-worker to do this project with.

See you soon!

PREV // MASTERPOST // NEXT

[lilybug-02]

Curious monsters

Bug Fact: Entomology, or the study of insects, goes back centuries! During the 1600's, Italian biologist, Marcello Malpighi, was the first to provide significant insights into insect morphology through the new invention of the microscope. 🔬

V2 First || Prev // Next

Volume 2 Masterpost ▴♥︎▴

[shrewdbunny-art]

Jason bullying hours

Honestly I'm not super happy w this one, but fuck it we ball

Also sorry for the long hiatus - had a crazy few months lmao

First // prev // next

Masterpost

Tag list is below + 1st reblog

@desicanary // @thegayseance // @soaring-through-the-stars // @thebat-musicman // @percyyeuss // @pathofglory // @andreaissy // @themiraculousec // @gnomewithalaptop // @viola-cola // @milotic109 // @kamala-msmarvel-khan // @suffer-my-beloved-mutuals // @arcadianico // @your-dead-european-ancestor // @asmodeusmustdiexo // @max-volume // @itsmeevie01 // @leagueofbats // @catostrofiqu // @amillionandonefandoms // @shykitten28 // @atlasaurelius // @ihavenohotcocoa // @kai-antreas // @living-on-borrowed-time // @o-i-have-too // @aroaceass // @silverwolf1249 // @cannimochi // @lesbianbooknerd // @twinningglass // @1n0sss // @craptastico // @lovethewitchofendor // @insomniacweebqueen16 // @fashionstatement-deathwish // @brieftimetravelwhispers // @crabs-brencil // @universal-travel-er // @royal-illusion-loves-his-fandoms // @blankliferain // @p1xel-1mp // @kades-stuff // @theweevilofsweetreef // @fablehaven-rulez // @justahoomanbeing // @frosty--giants // @you-are-valid-and-deserve-love // @slitherynchiken //

@imjustanawkwardfellow

[clockwayswrites]

Birds can sulk too Part 37

masterpost no editing or concrit plese. I am sick. go ow. I know there are mistakes. birb is my who gives a fuck post it series

Bruce spun his chair around to watch Jason and Roy basically limp off Jason’s motorcycle. “Rough mission?”

“Wasn't supposed to be, but sure as fuck was!” Roy said with an amusing level of cheerfulness for how exhausted he obviously was.

“Well, I can offer to make you both roast beef sandwiches from dinner’s leftovers,” Bruce offered as he stood. “There’s even some potato chips in the house right now if you can believe it.”

“Sacrilege,” Jason muttered through a yawn. “Add some apple slices to the plate and you got a deal, old man.”

Bruce let himself smile. “Go clean up and patch up. I’ll have things ready in the kitchen by the time you’re done.”

“Shower! That sounds like a really, really nice idea,” Roy said and started right that way. “Hot water, my beloved, come to me!”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Jason asked as he followed.

Bruce shook his head with an amused little chuckle as he spun back around to let Oracle know that he would be off comms. Luckily it was a slow night, so there’d be no issue with him stepping away even with a more limited set of Bats out on the streets.

He rolled his wrists as he took the elevator up, working out the ache in them. He’d not been kind to his body over the years, and his body liked to let him know it. Simple range of motion exercise while in a car, or elevator, or line helped soothe more than they should. He was grateful for every bit of relief.

As he entered the kitchen, he flicked on Alfred’s radio down on low. The soft jazz filled the room, and Bruce hummed along as he pulled out the ingredients. British mustard for Jason, but yellow for Roy. A bit more mayo for Roy and pickles on Jason’s. Neither would want lettuce, not for this type of sandwich.

Bruce was munching on a slice of apple when the boys came into the kitchen, hair still dripping and dressed in sweats. He poured Jason a glass of milk and set it by his plate.

“Thanks,” Jason said and took a long drink.

“And thanks for looking after Lian,” Roy said around a mouthful of bread and roast beef.

“Always,” Bruce said. “You know that I love having her here.”

“Still, thanks. She is a toddler and I know she’s a lot,” Roy said. “No problems?”

“We had a very exciting afternoon in the garden looking insects. And yes, I made sure she wore a hat and sunscreen. She had a little fuss after we came in, but I think she was just a bit overly tired,” ,” Bruce said. He gave a moment of debate before adding, “I actually would say Danny had the worst day in the house.”

Roy set his sandwich down and sat up, safe apologetic. “Oh, shit, is he not a kid person? Did Lian pull out his feathers or something?”

Jason was frowning, brow all furrowed.

Bruce shoo his head. “By all signs he loves kids. No, he felt that he had to stay away from Lian, out of respect of Jason’s wishes.”

Roy turned slowly to look at Jason, his disapproval clear in the slant of his mouth. “Jason?”

“I didn’t—that wasn’t—” Jason made a noise of frustration. He ran is hand roughly through his hair. “I just didn’t want him alone with Lian.”

“Jason.” Roy said again.

“He’s a stranger! And a dangerous stranger at that! I don’t see what’s so wrong about wanting some supervision,” Jason said.

“You trust him around your siblings,” Roy pointed out.

“My siblings know kung-fu,” Jason argued back.

“Right. And why is Danny dangerous?”

“Because he turned into a giant otherworldly bird,” Jason practically hissed.

Roy crossed his arms. “So, you’re saying he’s dangerous because he’s a meta.”

It was like the words brought Jason to a halt so quickly that he had to rear back. “What?”

“Because of what he can shape shift into, he’s dangerous. That’s what you’re saying,” Roy said. “Wow. I didn’t think I was dating a bigot.”

“I’m not—come on, you know I’m not!” Jason almost shouted before he remembered himself and lowered his volume. “It’s about the fact that he could take on Ivy’s plants in that form! And he took on a whole group of the Mad Hatter’s goons with just his wings out. He’s obviously both skilled and strong—at least when he’s got bird bits. And he’s a genius! Smart, skilled, and strong is a dangerous combination.”

“I think Roy’s very good point,” Bruce said softly, “is that the way you were saying it, that’s not how it sounded. None of us think you have any issues with meta, of course not, but just like Danny is still an unknown to you, you are to him. He doesn’t know that. I think that what Danny heard is that because he’s a meta, you were afraid of him being near Lian.”

The fight left Jason in a rush. “…oh. I…”

“The wings—these changes he’s going through—it scares Danny,” Bruce explained. “And because he’s scared of himself right now, of course he’s going to think you’re scared of him for the same reasons, not because of the fact that he can fight.”

Jason rubbed at his face. “Shit. I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Well, we’re good at that,” Roy said before he leaned over and kissed Jason’s cheek. “But I really do know you’re not a bigot. I wouldn’t actually think that for a second, but I knew it would get your head out of your ass if I called you one.”

“Thanks, I needed the help I guess,” Jason said with a sigh. He glanced over at Bruce. “Do you think Danny will give me the chance to apologize?”

“I think that Danny is the type of person to be far too forgiving,” Bruce said honestly. “And in this case, I think that if you explain things, he’ll even understand.”

[daechwitatamic]

You Think You Might - Chapter 5 || csc

(banner by @itaeewon)

You Think You Might (masterpost)

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 8k

Status: complete; this is the final chapter

Warnings: language, excessive drinking and drunkenness, i did make seungcheol cry just once and i'm not sorry, reader continuing to go thru it, angst, kissing, oral (f. receiving), piv sex, the teeeensiest tiniest bit of barely there ass play do not even LOOK at me i dont know who wrote that, reader says if you demand to be on my island then i am getting OFF the island and we all should have seen it coming

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me

October

When your phone rings at 1:20 in the morning, it feels like a stone sinks through your stomach. Some instinct knows what this is before you even read his name on the screen. Like part of you has been waiting since early summer for him to break, afraid of your own reaction, afraid you’ll do the wrong thing and let him.

“What’s up?” you answer, which strikes you as funny, because it’s the middle of the night and you’re half-asleep. Nothing about this is casual - this isn’t going to be a call about grabbing extra beer for Soonyoung’s house. 

“Come drink with me.”

Four words, and you know everything you need to know. The background noise is deafening - thumping, shattering club music and the cacophony of dozens of conversations being carried at a volume meant to rise above the music. 

The words are also slurred nearly past recognizability. 

He’s fucked up. 

Going to him would be a mistake.

But you want to. You want to. 

You’re already moving towards your closet in the dark.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” you ask sarcastically, even as you reach the lamp on your dresser and switch it on, casting your room in a low yellow light. You pick out a pair of jeans and a sweater - you won’t be staying at the club with him, you don’t need to dress up. You’ll tell security you’re just getting someone home - they’ll let you through.

“Wish I knew,” he says darkly. “Actually, no I don’t. If I did, I’d go there. Promised my mom no more fights.”

He sounds so gone. Your heart wrings itself out like laundry fresh from the wash, water and blood pouring from it. You ache for him, want to pull him close, want to soothe the hurts. You pull the sweater on quickly. 

“Did you argue again?” you ask, mostly to keep him talking while you get ready. You poke around your room for a wayward sneaker.

He laughs, once, no humor in it. “Worst we’ve ever had. She took her shit this time.”

“Seungcheol,” you say, all pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Come drink with me,” he answers, more firmly this time. He sounds a bit more lucid, like answering your questions tethered him back to now. “I hate being alone.”

You tuck in your laces and grab your keys. “I know you do,” you say softly. “Send me your location.”

As expected, you tell the bouncer you’re just here to get your friend out of there and he lets you inside, even asks if you think you’ll need help.

“Nah,” you say easily. “He’ll come with me.”

It takes some effort to move through the crowd until you reach the bar, but Seungcheol is there, an empty glass in front of him, and his chin propped up on his hand, his eyes unfocused.

You slide in the seat next to him - miraculously empty - and order yourself a beer and a water for him. You don’t talk to him until they’ve arrived, until you’ve watched him down a third of the water.

“Why am I here, Seungcheol?” you ask him, finally, quiet. You’re not sure how much of him is present right now, not sure what kind of answer you’ll get.

But he seems to have come back around since he first called you, because his answer is, “Aren’t we supposed to be friends?”

“Is that why you called me? Because you needed a friend?” you ask. It’s a dangerous question; it’s a dare. It’s a challenge, it’s a first expression of this fucked-up limbo the two of you have tried to maintain. It’s a mistake that you can’t stop yourself from making, the inertia carrying you even when you know you should swerve. 

You’re lucky - he’s not too far gone to know exactly what game you’re playing, and to remember he’s not supposed to play. 

“I called you,” he says, dark eyes flashing up to yours, “because I didn’t want to sit here alone. I wanted to be… with someone good. Good to me.”

The words are unsteady, wobbly, but you think they might still be a version of the truth.

There are a lot of things you could say back to that, and they all jump into your mouth at once. But you’re supposed to be staying off the boat, right?

“Drink your water,” you tell him, and something in your tone must tell him not to fuck with you, because he listens. When you’ve both finished - you, your single beer, and him, the entire glass of water - you tell him, “Let’s go home.”

He rises without a fuss, and you lead him by the hand through the noisy throngs of people and out inside the silent, chilly night. His hand in yours is warm, clinging to you so tightly it almost hurts.

You drive him back to his place in near silence. He only speaks to mutter two-word directions at you - turn left and next exit and this one.

You take his keys from his hand and lead him across the parking lot to his building’s door, realizing halfway there that he’s stopped following you. You turn, finding him standing in the middle of the parking lot, unmoving.

Hesitantly, you make your way back toward him. 

“Cheol?” you venture, and when he turns to you, his face is twisted, a storm in his eyes. 

His voice doesn’t even sound like him - choked and raspy and loud - when he asks you, “Why does she do this to me?” He swipes a closed fist across his eyes, the picture of misery.

You close the space between you and gather him in your arms; drunk and broken, he lets you. You hold him steady as he cries into your shoulder, his own hands coming to clutch desperately at your back, like you’re the only thing holding him down in the face of a hurricane.

You hold him as long as he needs, the two of you alone in the middle of the pavement, the night expanding silent and blue around you. 

When he gives a final shaky exhale and loosens his hold on your back, you let him step away, your hands falling to your sides. You watch his face carefully as he roughly scrubs at his cheeks with the heels of his hands. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed. 

You shake your head, don’t be, but don’t speak. You don’t know the right thing to say; you don’t know if he’s in the right place to hear you.

You’ve never been to his place before, so he leads you inside, taking an unnaturally long time to get his key in the lock. You don’t offer to help, knowing he doesn’t need you to baby him right now, doesn’t need you to make him feel like he can’t do it.

Inside, he clicks on the lights and stumbles through a dark doorway that you assume must lead to his bedroom. You look around for a second - it’s neater than you expected, but looks lived in. There’s a hoodie thrown over the back of a kitchen chair, and a lone mug in the kitchen sink waiting to be washed. You open a few cabinets until you find glasses, and you fill one with water. Then you follow the sounds of thumps through his still-dark bedroom and into the brightly lit en-suite.

Seungcheol looks at you like he’s not sure where you came from, the toothbrush stilling in his mouth.

“Water,” you explain, needlessly, and he nods, still looking a bit baffled. 

You wait in his bedroom until he flicks off the bathroom light and stumbles out and straight into his bed. You set the water down on his bedside table and back away.

“You good?” you ask. You mean, mostly, are you going to throw up in your sleep, or can I leave? 

He pulls the blankets over his head, then pushes one eye out and looks at your blearily.

“There are three of you,” he says seriously, his low voice muffled by the thick blankets.

“All three of us will be on the couch if you need… help, or anything,” you deadpan.

He’s too drunk to appreciate the joke. That one visible eyeball just stares at you, and then he mutters, “Is it fucked up that I missed you?”

You huff a tiny laugh.

“Goodnight, Seungcheol,” you say, instead of answering. “Yell if you need me.”

He only hums, not really an answer, but you’ll take it. You close his bedroom door behind you and survey his living room. You turn on a low lamp and then cross the room to turn off the brighter overhead lights. You get comfortable, scrunching up the throw pillow under your head and pulling a blanket from the back of the couch. 

You thought you’d have trouble sleeping here, alone in a place you’ve never been, but the blanket smells like him, and you feel safe knowing he’s on the other side of the door, and it doesn’t take long at all before you’re drifting off.

You’re woken up mid-morning by a body draping itself heavily over your side, then sliding behind you to slip between you and the back of the couch. His arm rests on top of you, his hand on your shoulder.

You giggle before you even open your eyes. “Hello?” you ask, trying to peer over your shoulder, but Seungcheol holds your shoulder tight, stopping the motion.

“You can’t look at me,” he says seriously, his voice sleepy and soft. “I’m too ashamed.”

You laugh again.

“I am seriously so sorry,” he says, still hiding behind you. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you relax against him, smiling despite yourself. The room is lit up brightly from the morning sun, the lamp you had on last night now turned off. “For calling you… for making you come out in the middle of the night… for everything I said… for…”

For breaking down. You hear it even though he doesn’t say it.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you tell him quietly, reaching up to rest your hand on top of his where it rests on your shoulder. “If I didn’t want to come out, I wouldn’t have. And you don’t need to apologize for… feeling how you feel, or for letting me be there for you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“This is very embarrassing for me,” he mumbles against your head.

You roll over so you can face him, and he lets you. You look up at him, trying to reconcile the sheepish man in front of you to the broken one you saw last night. It occurs to you, as you lay chest to chest with him on the couch, that this is the closest you’ve been since you slept together in July.

You hate how right it feels - no awkwardness, no uncertainty.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” you whisper.

His mouth twists like he doesn’t quite see it the same way. “Thanks for getting me home,” he says, instead of arguing or agreeing. “At… two in the morning.”

You shrug one shoulder, very aware of how dangerously close to cuddling you are, as he places his arm over your back, his hand resting near your shoulder blades. “It makes me happy that you felt comfortable calling me when you needed someone,” you tell him. “I’m glad I could be there for you.” It might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him.

It had - it had made you happy to take care of him the way he’d taken care of you at that resort. It made you happy to be the one that he let in, who got to see him when he wasn’t put together.

It might be complicated, but it’s still true. You’re happy to be here.

You lay there - yes, cuddling, technically - for a little bit, and then you look at him again. His gaze is warm this morning, full of affection and gratitude.

“Hey…” you say, unsure if this is the right move, “I know you asked me to, like, stay out of it. And I’ve been trying to. But… can I ask you something?”

He sighs a little, pressing his hands to his eyes for a moment before looking at you again. The movement cracks the cuddle, and you push yourself up to sitting. He does the same, so that you’re side to side and upright again. 

“Yeah,” he relents. “I guess you have the right, after last night.���

“Why stay?” you ask him earnestly. “Why keep trying, when all of us - including both of you - know how it’s going to go?”

“Because,” he says darkly, averting his eyes.

“Because isn’t a reason,” you point out.

He huffs, frustrated, but you wait him out. “I just… want to prove that… it could work. That I’m not… so fucked up that it can’t.”

You put a hand on his knee, and his eyes flick to yours.

“I can solve that one for you: you’re not. And it sucks that she made you feel like you are.”

“It’s not all her fault,” he mumbles.

“No,” you agree. “It really isn’t. But, Seungcheol, if a couple works, it’s not about their worthiness, it’s not the universe deciding they’re good enough. It’s about the two people involved, and their willingness to put pride aside and try - to communicate, and make sacrifices, and fight for it. And I know you’re capable of all that - because when you were pretending, you were perfect. More than perfect.”

His face softens, those flickers of anger and defensiveness falling away. You sit in silence, looking at each other, the air between you charged and full of tension so thick you could sink your fingers into it like a ball of dough.

The ugliest part of you, hidden way down deep, rises up and whispers, choose me. 

You hate this selfish voice, hate yourself for wanting this even after everything, but you can’t silence the part of you that’s pleading for him to realize he’s been chasing his tail in circles, to realize that he has an option in front of him that could be great if he gave it a chance.

You force yourself up, breaking the spell, going silently to find your keys and your shoes. 

Still, even as he watches you go, the want claws up your stomach, through your limbs, into your fingertips. 

You pause in the entryway, looking back at him. For a long moment, his eyes stay locked on yours, pinning you to the spot.

You clench your jaw to shove down the words, but they flow through your gaze straight to his anyway.

Choose me. Choose me. Please, choose me. 

From the way he sits still on the couch, you think he must hear your plea. You think he must be considering. You finally break eye contact, giving him a tight nod and turning away. Then you close the door behind you, leaving him alone with the choice.

The next weekend at Soonyoung and Chan’s, Seungcheol isn’t present.

The realization goes through you like ice, your heart skipping and galloping with all the implications of it.

“Ah, yeah,” your brother says, when you ask. “He and Jieun went away for the weekend. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

You turn away as casually as you can, trying to school your features. The news hits you like a punch.

He and Jieun. He picked her. 

He picked her, and took her away for a romantic trip to solidify it. It makes you nauseous. You’d been trying to accept this truth - that she would always win - and yet somehow you’re still surprised. 

Stupid. Stupid.

Fine, you think, taking a slow breath in to calm your systems. It’s fine. You wanted him to choose, and he did. Now you know for sure. Now it can be over.

And it has to be - over. You can’t do this again. You can’t open up and let him in just to watch him slip back to her again. Not again.

It sucks, but you don’t feel like you can talk to Soonyoung about this. Not because he wouldn’t hear you, or support you. But at the end of the day, Seungcheol has been his friend for a long time - you don’t want to put him in the middle, or in an uncomfortable spot. 

You sit on it for a few days, and then you crack and do something you’ve never done in your whole life.

You call your sister. Just to talk.

“Hey!” she greets you brightly, like she’s pleasantly surprised to hear from you. Which is fair. “What’s going on?”

“Not a lot,” you lie. “How about you?”

“Same ‘ol, same ‘ol,” she sighs, not unhappily. “Jeongwoo is on a work trip until tomorrow night, so I’m sitting here having a sleepover night by myself - painting my nails, binging some Real Housewives, and drinking wine.”

“Sounds amazing,” you say.

“Feel free to join me,” she says, and you hear the smile in her voice. You wonder if you could ever get there - to the point where you’d even consider that offer from her, to the point where you’d want to go hang out with her.

The idea of it sounds kind of nice.

“Maybe next time,” you say, and you almost mean it.

“What’s going on with you?” she asks.

“Seungcheol called me drunk from the bar at one in the morning on Saturday,” you blurt. It bursts from you, unbidden, though you know that unburdening yourself of this was the whole reason you called.

“Oh my god, what?” she breathes. “Did you answer?”

You laugh. “You don’t even know what a silly question that is,” you say, and it doesn’t occur to you that you’re just saying ‘you don’t know me at all’, but you are. “Not only did I answer, I went to pick him up and drive him home, and then I slept on his couch to make sure he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.”

Nayoung swears. “You two are messy messy,” she says, and you laugh, because - yeah. “Where’s his girlfriend?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah, that’s an important detail. They had a fight and she turned off her location, which is why he went off the rails at the bar in the first place.”

“Okay,” Nayoung says, and you can almost picture her holding up a hand to stop you. “Back up and start at the beginning. Tell me everything.” 

You do, starting with his phone call that night, ending with his absence at Soonyoung’s last Friday, the indication that he’d taken Jieun on a romantic weekend away, that he’d heard what you’d said and made his choice definitively.

“Oh,” she says as soon as you’re done, the word rushing from her, “he wants you so bad.”

“What?” This is not the reaction you’d expected. This is also the opposite of how you see the situation.

“He got sad and called you,” she points out. “He needed comfort and he turned to you. To me, that says a lot.”

You hum. “I don’t know. He called me because he was drunk and the girl he wanted had him blocked.”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “I think some part of him knew you were a safe place to turn to.”

Someone good to me. 

You let out your breath, frustrated. “What does that do for me?” you demand. “He chose her!”

“I don’t know,” she says. “He’s gotta figure it out sooner or later, that you’re what he wants - right?”

“You’d think,” you mutter sarcastically.

“He’ll be back,” she says, sounding sure. “He’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t think I care, though,” you say. “Even if he did… he’s picked her over me too many times. I don’t want to be his second choice, I don’t want to always wonder if he’d rather be with her.”

“Well,” she says, “I know I haven’t been married that long, but my advice as someone with a very solid relationship - if I do say so myself - is to just ask him how he feels about it… and trust what he tells you.”

You don’t respond, your lips pressed tight together. Because you don’t - can’t - trust him to mean it when he says he’s done with her. He’s switched up on you too many times. He could tell you day in and day out that it’s you, but you will always feel Jieun’s shadow hovering behind you. There’s no way around it.

You think you might hate her, and that makes you sad, too - because it’s not even her fault.

It’s pouring on the night that Seungcheol shows up at your door - the kind of rain that comes down only sideways, soaking your feet, hair, and even through your jeans in some spots in the short time it takes you to dash from your car to the building’s front door.

You’re still wiping water from your face, shaking it from your sleeves, trying to tame your damp hair when you round the corner to your hall and spot him outside your door.

Your stomach sinks immediately, instinct and past experience telling you that he and Jieun fought again, that the merry-go-round has brought him to the come to you for comfort phase of the cycle once again. 

You’re tired - tired of fighting how you feel for him, tired of feeling guilty for wanting someone that’s not yours, tired of feeling pathetic for wanting someone who doesn’t want you, tired of picking him up every time he comes crawling to you low and angry. 

But you approach him anyway - what else can you do? It’s your apartment.

When he turns to face you, you’re so surprised that you actually falter in your steps, tripping over nothing and having to right yourself.

He looks happy - he looks good, and somehow himself in a way you haven’t seen since Nayoung’s wedding over the summer. There’s no storm behind his eyes, no crease in his brow, no heavy weight to the corners of his mouth, no tightness to his jaw or heaviness on his shoulders.

“Hi?” you venture.

His smile crawls across his face, dimples deepening by tiny degrees at a time. It takes your breath away - you hadn’t realized it, but you haven’t seen him happy like this in so long. He’s beautiful. You miss this version of him. 

“Hey,” he says, dimples deepening. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” you say, digging out your keys. “Is everything okay?”

“Very,” he says, emphatically but cryptically. 

You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms.

He laughs, like you’re being cute. It makes you scowl, but it also makes your stomach flutter. “Can we talk inside? This isn’t really a… hallway conversation.”

You give him a wary look and move past him to unlock the door. He follows you inside and hovers behind you as you flick on lights and set down your things. You’re still water-logged from the rain, and you cross into your bedroom to change into something dry. Seungcheol hangs back in your living room, patiently waiting for you to emerge.

“Okay,” you say, “what’s up?”

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. Something crosses his face - uncertainty, maybe. He steps closer, hands reaching for your elbows. You let him draw you closer, into the circle of his warmth, his smell, his solidity. You look up at him, a question in your eyes.

“I have to just say it,” he says, almost to himself, almost like a reprimand. Like he’s giving himself a pep talk. “I want to try with you. I want to do it for real.”

You stare at him, eyes wide. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this. 

“Seungcheol, what?” You’re almost convinced that you heard him wrong, or that you’re misunderstanding what he’s saying. Your brain whirs as it tries to process, to find the slip-up.

He shifts closer, your bodies almost touching, and you tip your head up to keep his face in your line of sight. 

His voice lowers, softens, turns into something private and pleading. “I know we could be good together. Give me a chance to prove it. I didn’t think I could do it, before. But.. I can. I will.”

Somehow his hands have gone from your elbows to your upper arms, your bodies inching closer and closer like drifting continents, coming closer so slowly it’s impossible to see the movement.

You manage to speak, your words stumbling over each other. “But - Jieun?”

He shakes his head. “Gone,” he says firmly. Your stomach swoops, but the feeling of elation is chased immediately by a dark wave of doubt. “For good. I’m not doing that shit anymore. I’m not…” he trails off, thinking, then calls back a conversation you’d had months ago, on a sandy beach hundreds of miles away - “…accepting an ending that’s less than what I want.”

“I don’t understand,” you breathe. 

“I want to really try with someone who will actually try with me. I like you. So, please. Let’s try.”

Your heart races so fast that you feel a little dizzy as you consider his offer. You’re afraid of him hurting you again, changing his mind again. You’re afraid of accepting him and then letting him down, making him regret it all. You’re afraid of him becoming just another person who gets tired of you and walks away. 

But your feelings for him haven’t dissipated at all over these months, no matter how firmly you’ve tried to store them away. You want to feel close to him again. Very little in your life has felt as safe as being close to Seungcheol feels. 

You want to feel good again, too.

Your bodies are touching now, his arms fully around you, your faces so close you could kiss him without reaching. 

“Give me a chance,” he murmurs, his eyes tracing your face.

“I’ll give you a night,” you breathe, nearly against his lips. “We can go from there.”

His arms close around you instantly, his mouth finding yours - this was all the permission he needed. You melt into him, hands sliding up his back, already beneath the hem of his shirt, seeking skin, seeking warmth, seeking him. 

The way he clings to you as he kisses you makes you wonder if he’s been missing this, too - if you aren’t the only one whose single dose failed as a cure, only left you wanting.

You peel his shirt over his head slowly, reveling in every line and ridge of muscle as they are exposed one by one. You feel possessive of him, suddenly, want to carve your name across his ribs, want to make sure no one forgets that you were here, that at least for this moment he was only yours.

He does the same, making quick work of the hoodie that you’d just pulled on, tossing it towards the couch. He smirks a little when he spots the lacy edges of your bra - thank god, thank god you’d picked a cute one today - and remarks, “Pretty,” before pinching the clasp open with one hand and discarding it in the same direction that your hoodie and tshirt had just gone.

He kisses you again, hot and deep and seeking, as his hands find and knead your breasts firmly, something possessive in his touch - like, once again, you match. Your knees go a little weak and you lean into him, a wanting sound slipping up your throat and disappearing into his open mouth. 

His thumbs brush your nipples once and the sound turns into a whine. He breaks the kiss long enough to tease, “What? Not enough?”

Never enough, you think. You’ll always want more of him.

“Feels nice,” you tell him, in a whisper.

You kiss him again as your hands fumble with his belt buckle. His jeans drop to the floor and he steps out of them, his eyes closing on an audible sigh when you palm him over the black briefs he’s wearing. He’s hot under your hand, a small patch already damp beneath your palm.

“Get rid of those,” he instructs as he steps away from you, pulling at his own socks. He nods at your lower half as clarification and you pull off your leggings, leaving only the matching bottoms to your bra. You hook your thumbs under the edge of the lace, but he reaches out to stop you.

“Leave that,” he says, his eyes shining and devilish. 

He lays you back across the couch and settles between your thighs, all mischief and anticipation, and then he licks a warm stripe up the center of the lace. You reach over your head and clutch at the arm of the couch, trying desperately to keep it together as he hooks a thumb under the lace and pulls them gently to the side, exposing you to the cool air of the room and his own hungry gaze. You moan loud, eyes squeezing shut, as he dives back in.

He slides two fingers into your heat and your back arches as his name slips between your lips. He returns his tongue to you as his fingers open you bit by bit, whimpers and gasps replacing the silence in the room. He grunts when you lose control and buck once, then uses his free hand to splay his fingers across your lower belly to hold you still.

The snap happens before you expect it, almost without warning. The heat blossoms from your stomach down to your toes, and you chant his name as the waves roll through you, demanding your attention. 

“Shit,” he growls, fingers still moving, his mouth an inch away from your pulsing center. “Fuck, I feel you, baby.”

When you finally unclench, the room spinning around you as you gasp for breath, he slips his fingers from you and crawls up your body, his mouth seeking yours. You barely register that you can taste yourself on him; all you can process is the need to cling to him as you come back to earth, the need to know he’s surrounding you, solidly between you and the rest of reality.

“Please,” you hear yourself say, though you didn’t make the decision to beg. He obliges, doesn’t tease you for it, just lines himself up and slides into you in one slow, unfaltering motion. 

Your hips tilt on their own, taking him just slightly deeper; you gasp against his mouth, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to hold on, trying to hold him still, trying to climb inside him. 

He presses his forehead to yours, both of you panting, his arms caging you in as he fucks in and out of you slowly, letting you adjust to the stretch. It’s a lot, but it’s so good, and it isn’t long before you’re moving with him, meeting each thrust, your legs tangled behind his waist to pull him in closer.

You let go of his shoulders and cup his face with both hands, pulling his mouth back to yours tenderly. 

You think you might be halfway in love with him. That’s been your whole problem all along.

“Touch yourself for me,” he murmurs, lips on your jaw.

You pull back and slip two fingers into your mouth, eyes on his as you wet them. You smirk when his face twists, his stroke faltering for just a second, and then bring your fingers between your legs.

“How are you real?” he groans, his pace quickening. You feel yourself shake slightly each time he pushes back into you. 

When he stops, pressed so deep inside you that it steals your breath, you look up at him inquisitively. Sweat beads on his forehead, and he reaches up to push his hair back from his face.

He doesn’t answer your unvoiced question, just slides out of you and stands, reaching for your hands to pull you up after him. He kisses you messily, hungrily, pulling you tight against his body. His cock is trapped between your bodies, hot and slippery against your lower stomach. He ignores this, holding you desperately, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll get ripped away. A detached part of your brain wonders what fear is behind the tightness of his grip.

Then he’s moving with renewed energy, turning you by your shoulders and pressing between them, leaning you over the arm of the couch, one hand sliding down your spine and resting on the small of your back. You cry out wordlessly when he slides into you again, the new position bringing him deeper than before, stars sparking before your eyes. 

He grips your hips tightly, using the leverage to pound into you with a force he hadn’t earlier, or back in July. All you can do is take it, eyes screwed shut, wailing wordlessly and trying to press your face into your arms to muffle the noise. 

“Too much?” he manages to ask you, the words slipped between breaths, his voice tight with effort.

You can’t form an answer, can’t make your mouth shape no, it’s perfect, so you shake your head wildly. You think you might die if he stops.

Seungcheol slows anyway, soothing a hand down your back again, giving you a chance to relax your muscles and take a deep breath. He sets a steady pace, far less brutal than a moment ago, and you reach back to run a hand up the back of his thigh, just wanting to touch him. He reaches down with one hand and tangles his fingers with yours, giving a single reassuring squeeze before dropping them again.

Your thighs are shaking constantly now, and your voice comes out thin when you try to warn him you’re close.

“Yeah?” he croons, and then you feel the gentle pressure of his thumb ghost over your rim before circling it more firmly. 

You lose it entirely; you think you scream. Everything goes white and then staticky. You’re dimly aware of Seungcheol growling your name, pulling out, splattering your ass with strings of hot cum.

You cooperate when he maneuvers you back onto the couch, laying on his back and pulling you onto his front, your hearts both beating wildly against one another, like they’re both trying to break through your ribs and reach the other. 

“Shit,” you whisper, when you feel like you’re in your body again. He chuckles warmly beneath you, reaching up to run a hand down your arm affectionately. 

“You good?” he asks, voice gravelly. 

“Mhm,” you manage, though you’re already starting to feel soreness everywhere - in your hips, between your legs, even in your lower belly. “You wanna shower?”

“Definitely,” he says, and helps you up, follows you into the bathroom. Soaps you up gently, kisses your head while you rinse. It’s frighteningly tender, and you find yourself struggling to look directly at him.

Something inside you feels like you should run.

When you’re dry, he asks you tentatively, “Should I go home?”

Probably, you think. Before I get in even deeper. 

But you’re already in so deep. You haven’t slept next to him in months. You crave it just as much as what you’ve just done. So you tell him, “I don’t mind if you stay. If you want to.”

In the dark, you lie facing each other, your head resting on his mountain of a bicep. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers.

That I’m not going to be enough to make you stay, you think.

“That I’m going to need to soak in a hot bath tomorrow,” you lie.

You wake up between his arms, your room bright with early morning sun. You let yourself revel in it for only a moment, and then you slip out of the bed as quietly as you can. Silently, you start dressing. 

You’re hunting for your shoes when he wakes, squinting at you adorably, a pout on his face.

“Come back,” he whines, and you almost cave. You don’t answer, and this seems to be what alerts him that something is wrong. He’s fully awake, quickly, his eyes sharp on you as he throws off your blanket and stands.

You step back as he comes closer, and you hate that you recognize a flash of hurt crossing his face.

“I need to go,” you say quietly, and you can hear the cornered-animal fear in your voice, hate that it’s evident.

“Why?” he asks, his voice just as raw as it had been the night he’d cried over her, less than a month ago.

You shake your head, the words in your head scrambled and unfocused. 

“Talk to me,” he begs, trying to step closer again. You let him, this time. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you manage, but your voice is choked, and the second you hear it the dam inside you cracks. You blink away tears and step back from him again as he tries to reach for you. “I just can’t do this. I can’t let you in and then watch you leave for her again.”

His brows scrunch with confusion. “Leave for - who? Jieun? That’s not -”

“You just ended things with her,” you point out, interrupting. “You were away with her on a romantic little trip last fucking weekend. You’re not over her, and every time you think you are you just go running right back and I can’t be the collateral damage even one more time, Seungcheol - please, I think it’ll kill me to lose you to her again.”

“I went away with her last weekend to tell her goodbye,” he says, voice hushed, like he doesn’t want to spook you. “She and I talked for a long time about… us. We agreed - we put that part of our lives away for good.”

You shake your head again, letting this speak for you, because you feel like it would be cruel to say I don’t believe you… even if it’s true.

He steps closer again, finally within reach. He places one hand on your arm, gingerly, like he wants to root you to the spot but knows to tread lightly. “It’s not you or her,” he tells you earnestly. “It never was.”

A scoff escapes you without permission.

“Please listen to me,” he says again. It occurs to you that he could be angry, could be flying to the defensive, could be turning this into a fight. Instead, he’s being gentle - hearing what you’re telling him and talking about it. A tiny part of you is proud, knows this takes effort on his part, knows he’s had to unlearn how he once would have reacted.

“I’m listening,” you whisper. It’s all you can give him right now.

“She and I haven’t really loved each other in… a long time. That’s one of the things we talked about last weekend. We were both just… trying to keep a dead thing alive, because that hurt less than admitting it wasn’t going to wake up. I’m not going to suddenly realize I miss her, or that being with her was better. There’s a zero percent chance of that - less than zero.”

“Less than zero percent can’t exist,” you croak, just to be contrary.

“Well it does in this case,” he shoots back, lips starting to pout a little. “I’m not saying you and I will be magically perfect, but I can promise that if we don’t work for some reason, she will not be the cause.”

You want to believe him - you ache to believe him. 

You wipe under your eyes, trying to get yourself put together. Seungcheol watches your face carefully.

Then he says, very quietly, “We work. You know we do.”

“We worked when it was pretend,” you rebut. 

He says your name, a demand hidden in it - a demand to listen, to hear him. 

“You’re what I need,” he says firmly. “I need someone who won’t rise to the bait if I slip and fuck up and say something stupid. I need someone who wants me to be happy, not just someone who wants me to make them happy. And I want so many things for you - I want to make life easier for you, I want you to feel loved and valued, I want to do all of that for you. I want to do shit for you that I never did before, like double text and call first and apologize even when I don’t think I’m wrong.”

He’s teasing a little by the end, and you laugh through your tears despite yourself. 

“Seungcheol, I don’t know,” you tell him. “How can you be sure?”

He takes your hands, grips your fingers tight. “I want to do this right with you,” he says plainly. “I want you, and I want to really try. The way I feel about you… it makes me want to believe in happily ever after and all that other shit. Being with you makes me feel like maybe it’s not totally impossible.”

As gently as you can, you pull your hands away. “I don’t know,” you repeat hollowly. “I… I need some time to think about it.”

You step away and he lets you, his hands falling uselessly to his sides. 

“It’s not no,” you tell him, the only comfort you can offer him, nothing more. “I just… please, I need to think.”

You leave him in your apartment, don’t even wait to let him out. With shaking hands, you unlock your car and get in, scarcely breathing until the apartment building has disappeared from view.

Then, you drive to your sister’s house.

–

Her husband answers the door, the first time you’ve seen him since the wedding. He looks surprised - understandable, because you’ve never been there before, never ever just showed up, and also it’s probably very clear that you’ve been crying.

He greets you by name, but the shock in his voice makes you feel so guilty that you whisper, “I can come back another time, I can give her a call first -”

“No,” he cuts you off. There’s something you can’t name in his tone. “I’m - I think she’ll be really glad you came. Please come in.”

It isn’t a formal please, come in, that you’d give to someone as a pleasantry. He means, please, come inside and talk to your sister, please, come in so she can see that you came here for her. 

You hear it loud and clear. You wonder if Nayoung has felt as rejected by you as you’ve felt by her, over the years. 

Nayoung rises when she sees you enter the room, her face flashing from surprised to concerned.

“What happened?” she asks, as she rounds the corner of her couch, already coming to hug you.

And you let her. You open your arms and step into her embrace, because despite the way you’d grown up, she’s here now and she’s trying and you think you might like having her in your life.

“I slept with Seungcheol last night,” you tell her miserably.

Behind you, Jeongwoo says uncomfortably, “Um, I’m going to run to the store. I’ll get ice cream.”

Nayoung lifts her head to make eye contact with him over your shoulder and he adds, “And wine.”

On your sister’s couch, you tell her everything - almost everything. The way Seungcheol had disappeared, how you’d assumed he was choosing Jieun for good. How he’d shown up, had asked you to try, had laid his heart out for you.

How you’d run.

It makes you cry all over again. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit through your tears. “I know what I want to do. But there’s so many what if’s…”

“There always are,” she says seriously. “There are no guarantees with love. The question is, do you believe that he’ll really try - that he means what he’s telling you? Or do you think it’s just lines to get you to say yes?”

“Of course I believe he means it,” you say, almost surprised. But Nayoung doesn’t know Seungcheol like you do, doesn’t know how genuine his heart is. “I’m just scared he’ll… change his mind later, or something.”

“No one can promise you forever,” she points out, a little sadly.

“How can you say that?” you ask her. “You’re married. You took a vow in front of the whole family to love each other forever.”

“Sure,” she agrees. “But what I mean is that when you’re with someone… every day is a choice. You’re choosing them over the rest of the world every day that you wake up. The vow Jeongwoo and I took was to keep choosing each other, even if there are days that it’s hard.”

You drop your gaze and run your hands over the cushion of her couch absently. 

“If you’re asking me what I think you should do,” she says, “then I think you should let him try. I’m not telling you to marry him tomorrow. What could it hurt to try dating?”

“My heart,” you answer pitifully.

She reaches for your knee and gives you a playful shake. “But would that really be worse than walking away and wondering if you missed out on something real? Wouldn’t it drive you crazy not to know?”

You think about this question for the rest of the night, even after you’ve gone home again. 

When you let yourself into the apartment, you hold your breath. You know it’s ridiculous, but part of you wonders if Seungcheol will be waiting for you, waiting to make you talk about it.

The door swings open. The apartment is dark, and silent.

You think about calling him, or at least texting him - but what would you say? You’re still not sure what you want. 

Soonyoung texts you the next night - come over for pizza and movie??? pls pls??

You text back, idk. who’s coming over?

He understands the real question, sends back, he’s already here. please come anyway, noona :( chan misses you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, your phone in your hands, and hang your head, wracked with indecision.

You do know what you want. You’d said as much to Nayoung yesterday. But just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

Your sheets still smell like Seungcheol. You want to bury yourself in them, breathe him in. You think just his smell is enough to make your head clear, your pulse calm, your pain ease.

It is this that tips you into making a choice. 

This was never about deciding if you want him. It’s been about deciding if you can trust him to take care of you.

With a sigh, you swipe back to the conversation and tell him, i’ll head over in a bit. 

The scene at Soonyoung and Chan’s is as familiar as your own home. The television screen flashes with whatever game Wonwoo and Vernon are playing, the blue LED lights lining the ceiling’s edges. Your brother’s and Chan’s voices float from the kitchen, bickering. And Seungcheol sits in his usual chair, his dark eyes on you, still and serious.

You freeze in the doorway, caught in his heavy, unwavering gaze. 

The moment stretches. He’s asking you a question without speaking, without moving, and you know that whatever you do next is an answer - definitively yes, or definitively no. 

It’s like the whole world stills around you, waiting to see… what will it be? If you shake your head or turn away, you know it means losing your chance with Seungcheol forever. He gave you grace and time to process but if you turn him down now, he won’t be crawling back.

And maybe that’s the safe option - maybe that’s the option that keeps your heart nice and swaddled, alone on your island.

But you’re trying not to be like that anymore. You’re trying to let people in. You’re trying to give others a chance.

He deserves a chance - and so do you.

You take a bracing breath and cross the room. As soon as he can tell you’re heading for him, a smile lights up his face, and his hands are ready for you, reaching to help you balance as you climb up and side sideways across his lap, your arms looping around his neck.

You hear one of the controllers hit the floor - either Wonwoo or Vernon has dropped it in shock - and then the whole room explodes into protest as you lean in and press your mouth to Seungcheol’s, as his arms wind around your back and pull you in closer.

You hear your brother shout, “Not in my living room!” and Chan’s horrified, “That is my sister!”

You tune them all out; you don’t even care. You want him to know you mean it, that you aren’t scared, that you’re in this as much as he is - for as long as he is.

He’s smiling against your lips and it’s infectious - you’re fighting your smile too, so filled with happiness and hope that you can barely hold it in. 

You break away, beaming at each other.

“All right, all right,” Seungcheol says, flapping a hand at your brother, unphased. “Calm your ass down, we’re done.”

“We’re not done,” you murmur to him, and he laughs, loud. The sound lights you up.

“Okay, we’re not done, but we’ll leave,” he concedes. You stand unsteadily, still laughing, and he leads you by the hand towards the door. You wave an unapologetic and cheerful goodbye over your shoulder and let him pull you into the hallway. 

His hand fits yours, secure and sure, large and warm, as he pulls into a future where you don’t have to be alone to be happy. His hand squeezes yours to punctuate his smile, dimples popping, promising you a wild kind of love - with time. With him.

You think you might want your hand in his forever.

<- Prev

ahhhhhhhhhhhh it's overrrrr!!!! :(

thank you so much for joining me for this series and i hope i'll see you at my next!!

[tytarax]

First time you meet the Hashiras

How each Hashira reacts to meeting you for the first time.

Giyuu stood silently at the edge of the clearing, his sharp eyes observing your every move. As you approached, you felt his intense gaze pierce through you. He didn't speak immediately, letting the silence hang between you. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured. "Welcome. I've heard about your skills," he said, offering a brief nod of respect. You could sense a quiet approval in his demeanor, making you feel more relaxed.

Shinobu greeted you with a warm, welcoming smile as you entered the Butterfly Estate. She floated gracefully across the room, her presence calming and soothing. "Hello there," she said, her voice light and melodic. "I've been looking forward to meeting you." Her teasing nature quickly emerged as she gently poked fun at your nervousness, making you laugh and easing the tension. "Don't worry," she said, winking. "We'll make a great team."

Kyojuro's booming voice filled the air as he approached you with a wide grin. "Ah, so you're the one everyone's been talking about!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm contagious. He clasped your hand in a firm handshake, his eyes shining with excitement. "I'm Kyojuro Rengoku, and it's an honor to meet you!" His genuine warmth and energy immediately put you at ease, and you found yourself smiling along with him.

Mitsuri rushed over to you, her face lighting up with joy. "Oh my goodness, you must be the new recruit!" she exclaimed, enveloping you in a warm hug. "I'm Mitsuri Kanroji, and I'm so happy to meet you!" Her bubbly personality and genuine kindness made you feel instantly welcomed. She chatted animatedly about her experiences, making sure you felt included and cared for.

Muichiro seemed lost in thought when you first saw him, his gaze distant and unfocused. But as you introduced yourself, his eyes sharpened, and he regarded you with quiet curiosity. "Oh, so you're the new one," he said, his voice soft but clear. He didn't say much more, but his presence was calming, and you felt a sense of acceptance from him.

Sanemi's initial reaction was one of suspicion, his eyes narrowing as he sized you up. "Who are you supposed to be?" he demanded, his tone rough. However, as you stood your ground and explained your purpose, his expression softened ever so slightly. "Hmph. Just don't get in my way," he muttered, but you could sense a begrudging respect in his voice.

Gyomei's towering presence was intimidating at first, but his gentle demeanor quickly put you at ease. "Welcome," he said, his deep voice soothing. "May the gods bless your path." He offered a prayer for your safety, his calm and serene nature making you feel protected and valued. His kindness and wisdom shone through, making you feel at peace.

Tengen made a grand entrance, his flamboyant style immediately catching your attention. "Ah, the new recruit! Welcome to the team!" he declared, striking a dramatic pose. "I'm Tengen Uzui, and I expect nothing less than flamboyance from you!" His larger-than-life personality was overwhelming at first, but his genuine excitement and charm quickly won you over.

Obanai watched you from the shadows, his eyes cautious and wary. As you approached, he stepped forward, his presence both protective and intimidating. "So, you're the one," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't say much, but his actions spoke volumes. He kept a watchful eye on you, his protective nature making you feel safe and valued.

Masterpost

KNY Masterlist

[nanenna]

This Phone Call Could've Been the Start to a Beautiful Partnership

Sleepy King AU Masterpost

-----

Clark couldn’t help fussing over the sleepy boy as Danny zombie shambled into the kitchenette. Between the dimmed lights and the scents of various teas brewing the small room felt cozy, almost warm and inviting despite the austere sterility. Once Danny was seated, Clark sat between the boy and Bruce, having already handed out the meagre breakfast the others had silently offered.

The boy was so thin, he knew Ma would long to cook him a good hearty meal.

He could see the magicians gearing up for a spell of some kind, and he was still on distraction duty. It was easy enough, food and drink made for a good distraction, throwing in a few basic questions, anything to keep him from noticing the growing tension in the room despite everyone’s best efforts to make it calming.

There were three gasps from the magicians as what was clearly a phone’s ringing came from Danny. It was odd, they were sure the boy had no pockets on his well loved star patterned pajama pants and plain white T-shirt. The phone rang again, Danny’s hand already slowly raising to his ear. Clark watched wide eyed as an earpiece appeared at Danny’s touch, a slim line of light that traveled down the attached arm to reveal a neon green mic at the end.

“... ‘llo?” Danny mumbled, still slowly chewing his mouthful of toasted pastry.

Clark whipped out his own communicator and quickly started a group chat, ready to transcribe the whole conversation. Batman was already furiously typing at a keyboard he popped out of his tablet, so Clark focussed on just what Danny and his caller were saying.

“Danny?” A feminine voice asked quietly. With the volume set that low the boy must have very sensitive hearing for a human, meta perhaps? “Where are you?”

“‘M lost,” Danny mumbled sleepily.

“What do you mean you’re lost? Lost where? Are you in the ‘Zone?”

“... no, not the ‘Zone. S’okay, Dad’s here.”

“Dad’s there with you?”

“Mmm…” Danny nibbled some more of his pastry.

There was a soft sigh from the other end. “I wish they’d remember to tell the school about sick days,” the feminine voice grumbled before speaking up. “Danny, let me talk to Dad.”

“‘Kay,” Danny slurred, then he plucked the earpiece from his ear and blindly held it out to Clark.

Clark took the earpiece with a strained grin. “I’m just… going to take this out into the hall, wouldn’t want to be rude to everyone else. You’ll be okay by yourself for a minute?”

Danny made an agreeing hum, nibbling more on his pastry.

Clark carefully stood up and kept an eye on Danny as he moved out into the hall. Once he was out of line of sight he zipped further down, to where Constantine and Raven were waiting around a corner. He stuck in the earpiece and kept his communicator in hand, continuing to transcribe the conversation for the rest of the team.

“Hello?” Clark asked, wondering if he should keep playing at being Danny’s father.

“Who is this?” The voice asked suspiciously.

Clark took a deep breath, but decided this was for the best. “Superman, who’s this?”

“Superman?!”

“To whom am I speaking?” Clark insisted, he’d really like to know, even if he already had a guess.

“Why is Superman answering my brother’s phone?! Why did he call you our Dad? What’s going on?!”

Ah, it is the sister. “Well Ms. Fenton, it seems there was a bit of confusion on that part. He mistook me for your father and we decided that to keep him calm it was best to let him continue to believe that.”

“What’s going on?!” Jasmine Fenton yelled, clearly distressed.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit of a delicate situation, but rest assured we have our best and brightest working on a solution,” Clark reassured.

“Danny was missing this morning, did the Justice League seriously kidnap my little brother from his bed in the middle of the night?!”

“What?” Was faintly heard in the background of the phone call, clearly Jasmine wasn’t alone.

“We did no such thing,” Clark said in his most soothing voice. He wasn’t sure how much he should tell her, the situation really was delicate, and on top of that despite her having turned 18 recently Jasmine was not Danny’s legal guardian or parent. “We rescued Danny last night, but unfortunately there were some side affects from his kidnappers we’re currently trying to reverse before we send the poor boy home.”

“Superman says Danny got kidnapped last night, got rescued, and currently has side affects they’re trying to fix?” Jasmine said uncertainly. There was a hushed conversation after that, one the comm didn’t pick up. Clark despaired over technology being fine tuned to such a limited range. There were a few snatches of almost words he could catch, but nothing worth noting down. Then finally Jasmine and whoever she was speaking with seemed to come to a conclusion, “Where is Danny?”

“He’s safe.”

“Where?” Jasmine insisted firmly.

“He’s at a Justice League facility, where he’s being treated.”

“Treated how? He was able to answer his phone, even if he sounded half asleep still. What’s wrong with him? What are the side affects? Why weren’t our parents called?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you any of that,” Clark winced as he said that. It felt like such a cop out.

“Why weren’t our parents informed?” Jasmine asked again, voice hard as steel.

“As I said, the situation is very delicate.”

“But why weren’t our parents informed.”

“It’s a time sensitive situation, we’re working to solve it as quickly as possible.”

“This is ridiculous, give the phone back to Danny.”

Clark winced again, “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“What?!”

“As I said, the situation is very delicate, we can’t afford to stress Danny out until the affects have been removed.”

“And what even are these affects you keep speaking of?!”

Clark hesitated, looking down to the chat he’d been transcribing the conversation into, then over to Constantine and Raven, hoping desperately for some advice. All he got was a sloppy shrug. What did he tell her? What would they tell her family if they weren’t able to remove Pariah without killing Danny? “It’s… magical. In nature.”

“Forget it, you’re clearly no help.” The line went silent, the call ended.

Constantine held his hand out, Clark removed the earpiece and handed it over. “What is it?” He asked tiredly.

“According to Z it was a clever bit of necromancy she’d never seen before.”

“Necromancy?” Clark asked in confusion, couldn’t that only raise the dead? He’d never heard of necromancy doing anything else.

Constantine ignored him, already huddled over the earpiece with Raven as both muttered spells over the tiny thing.

Clark’s communicator beeped, it was a message from Bruce. “The sister goes by Jazz.” Right, he needed to know that if he was going to continue pretending to be Danny’s father.

He sighed, but plastered on a smile as he stepped back into the kitchenette. “Jazz was just checking in on us, I told her we’ll see her at dinner tonight.”

Danny just nodded his head and made a humming sound of agreement. Hopefully that’ll buy them a bit more sleepy time before the tyrant Ghost King woke up.

[beansprean]

we are so close to the end yall

My Familiar’s Ghost part 94

Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Shot from outside the door to the dungeon, which is thick metal with a circular vault handle in the center and a slide-open peephole above it. Laszlo is crouched down with a stethoscope in his ears with the bell pressed to the door, squinting as he strains to hear. Nadja is standing behind him, leaning against the door with her ear pressed to it. Colin is standing behind them with his hands in his pockets. Nadja smirks and says, 'Ooh, did you hear that? It sounds like 'dicks in arses' may be the winner!' Laszlo replies, 'I don't think so, my darling, Nandor's volume would be much higher were that the case.' Colin pipes up, 'You know you could just open that little hatch and-' Laszlo interrupts, 'Hush, Colin, my boy! I can almost make out their words now...' 2. Repeat. The door lurches open with a loud squeak, clonking Nadja in the head and sending Laszlo falling backwards in shock with a shout of 'Fucking hell,' ears ringing. Colin just looks down at him in mild surprise. Guillermo peers in from inside, hand curled around the edge of the door, Nandor behind him with a hand on his shoulder. Both their eyes are glowing slightly in the dark. /End ID

[taegularities]

colour me in: photograph (teaser) | jjk (m)

Summary: With both your and Jungkook's careers seemingly peaking, the future feels promising and bright. Yet, amidst the glowing hope, one single phone call dims the light in the rooms of your shared home.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: [redacted spoiler that shall drop with the chapter], tears, sadness/grief, doubts, tender moments, talk of jk's future and his art, support, jk's dad, surprises, (talk of) a break up oop, mention of children (i guess that's a warning lol), explicit sexual content: let-out-some-steam-sex, dom!jk, big dick!jk, he's actually insane. more details shall be added on drop day; the ending.. <3 ➳ word count: around 760 for the teaser; 25-30k for the chapter ➳ a/n: get ready, it's gonna hurt for a whiiile now :') as always, come n talk to me about this 🤍 ➳ listen to: holo by leehi | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

“You do know that we’re supposed to meet up with them in like,” you drop your eyes to your wrist, pulling back the sweater to unveil your watch, “forty minutes, right?”

“And you think they’ll complain about some extra time alone?”

You deliver a blank stare, not a single blink as you watch him shrug a shoulder. He sports a smirk that you would’ve clenched your jaw to months ago, but today, even if you won’t admit it right this second, it amuses you.

He laughs when you stand there unmoving, like a stick figure silently reprimanding a lethargic boyfriend. You hate to break, but when the contagious chuckle infects you, too, you feel a light wave of relief and serotonin ripple through you violently.

Jungkook hasn’t left vacation mode just yet; while the work for the gallery is still ongoing and he diligent, you catch him slouching ever so often, doodling away at times. You’ll confess, the grey outside is tiring; different from the sunnier countryside you left behind.

There’s a sort of post-bliss blues that even you can hardly shake off.

“You can’t deny that, can you?” he utters amidst his melodious laugh, and you roll your eyes, taking two big steps towards him — much like two days ago.

“I don’t have to deny it to still teach you the importance of punctuality, right? Get up,” you say, smacking his hip — and he uses the opportunity to lift his arm from under his head, reaching for you, but… failing. “Uh-uh. Enough with your tricks. Get up.”

Last night still wasn’t enough — is it ever? You’re not surprised; neither by his thirst nor by your own inner, involuntary reactions. But no time. It’s rude to let people wait.

And you know exactly what Jimin would say — tease — if the two of you arrived at the double lunch date with him and Yoongi too late again.

Jungkook’s voice turns half into a yawn, half into a sigh, tired when he responds, “Yes, ma’am.”

This should do.

But since everything good comes in three, and just for good measure, you add another laser-glance, shooting at him in warning to lift his ass and meet you ready once you are, too. A playfully sigh breathed, you amble to the bathroom, make up awaiting on the sink from when you put it there this morning.

This shouldn’t take long; you’re opting for the minimalistic approach today.

As the hues colour your lips and fill your lashes, you hum a random melody you can’t quite identify. It’s quiet in the apartment until it isn’t — and when Jungkook’s voice chimes, your hand halts mid-mascara-stroke, assuming he’s calling for you.

He’s not; you understand this much when he greets the person on the other end in his liveliest tone at first, volume decreasing as the conversation continues. He’s soon hushed enough for you to not really make out proper words anymore. Hums here and there — Jungkook doesn’t seem to say much at all.

Perhaps it’s Yoongi, or Tae, telling a story. Narrating recent occurrences, the joys and pains that emerged and shrivelled on the vacation that you weren’t part of anymore.

You don’t ask just yet, decide not to disturb.

You finish up whatever is left of your routine, setting the make up and ruffling through your hair, adding volume. When the talk he’s indulging in still remains when you deem yourself ready, you let out a breather and step back into the bedroom.

Still in the same clothes and with the untamed hair as his crown, Jungkook’s gaze is lowered, fingers barely curled into the sheets. He’s sat up now; you see his Adam’s apple bob when you walk in. Instinctively and immediately, you blurt, “Now what did I tell you just a moment ago—”

But the jest dries in your throat and then fades, as dead as Jungkook’s eyes when he looks up at you. Or maybe… maybe they’re not dead.

More so — in disbelief. As if he hasn’t really fathomed what he’s just heard, mind sprinting in circles, attempting to understand.

His chest isn’t moving as it should, and just in general, his body emits inner trouble. Distress. When he lifts his pupils and shifts them towards you, it looks as if he’s hoping that your presence could reverse reality, as if you’re pulling him out of the inevitable quicksand.

But you can’t. You get it; see it right away.

Because the watery gaze and the gap between his lips, this expression, are new to you, no matter how many of his aches you’ve mended. And you guess it has something to do with what his conversation partner just said.

Something that certainly wasn’t part of today’s agenda at all.

the way i even had to change the banner bc it'd be such a spoiler lmaoooo but yeah anyways, what do we think? y'all's thought always help immensely, and life has been so busy that writing took a backseat – getting back into it is hard. but you guys offer so many theories as well as love and always motivate me, so come and let's talk <3

[lilybug-02]

Eww bugs.

Bug Fact: Face mites are microscopic mites that have adapted to only live in human hair follicles. All adult humans have them, but they are harmless and are passed down from parent to child. Pictures Below

V2 First || Prev // Next

Volume 2 Masterpost ▴♥︎▴

They also only live like 20 days and don't even have an anus so they're pretty clean.

The only time they can be a problem is if you take/have immunosuppressants which can allow them to multiply too fast, leaving skin dryer than it should be.