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imaginesfordifferentfandoms · 3 days ago

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In Another Life

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Prompt - ‘In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.’

Bucky Barnes was nothing if not a man who felt too much. He’d fight fiercely for those he loved, he’d make an idiot of himself to get the attention of the woman he loved. He let himself get knocked around if it meant he could catch a glimpse of her scowl that he’d always manage to turn into a smile.

“Seriously, Barnes?” You groan as you walk into the medical tent, seeing the familiar sight of James Barnes on one of your beds.

“It wasn’t my fault this time!” He lied, watching as you shook your head but there was a fondness to it.

Bucky could read you like his most favourite book at this point. You’d been appointed to 107th to join their medical team and it didn’t take long to capture the attention of the Sergeant. He had fallen for you in that first meeting, watching you boss around men twice the size of you, putting them into place without fear, putting him in his place when he tried to play off a pair of broken ribs as nothing.

Since then Bucky had done anything to be around you, he’d had his nose nearly broken, he’d fractured his wrist, he’d faked more stomach bugs than he could count. You didn’t buy any of them, you never did and yet you still let him take up one of the beds in the medical tent for hours on end.

“We both know that’s bullshit.” You called him out and he didn’t even try and look guilty anymore, instead he shot you a bright grin and shrugged in a what can you do way causing you to roll your eyes though there was no heat in the gesture. “What is it this time?”

His smile widened impossibly as he lifted his shirt up, noticing the way your eyes took in the sight appreciatively before they widened at the cut across his torso, a blood soaked rag falling down as he lifted his shirt.

“You’re a real piece of work, Barnes, you know that?” You asked, starting to gather your supplies before sitting next to Bucky, the grin still firmly in place, slightly more smug now that he’d seen you take him in.

“Don’t deny it, doll, you love me patching me up.” Bucky said confidently, knowing that you could have demanded one of the other nurses deal with him if you really didn’t like him.

“There’s better ways to get my attention, no need to go get yourself all cut up on my behalf.” You told him, watching as his eyes widened slightly and a smirk pulled at his lips. “Ready?”

“For you, doll, always.” He smirked and you groaned again causing him to laugh, though it was quickly silenced as you pushed the needle through his skin, slowly patching up the wound and letting Bucky fill the silence, fighting back a blush as he spoke.

“There’s my most favourite nurse!” Bucky called as he stumbled into the med tent, leaning heavily against another soldier, his skin pale and sweaty.

“What happened?” You ask straight away, gesturing for the soldier to put Bucky on the bed closest to you as you get to watch stripping the uniform of the man and frowning at the amount of blood pouring from two wounds on his stomach.

“He got shot, ma’am.” The soldier answered and your frown deepened, looking up at Bucky who’s eyes were half lidded but he was still grinning at you, apparently no injury was bad enough to wipe that damn grin off his face.

“‘M fine, Y/N.” He tried to assure you, seeing the frown between your eyebrows deepen and you could help but let out a soft huff of laughter, moving to get some needles, tweezers, gauze, pads and everything else you need.

“Told you there’s better ways to get my attention, didn’t mean go and get yourself shot, Buck.” You say softly, sitting next to him and cleaning the blood, checking him over and seeing both wounds were clean through, good no need to go digging for bullets.

“Shit, doll, you’re calling me by name. My dying?” He asked, slurring the words out and your heart ached at the slight tremor in his voice.

“Come on, it’s me we're talking about. You really think I'm about to let you die?” You ask him, forcing a smile onto your face and looking up at him assuringly before focusing on the worst of the two wounds.

“Better not let me die, Y/N/N, gotta take my girl out on a date.” He breathed out, looking at you so softly, groaning when you pressed down on his wound. “Fuck, doll.”

“Your girl, huh?” You shushed him softly, keeping him talking, needing him to stay alert for your own sanity more than anything.

You took a deep breath, knowing you needed to stay calm in order to make sure Bucky got through this, to make sure he didn’t lose any more blood than he had. You needed to push aside your feelings aside and focus on the patient.

Even if that patient was Bucky Barnes.

“Best girl around.” Bucky slurred out, a choked laugh escaping him and you let yourself smile. “Fixes me up all the damn time, even though she knows I’m an idiot.”

“You certainly are an idiot.” You agree easily, watching as he glares at you, a dazed smile still firmly in place.

You had cleaned the wound well enough that the blood had stopped pouring from it and focused on patching it up, keeping Bucky talking the whole time, even as he winced and flinched, his eyes falling shut.

You were fine so long as he kept talking.

The second gunshot wound was much easier to patch up, you had it cleaned and packed quickly and once they were both dealt with you sat back heavily, looking at Bucky’s face, watching as he forced his eyes open and looked at you drained.

“All done, doll?” He asked, voice thick with tiredness and you smiled softly at him, eyes stinging slightly as you swallowed around the lump in your throat.

“All done, soldier. Get some rest.” You told him, your own voice thick with emotion and you stood up, needing a minute to yourself, eyes watering but a hand on your wrist stopped you from leaving.

“Stay, doll?” Bucky asked softly and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you turned around and sat back down, Bucky forcing his heavy eyes open and frowning at you. “M’alright.”

You nodded, you knew he was, you were the one to patch him up and yet you felt like you couldn’t catch your breath now that you were done. Bucky practically lived in the med tent, you were used to him being hurt, used to fixing up his many injuries. This one was different though, this one was serious.

You’d never really had Bucky in your med bay because he needed saving. There were so many factors that could have changed the outcome, if the gunshots had caught Bucky a bit to the right it could have caused damage you couldn’t have fixed, if it had taken them any longer to get Bucky to you he could have lost too much blood. It was the first time you’d had Bucky in serious danger.

It’s not like you were stupid, you knew who he was, what his job was but when it was just the two of you it was easy to forget there was a war going on outside, easy to forget that seriousness of his job.

“You’re alright.” You breathed out, another few tears making their way down your cheek and Bucky reached down, threading his fingers with yours and bringing them up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand, his eyes closed. “Sleep, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, following the command easily.

After that day you let yourself give into Bucky’s flirting, giving it back just as quickly as he gave it, realising it could all be snatched from you all too soon.

It was a few weeks later, you and Bucky had practically been inseparable. All his free time had been spent with you in the med bay and he savoured each moment he got with you, his little piece of heaven during the war.

You frowned as you walked towards the med bay, hearing one of the nurses raise her voice. It wasn’t entirely uncommon, most of the soldiers looked down at a woman doing a job, sometimes it was called for but when you stepped closer your eyes widened when you heard Bucky.

“Sergeant Barnes-” The nurse tried again but Bucky cut her off.

“No! I want Y/N.” Bucky demanded, like the med tent was the sort of place to be making demands.

You rolled your eyes stepping into the tent, Bucky not noticing you but the nurse's face filled with relief as she saw you before glaring at Bucky.

“You know,” You say, causing Bucky’s head to snap over to you, your eyes immediately going to the trail of blood falling from his temple. “When your head’s bleeding, people usually aren’t picky about what nurse they have.”

“What can I say? I have my favourite nurse, no point ending up in this place if I don’t get to see my girl.” Bucky grinned at you and you rolled your eyes though there was a fondness you couldn’t deny and you nodded at the other nurse, taking over.

“What happened this time?” You asked, holding a damp rag against the wound.

“Cut my head jumping out of the way of a bullet.” Bucky told you and you sighed, pulling the rag away and seeing the blood had already begun to slow. “Hey, when are you finally gonna let me take you out?”

Bucky had been asking you out ever since he got shot and each time you never gave him a real answer because how could you? There was a war happening, even with his free time he couldn’t just leave to go on a date with you.

“Come find me when you’ve won the war.” You finally told him, watching a blinding grin spread across his face, eyes lighting up as he nodded.

“Doll, I’m gonna marry you once the war’s won.” He swore and the way he said it, you had no choice but to believe he would, you weren’t complaining, the rest of your life with Bucky Barnes seemed like a pretty good life.

“You promise?” You grin back at him, the man unable to help himself, pulling you closer to stand between his legs and closing the distance between you, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your face up to his, his gaze intense, before his lips claimed yours in a fierce, passionate kiss full of promise of a future. You couldn’t help but gasp at the sudden intensity, your hands clutching at his shirt. The world around you faded away as you both lost yourselves in each other, the kiss leaving you both breathless.

“I promise. I’m gonna marry you when this is all over.” He promised and rested his forehead against yours. “On my life, we’re gonna spend the rest of our lives together.”

You hear the tent open and turn around from where you stood sorting through your supplies, rolling your eyes but not stopping the grin that spreads across your face.

“Here comes trouble.” You say to yourself, loud enough for Bucky to hear and he just grins back at you, sitting himself on the closest bed to you. “What is it this time then?”

“Oh nurse Y/N, you gotta help me.” Bucky groans, clutching his heart. “My heart is hurting so bad, think I’m having withdrawals from seeing my best girl, think you gotta cure for that?”

“You’re an idiot.” You laughed at him, swatting him with a rag before going back to organising your supplies, knowing the men were heading into another battle and you’d need everything ready for when they came back.

“Come on, doll.” He pouted dramatically over at you, jumping from the bed and turning you to face him. “A kiss for good luck?”

You rolled your eyes again, something you did a lot in the presence of James Barnes but couldn’t help but smile up at him. Bucky smiled down at you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek in his hand, delicately running his thumb across your cheek bone before he guided you up to him, meeting you halfway and then his lips found yours, gently at first. Slowly, he deepened the kiss, becoming more passionate as he pulled you impossibly closer, his other hand moving to the small of your back and you couldn’t help but melt into him, arms wrapping around his neck, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

“Come back to me, soldier.” You told him when the two of you finally pulled away, foreheads resting against each other.

“I got promises to keep, doll, course I’m coming back.” He said, watching as you blushed at the reminder of his promises.

Bucky stole another handful of kisses before one of the men came in, telling him he had to leave.

“See you soon, gorgeous.” He grinned, pressing one more breathtaking kiss to your lips before running out of the med tent and you sat on one of the beds, watching the spot where he had stood, smiling like a fool in love but you couldn’t deny that’s what you were.

Too much time passed, not enough information was given. You paced holes in the med tent floor, he should be back by now. Something was wrong, there were whispers but nobody would tell you anything, everything was on a need to know basis and it was driving you mad.

It had been well over a week since Bucky left and the ache in your chest grew as more and more days passed without a single word.

When the med bay tent opened your head shot round, there were dark circles under your eyes, your hair was a mess from the amount of times you’d ran your hands through it. You shook your head when you saw the commanding officer step into your tent.

“Don't.” You said firmly, eyes already filling with tears and the man frowned, a grim look on his face.

“Nurse Y/LN,” He started and you shook your head, “I regret to inform you that Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes is missing in action and after our best efforts to identify the location of him and the 107th, we believe he has died in the line of duty. I know this must be difficult news to hear, but please know that you have the full support of the military and all available resources to assist you during this difficult time."

You felt your legs give out, hitting the floor and sobs wracked your body, the choking feeling you got seeing Bucky shot coming back in full force, head shaking as you pleaded with any god that would listen to bring him back.

The commanding officer left, leaving you a sobbing mess on the floor.

“He promised.” You choked out to nobody. “He was meant to marry me.”

You stayed there for a long while, crying for hours for the loss of what could have been. It would have been amazing, a lifetime with James Barnes and now, now you had to miss him for longer than you had known him.

Maybe in another life he came back to you, maybe in another life the war was won and he came back to you, swept you up in his arms and kept every promise he ever made. Maybe in another life, you had lazy mornings in bed, in another life you did the mundane stuff like taxes and laundry together.

Maybe in another life you had more time.

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lieutenantbatshit · 3 days ago

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CHAPTER 10 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

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The kiss still lingered on your lips - you could still taste In-ho. Every step back toward the dormitory felt heavy, as if your body was caught in the weight of something you couldn’t quite name. Was it the kiss? Was it the fact that you actually murdered someone? Was it your conscience eating you up?

Your fingers twitched at your sides, remembering the way In-ho’s touch had burned into your skin, the way he had pulled you in like he was afraid to let go. And then, your thoughts drifted as to when you snapped that player’s neck, as if you were an expert on it. You wanted to justify it by stating that he deserved it, remembering his O patch. It was his decision, after all, to stay in the games. In this game, you were bound to kill anyone to win the prize.

Except you weren’t in this place to win the prize. You were just curious. How can your curiosity lead to something darker?

It should’ve been a victory. You survived the game. You made it through. And yet, there was something suffocating about the silence on the way to the dormitory, with In-ho behind you.

The tension from the Mingle game still clung to the air, thick and unshaken by the passing of time. Even as the remaining players shuffled back into the towering dormitory, the echoes of what had happened inside that cold, merciless arena followed you like shadows that refused to be left behind.

In-ho’s presence behind you was silent but palpable. You wanted to stop and look at him, to read the storm behind his eyes, to see if the kiss had shaken him the same way it had shaken you.

But you couldn’t.

Instead, you focused on the rhythmic sound of footsteps, the quiet murmurs of those who had barely escaped death. Gi-hun’s back was in front of you as he made his way down the labyrinth of stairs. He turned his head to you and In-ho slightly as he spoke. “When we get back, let’s count the number of people remaining.”

“Why?” In-ho asked, his eyes focusing on Gi-hun.

“If we count the numbers of Os and Xs, we’ll be able to see who’s likely to win the next vote.”

You softly chuckle, your mind telling you elsewhere to somehow ease the tension. “We’ll have to hope more people from the other side died.”

You could see Gi-hun almost stop to his tracks but continued, though his head turned to you, staring at you confusingly. There was cockiness, almost mocking, in your voice in the way you said it. You averted your gaze from him. There was no way you would admit your faith in humanity has died, even taking someone’s life in this game from your own hands.

You got blood on your hands, and there was no way you would tell that to Gi-hun who wanted to save everyone.

You felt In-ho’s hand on your shoulder, pressing it lightly with his thumb as if to comfort you, just like he did in the old times. Gi-hun shot you two a look again, much to his confusion. As you remembered, Gi-hun was aware that In-ho’s wife was still alive.

Right. Gi-hun still knew that. But what didn’t make sense to you was why In-ho lied to him. You planned to ask him later as he was already beginning to be warm towards you, or some sort. You had questions from the start, from when you first met him again, and what his role was in these games. Your gut feeling tells you that he’s a part of it, but you couldn’t piece it together yet.

You focused on the cold of the dormitory seeping into your skin, your heartbeat hadn’t quite settled since the moment you pressed your lips against In-ho. It was immoral to be more worked up on the kiss than taking someone’s life in your own hands, yet you couldn’t figure out whether you were just distracted from that, or you were just becoming a dark, terrible person.

“Don’t be so sad,” you heard the Shaman woman say as you walk near Hyun-ju’s group. “You will be joining her in the underworld soon.”

You snapped your head up at the Shaman, her eyes circling on Hyun-ju who seemed to be devastated. You barely had a second to process it, seeing Hyun-ju’s face drawn tight, her hands clenched into trembling fists. Her breaths were uneven, sharp, as if she has been trying to keep them steady.

Hyun-ju stared at the Shaman, glaring at her as she flashed her a cocky smile. Your eyes darted over Hyun-ju’s group, seeing Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Player 246.

Only Young-mi wasn’t there.

It didn’t hit you immediately. You wanted to deny it. Yet their faces were enough of an answer for you to know the truth.

You felt as if you were floating, waiting for your mind to make sense of the fact that Young-mi was gone. But when they did, they landed like a blade to the gut. Your breath caught, and for a second, all you could do was stare at Hyun-ju, then at Geum-ja, then at Yong-sik, then at Player 246, much to your surprise. You hoped that you had somehow gotten it wrong.

“I’ve put a curse on you all,” the Shaman said, her eyes gazing over everyone, including you. “I’ve been praying to the gods of heaven and earth with all my heart to let me see all of you die in this place, one by one.”

“You’ll never get out of here alive,” you said, gritting your teeth as you leaned towards the Shaman. “One more word from you, and you’ll never see another day in this place. You will die a miserable, painful death— enough for you to see whoever God is up there.”

The Shaman was clearly taken aback, seeing her clear her throat as she shot you a look first before walking away. You heard her mumble a curse, but you didn’t care anymore. At this point, with humanity being ripped away from you, you were sure that one wrong move from her will trigger you to knock her off in an instant.

You turned to Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Player 246, who seemed to stare at you in shock. You quickly softened your expression, realizing you were showing this other side of you so plain. Young-mi was supposed to be here with you and the others, yet in this selfish place, she was gone just like that.

“Young-mi is dead,” Hyun-ju’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes darken and sunken with something raw. “She was killed. They found her after the game ended.”

The room suddenly felt too bright, too suffocating. The world around you pressed in, the air thinning as your fingers curled into tight fists at your sides.

You had seen Young-mi last before the game, her usual sharp wit and and biting sarcasm still intact. You heard her voice. You stood alongside her, knowing and believe that you would both walk out of this. And now, she was gone.

Your pulse pounded against your ears, a sickening rhythm that made your knees feel weak. A thousand thoughts crashed into you at once, along with guilt. Was she betrayed? Did she fight back? Was she also killed the same way you killed another player?

But none of them mattered now. All the questions, the possibilities, everything. Because you had been out there, kissing In-ho, holding onto him, getting lost in the game, lost in him — while she was dying.

Your stomach churned violently, feeling dizzy from all that was happening so fast. You wanted to scream. You could hear your inner voices. It was your conscience eating you up.

A hand, warm and firm, brushed against yours, almost like an anchor. It was In-ho’s. You wanted to melt into his touch, to surrender. But this time, you didn’t take it.

You stepped back, walking towards Gi-hun’s group, seeing them plotting something else. You walked past them and went towards your bed, not minding their stares as they wondered what was wrong. Concern was evident on their faces, but you weren’t in the mood to talk. Not especially with all that happened.

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat and forced yourself to breathe as you laid down, but it did nothing to stop the realization curling into your chest like a slow, venomous burn.

The game was still winning, and you were letting it.

“Gi-hun,” you heard Jung-bae call out. “There are fifty-five people who voted in favor of continuing.”

“Are you sure?” Gi-hun asked.

“I counted them twice.”

“What about you?” Dae-ho asked, his fingers pointing at Jung-bae’s patch. “What about you? Did you include yourself?”

Jung-bae looked at his patch, the realization hitting his eyes. “It’s fifty-six.”

You heard Dae-ho sigh. “We have forty-four people on our side, so we’re outnumbered by twelve.”

“Shoot, that means we’re likely to lose again,” Jung-bae whimpered slightly, staring at the players with O patches.

“It may seem like a big difference,” In-ho said as you felt him motioning beside you, but you kept your eyes closed, your arms covering your eyes. “But if six of them change their minds, it’ll be 50/50, all tied. If seven of them change their minds, we could win.”

“But those who pressed X might change their minds too,” Dae-ho replied with worry.

“They probably won’t change their minds easily,” In-ho replied, more of a statement and not a hint of question in his answer.

“Why not?”

“They wanted to quit even when the prize was smaller. Now, they can leave with even more money. They wouldn’t want to risk their lives playing another game.”

“Impossible,” you spoke up, much to the group’s surprise. “They can still change their minds. The more that they see themselves surviving and the more the prize money goes up, the more the temptation to play more will get to them. It’s the greed talking.”

In-ho stared at you, a quiet recognition flickering in his eyes. You could almost see the twitch in his lips as if to smile. As if you made a very great point.

“I’m going to press X this time,” Jung-bae said, a hopeful glint present in his eyes.

You scoffed. “You should’ve pressed X when you had the chance.”

Jung-bae raised his eyebrow on you, clearly taken aback. Gi-hun and Dae-ho did the same, while Jun-hee was staring at you as if to study you. There was wonder in their eyes, a bit of shock as you spoke. You were being too pragmatic— cocky, even. You were too sure.

Yet Jung-bae only looked away. Somehow, you still had a point. He knew that. If he really wanted to quit, he could’ve voted for X from the very start and not change his decisions right away. Your patience in this game was growing thinner with each second.

“Why don’t we try to convince them?” Gi-hun asked, his voice hopeful for another acknowledgement from the others, hopeful for an agreement.

“No, that’s too risky,” In-ho replied. “Most of them will want to continue the games. If we make a move, they won’t just sit back and watch.”

“So you think we should just stand here and pray they change their minds?” Gi-hun asked in disbelief.

You shot up from your bed, your eyebrows furrowing as you looked at Gi-hun. “Don’t try to be the hero, Gi-hun. It’s their choice to be here, to continue the games. It’s what the game is trying to tell us.”

“I’m no hero,” Gi-hun retorted, his voice low, the desperation in his voice evident as he gritted his teeth. “But what if we lose again? We march down, hand in hand, to play another game?”

“I understand how you feel,” In-ho said, his hand motioning at you to not speak. “I also wish I could leave right now. We do. But this is the moment to stay calm.”

“Stay calm?” Gi-hun said in disbelief. “We’ve already taken a vote twice. If we can’t convince them, we’ll have to bring them over to our side by force.”

“If we provoke them now, we may end up in a big fight before we even get to vote,” In-ho replied. “Is that what you want, Gi-hun?”

Gi-hun stayed silent, though his eyes were focused on you and In-ho. He was sensing something between the two of you - the sudden understanding seemed to catch him off guard. As far as he knew, In-ho was still married. To you, he was a widower. That was the truth. But Gi-hun was more disturbed with your sudden shift. The one who held on hope for humanity was gone, and was replaced by this cold, dark person.

The alarm buzzed, just in time to ease the tension on your group. By the door, the triangle-masked guards gathered as the square-masked guard stepped in, his presence signaling a sense of command. “Congratulations to all of you for making it through the third game. Now, here are the results of the third game.”

The TV displayed a total prize money accumulated to 35.6 billion won, divided by 356 million won for each player. You stepped out and positioned yourself next to In-ho, giving him a pat on his shoulder as your eyes glued to the monitor.

“With that kind of money, some of them will change their minds,” Jung-bae muttered.

“It’s either the money is enough for them or they’ll want to play another to win more,” you said, your eyes still fixed on the TV.

“The vote will once again be conducted in reverse order of your player numbers,” the square-masked guard said. “Player 456, please cast your vote.” Gi-hun stepped out from the crowd as the guard spoke again. “To ensure fair and democratic voting, we will not tolerate any disruptions from this point onward. Please bear that in mind.”

With no hesitation, Gi-hun pushed the X button, retaining his vote as the X number increased to 1.

You were almost unattentive to your surroundings, not minding the scoreboard of the X and O votes. Though you couldn’t deny the weight of choices before yours. X or O - a simple vote, but it might as well have been a knife at your throat.

You shouldn’t be hesitating at all. You weren’t like the others. You weren’t drowning in debt, clawing for salvation in a place that offered nothing but destruction. You had entered the game out of curiosity - a whim, reckless craving to see what was happening behind the curtain all because of that recruiter. But now, you stood here, waiting for your player number to be called for you to vote that would define the person you were becoming.

You felt the villain in you creeping beneath your skin with every game. The cold calculation, the growing numbness. The way your hands had moved without hesitation when it came down to survival. And yet, a part of you still wanted to believe that there was something left to salvage. Maybe in the next games, you would see humanity change. Or not at all.

“You look like you’re thinking too much,” In-ho’s voice was low and smooth that melted your thoughts, snapping you back to the present.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze. This time, his eyes were soft as he looked at you, then to your lips, then to your eyes again. His mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smirk as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath ghost over your skin.

“What does it matter to you?” You asked.

He gave out a slow exhale, barely a sigh. Then, his fingers brushed against yours, deliberate but fleeting. A touch that barely lingered, yet left something behind. “Because you don’t belong here.”

You felt your breath hitched as you held your gaze on him, searching his face for an answer. But he gave you nothing. Just that unreadable and calm one. Too calm. “What?” You asked, your voice quieter this time.

His head tilted slightly, watching you with an unsettling kind of certainty. “You’re not in debt. You lived a good life in America only to come back here in Seoul after your father died. You wanted to play ddakji just for the sake of seeing if you were still good at it. Money was never a problem to you, Y/N,” In-ho stated, as if he had always known the truth. “You didn’t think you walked into this place unnoticed, did you?”

The implication made your stomach turn.

He knew. He had known from the start.

But why?

Your lips parted, but no words came. And in that silence, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your temple. “What’s someone like you, who was so full of life, doing in a place like this ready to kill people?” Your pulse pounded against your ribs as he continued. “I was once like you. But in this place, it changes you. The truth will always come get you in the end.”

“The truth?” You managed to ask, though your voice a bit cracking.

“About me.”

Your stomach twisted. “And what exactly would that be?”

For a moment, he just watched you, searching for something in your eyes. Then, he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “I won.” Your breath caught, but before you could speak, he continued. “And I have a role in all of this now.”

It wasn’t a confession. Not completely. He didn’t say what role nor what it exactly meant. But you weren’t stupid.

But you should’ve known it from the very start.

The Young-il name was already a give away, as if he was ready. The coincidence of being the Player 001 and being named Young-il didn’t make sense. It was far from being a coincidence. He carried himself too much, the way his words were always a little too measured, a little too careful, as if they were being placed exactly where they needed to be. The name, the persona — it was all a mask. A carefully crafted lie.

“After we vote, I’ll tell you everything.”

You felt your body shot up, the curiosity plastering all over your body. What did he know that you didn’t know from all this? What role could he have in all these? If you know about everything, will it endanger your life even more?

“Who are you?” You stared at him, your throat dry as you felt your heart hammering against your ribs.

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Something familiar. Something painful. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His stare fixed on you indicated something darker and deeper. Something that told you — he had been waiting for this.

“Player 002.”

You snapped away from In-ho, turning your attention to the vote. You walked towards the voting box, the buttons gleaming under the cold, artificial light, its surface smudged from countless trembling fingers before yours.

O or X.

You could end this. You could walk away. But deep down, you already knew what your fingers were going to do. A sharp beep echoed in the silence as you pressed X, a cheer from the X crowd erupting.

You turned back to In-ho, who was waiting at the end of the crowd as he stared at you intently. His lips barely curved — not a smirk, but something else. Something unreadable.

——

The voting ended with a tie, which meant that the voting will resume again tomorrow. Yet you felt uneasy. Anytime, you knew that the O team would attack anytime soon. Just for the sake of winning the money more and more.

It was going to be a special game. You tried to piece it together as you progressed through the games. The system was trying to make you kill each other, giving you less and less food as it progressed. Hunger was the main source of greed, it's why humans would do anything just to not starve. The gimbap on your hand and a glass bottle of soda were enough of a hint for you that there was something more happening.

The glass bottle could be your source of weapon in case something goes wrong in this place. You kept your silence as you ate the dry gimbap, its flavors still present but the dryness was scoring your throat in. It felt like you were eating a piece of paper, but to you, it didn’t matter. As long as it fed your stomach well.

“Y/N,” you blinked, snapping away from your thoughts as you heard Gi-hun’s voice. You glanced up and saw his expression was careful, but there was something else beneath it. “You got a minute?”

You nodded, but there was hesitation in you as he sat down beside ypu, resting his forearms on his thighs.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor, his fingers fidgeting on the wrapped gimbap as if trying to find the right words. “It’s about Young-il,” he finally said.

Your stomach twisted, though you forced your face to be stern. “What about him?”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You two are close, right? Like real close.”

You shrugged, keeping your voice even. “Hmm?”

“Isn’t he married?” Gi-hun’s voice dropped slightly, but still careful. “Maybe you shouldn’t get too attached.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you swallowed, keeping your face unreadable.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Gi-hun—“

“Where do you get the nerve?” He cut in, his voice edged with something sharp, something bitter.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

His jaw tightened. “I’ve seen you. The way you act in the games. The way you don’t even flinch anymore,” his fingers curled into fists. “When did you stop caring? When did you decide it was easier to be a monster?”

The words slammed into you harder than you expected. Your throat tightened as you stared at him. “I’m not a monster.”

“Then why are you here?” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “You’re not even like the rest of us. You said yourself that you weren’t drowning in debt. You weren’t desperate to be here.”

You scoffed. “Oh, and you are?” You spat, leaning in, voice dripping with venom. “You won the games before, right? You have 46.5 billion won sitting in your bank account, and yet you still came back. So tell me, Gi-hun, why the hell are you here?”

Gi-hun’s face twisted. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” You let out a laugh, almost mocking. “You had a choice. You could’ve walked away. You could’ve lived. And yet, here you are, just like the rest of us, pretending you’re better.”

Gi-hun flinched, but his jaw tightened. “At least I know when to stop,” he muttered.

You felt a bitter taste in your mouth as you spoke. “But you’re here pretending to be a hero.”

A thick silence settled between you, feeling the tension on your shoulders. You stared onto space as you felt affected towards his words. You didn’t know whether to take it into consideration or to feel insulted.

Then, a voice cut through the tension.

“That’s enough.”

In-ho stood nearby, his presence commanding, gaze locked onto Gi-hun. There was no warmth in his voice, only quiet authority, the weight of someone who had been watching long enough.

Gi-hun exhaled, standing up. His shoulders slumped slightly, but his eyes never left yours. “Just don’t lose yourself in here,” he said, his voice quieter this time. “This place eats people alive.” He walked away, leaving you there.

You stared at the ground, weighing his words, feeling their weight settle deep in your chest. But when you looked up, your eyes met In-ho’s. You weren’t sure which was heavier — Gi-hun’s warning or the pull of In-ho’s gaze, the silent reminder of everything you were letting yourself become.

“Hey,” In-ho said, his voice warm enough to make you feel at ease. “You alright?”

You nodded, remembering you still had your one remaining gimbap in your hand. “Yeah. Gi-hun just noticed us becoming too close.”

“Is that a bad thing?” In-ho asked, though his voice was a bit teasing but there was questioning in his voice, as if he was testing you.

“No,” you shrugged. “Let’s just go with the others and see what they’re up to.”

In-ho nodded as he helped you up, holding you as if you were something fragile. Your cheeks flushed a bit but kept your gaze in front, knowing you would melt if you met his gaze. You sat beside Geum-ja, who was grouped now with Player 246, who you now know as Gyeong-seok, then Yong-sik, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Jun-hee, and Gi-hun. As much as possible, you distanced yourself from Gi-hun, still feeling disturbed by your recent conversation with him.

You noticed Yong-sik standing up, facing the players who had O patches on the other side. “Hey!” He called out. “Don’t agonize over your decision while eating this dry gimbap. I just want one of you to come over to our side. If we get out of there tomorrow morning, we could get Korean beef! I’ll tell you what. It’s my treat!”

You shook your head, feeling the secondhand embarrassment. This was a pity attempt to make the O players change their minds. This wouldn’t end well.

“And after that, the noodles are on me!” Geum-ja spoke up. You wanted to stop her, but she was too determined to speak up. Despite the evilness in this place, you can’t deny that there were pure, good-hearted people like her.

Yet to you, evilness always prevailed. Your point was proven when Player 100 spoke from the O crowd.

“Once you all die in the next game, we can all leave with 800 million each!” Player 100 spoke with diction, his words echoing through the silence prevailed over the X crowd. “With 800 million, we could buy a freaking cattle ranch!”

The O players cheered from behind him, their taunting smiles and growls echoing through the room. Dae-ho stood up, taking a step forward as he pointed his fingers at them. “You’ll get 800 million? Who are you kidding? Do you think you’ll still be alive after the next game? If you don’t get out now, you’re all going to die!”

“So let’s play one more game to see who dies,” Player 226 from the O crowd snapped back. “Stop trying to run away like a goddamn coward.

Dae-ho scoffed. “What did you say?” He moved towards the O crowd but still near the X crowd. “Come here, asshole!” Jung-bae followed in attempt to stop Dae-ho from walking towards the O crowd.

“I’ll take you down, chump!”

“Not with civilians,” Jung-bae dragged Dae-ho by the shoulder, only to be snapped away by Dae-ho. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, revealing his Marines tattoo.

“I was in the Marines, fucking asshole!”

The O players laughed mockingly. You looked away, feeling your cheeks flush in secondhand embarrassment. You noticed In-ho watching the scene intently, though his stare was cold as if assessing.

“Oh, yeah? Then I was in the air force, fucker!” Player 226 retorted, earning more laugh from the crowd behind him.

Then, for a split second, the X crowd start to gather in the middle, though they weren’t crossing the line. The division between two crowds was evident as the lines from each O and X were enough for them to not cross. The room was echoing with hatred, evilness, and something vulgar. If you were expecting the guards to step in and bring peace, you were wrong. They stayed still in the corner, their guns in hand watching the scene unfold.

Your eyes turned to the foil on your hand where the gimbap was wrapped. Though as you were about to crumple it, something cold and metallic brushed against your palm. Your breath hitched as you unwrapped the foil, revealing a fork.

Your fingers curled around the handle, heart thudding against your ribs. This wasn’t a mistake. This was deliberate.

You were right. The system wanted you to kill each other.

In-ho’s hand reached out to your fork, covering it. His grip was firm, but his thumb traced the ridge of your knuckles as if there was unspoken reassurance, a warning wrapped in something softer. He leaned in, his breath ghosting near your ear.

“Keep it.”

Your fingers tightened around the utensil, swallowing hard as you glanced up at him. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes held something heavy, as if it was calculated.

“What?” Gi-hun’s voice was low, but the edge was unmistakable. Across from you, he stared down at his own gimbap, his fingers pulling away a fork of his own. His eyes then flickered to yours, then to In-ho, suspicion bleeding into every inch of his face.

Something was coming. The guards never made mistakes. This wasn’t some mere accident.

You exchanged one last glance with In-ho before lowering your head, slipping the fork into your sleeve. Your mind raced as you realized, muttering under your breath as it washed over you. “X versus O…”

“They want us to turn on each other,” In-ho murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. He sensed the growing weight pressed against your chest, he added, “I’ll protect you.”

You flinched. The words were so quiet they barely existed, but they were there. You turned to him, but he was already staring at you.

“There’s going to be a plan,” In-ho continued, his voice smooth but he seemed unaffected. He didn’t need to say whose plan. You both knew Gi-hun wouldn’t sit still. “He’s going to try to rally the X players, maybe propose an alliance before the real bloodshed starts.”

“It won’t work,” you replied, your tone with certainty but the concern was evident on your face. “But you, you already have a plan, don’t you?”

“I have a foresight,” he said simply, though it wasn’t enough for an answer.

“Tell me,” you pressed, leaning towards him.

He held your gaze for a moment too long. Then, his lips twitched. Not into a smirk, not into a smile, but something close to amusement. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Somehow, his words sent a shiver down your spine. That was more terrifying than anything Gi-hun could come up with. With Gi-hun, he wanted to survive.

But with In-ho, he knew the rules better than anyone.

----

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A/N: I'm so so sorry this took a bit long. I had to move things around in my house as we're moving out from the family home. You know, for a fresh new start. I admit that I'm not doing a bit well lately but writing this chapter still lifted my spirits up somehow. I kinda feared this chapter would be a bit long but turns out it's kind of the same from the other chapters. I'm also excited to write the next chapter and I'll definitely started to work on it immediately. Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged on the next chapter! ✨

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onebadassunicorn · 11 hours ago

Text

Love Lies

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst, talk of revenge, death and mind manipulation, mention of smut

word count: 2.3k

Permanent taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @demon-master-zero @thegoddessofnothingness

Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog

Taglist @sinfully-yoursss @sillyfreakfanparty @phoenix666stuff @ quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @hellohauntedturnstudent @love-over-fears @kk191327 @i-am-infinite @historygeekqueen @yourdarkrose @fr0stfall @dnfhascorruptedme @azzydaddy

Image of Elain owned by Book Art by Sloan.

To see more work by this artist, join Patreon and become a member of this artist's collections!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

********

Chapter 19

Elain arrived in Winter Court under the cover of snowfall, her heart pounding as she stepped onto the frozen path leading toward the small estate where Azriel was staying.

She had never been this far north before, never felt the icy wind bite at her skin, but she hardly noticed it.

Because she was finally here.

Because after everything—after weeks of waiting, of carefully executed plans, of magic twisting reality into something of her own making—

She was finally going to have what was meant to be hers.

Azriel.

He was waiting for her outside, his broad form draped in a thick Winter Court cloak, his wings tucked behind him, his face calm as he stared out into the snow-covered landscape.

He looked peaceful.

And then—his hazel eyes met hers.

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face.

And before she could even speak, before she could even take another step forward—

He crossed the distance between them.

And pulled her into his arms.

Elain gasped, her breath stolen from her chest.

This was what she had dreamed of.

This was what she had been waiting for.

Azriel—warm, strong, real—

Holding her as if he had always meant to.

"Elain," he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "It’s so good to see you."

She pressed herself closer to him, inhaling his familiar scent—night and cedar and something wholly Azriel.

"I’ve missed you," she whispered.

"I’ve missed you too," he said softly, pulling back just enough to look at her.

And then, the words she had waited so long to hear fell from his lips.

"I finally see it now," he said, his gaze burning into hers. "It should have been you. It was always supposed to be you."

Elain’s heart stopped.

Her hands tightened on his cloak, her entire body trembling with pure, undiluted joy.

"Azriel," she choked out, her eyes welling with tears. "I—"

"I was so confused," he interrupted, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "For so long, I didn’t understand what was right in front of me. I convinced myself that the bond meant something. That it was real. But now I know the truth."

He cupped her face in his scarred hands, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks as her tears began to fall.

"It should have been three brothers and three sisters," he whispered. "I see that now."

Elain sobbed, unable to stop the sound from escaping her throat. "I’ve waited so long to hear you say that."

His lips curved into a small smile. "And I can’t wait to see the Inner Circle again," he told her, his voice full of certainty. "I want to tell them myself—tell them that I’ve made my decision. That I intend to marry you. To make it official."

Elain broke completely.

This was happening.

Azriel loved her.

He had chosen her.

And now—no one would ever take him away from her again.

They walked through the snow-dusted forest, side by side, the trees arching over them like a silent, watching audience.

Azriel’s hand never left hers.

His grip was steady, warm despite the cold.

Every now and then, when the wind picked up, he would pull her closer, wrapping his wing slightly around her, shielding her from the worst of the chill.

It was thoughtful.

Attentive.

Loving.

Everything she had dreamed of, everything she had hoped for.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked softly, his brows drawing together in concern when she shivered slightly.

"I’m fine," she reassured him, squeezing his hand. "But I appreciate you looking after me."

"I always will," he murmured, brushing a stray curl from her face.

Her heart swelled.

This was hers.

There was no trace of his mate left in his voice, in his touch, in his heart.

Just her.

And as they walked further into the winter woods,

Azriel no longer thought of the mate he left behind.

No longer thought of a bond that, in his mind, had never truly been real.

He only thought of Elain.

And he believed—with every fiber of his being—

That he had finally made the right choice.

The winter wind whispered through the towering trees, sending soft cascades of snow drifting from the branches above. The world around them was silent, untouched, save for the soft crunch of their boots on the frost-laden ground.

Azriel and Elain walked hand in hand, their fingers entwined as though they had always been meant to fit together.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Azriel was simply content to be here with her, to exist in this moment where everything felt… right.

For the first time in what felt like eternity, his mind was not weighed down with uncertainty.

There was no longing for something distant.

No ache for something lost.

Just Elain.

Soft.

Gentle.

Familiar.

She squeezed his hand, and he turned his gaze toward her, taking in the way the cold had flushed her cheeks, the way the golden strands of her hair seemed to glow against the snowy backdrop.

She was beautiful.

She was his.

He stopped walking.

Elain turned to him, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

"Az?" she asked softly.

He didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he lifted a hand to her face, cupping her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin against his palm.

She shivered at the touch but did not pull away.

If anything, she leaned into it.

His thumb traced over the curve of her cheek, and his heart stirred with something unfamiliar.

Something warm.

Something right.

"I love you," he murmured, the words slipping out so naturally, so effortlessly.

Elain’s lips parted slightly, her eyes widening.

"You—" her voice broke, as if she could barely believe what she was hearing.

Azriel’s lips curled into a small smile. "I think I’ve loved you all along."

A soft, broken sob slipped from her throat.

And then she was in his arms.

Pulling him down toward her, pressing her lips against his.

Azriel responded instantly.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, melting into the kiss like it was something he had always longed for.

Like it was something he had been waiting for.

The taste of her was familiar and new all at once.

Like a piece of his life that had been missing but had finally fallen into place.

Elain’s hands curled into his cloak, clutching at him as though she was afraid this was all a dream.

That she would wake and find that this moment wasn’t real.

But it was.

She had finally won.

She had finally rewritten fate.

And as Azriel kissed her beneath the falling snow, murmuring her name like a whispered promise, like something sacred—

He didn’t know that it was all a lie.

A carefully crafted illusion.

His new twisted reality.

*****

While Azriel was falling into the trap, while he was slowly unraveling in Winter Court, his mind no longer entirely his own—

Alatar moved.

His shadows slithered through the forests surrounding the cabin, creeping toward the sanctuary where you remained, mourning the mate who had just left you.

It would be easy.

You were already weak, already broken, already too devastated to even think about fighting back.

And once he had you—once he took you back to Hewn City, to his fortress, to the dark place where he had nearly drained you once before—

Then, he would finish what he started.

He would sever the bond completely.

Not through the Cauldron.

Not through magic meant to be wielded with care.

But through you.

Through your body, your blood, your very essence.

And once the bond was gone—once Azriel consummated his bond with Elain—

It would be finished.

You would be dead, and he would have your powers from the Dawn Court.

Then Elain would be with Azriel.

Soft.

Sweet.

Everything you weren’t.

And this time—Azriel wouldn’t resist.

Because he wouldn’t even remember why he was supposed to.

Alatar’s smirk curled into something sinister as he stepped into the darkness, his shadows stretching toward the cabin.

"Time to finish what I started."

*****

The crisp mountain air whipped around the cabin as Rhysand winnowed in, his power snapping like a storm, his shadows curling at his feet.

But he was not alone.

A presence darker than the night itself lingered just outside the cabin’s threshold.

Alatar.

Rhys barely arrived in time.

You stood frozen in place, terror filling every inch of your body as the warlock's shadows slithered toward you, curling around your limbs like they were claiming you.

A sick, twisted smirk played on Alatar’s lips as he reached for you—

But he never got the chance to touch you.

Because with a flick of his wrist, Rhysand’s power lashed out like a whip, locking Alatar’s body in place.

Paralyzed.

Frozen where he stood.

The warlock’s mouth twisted in shock before curling into amusement.

"Ah," Alatar mused, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "The great High Lord of Night finally figured it out. Took you long enough."

Rhysand stepped forward, power crackling through the air, the weight of his fury enough to crush worlds.

"What have you done to my brother?" Rhys demanded, his voice low and lethal.

Alatar laughed.

Actually laughed.

"Oh, Rhysand," he crooned. "I did exactly what I promised I would do. I broke him. I broke your precious Spymaster and his mate forever."

Your breath hitched, your hands shaking as you clutched at Rhys’s arm, desperate for answers, for clarity, for something.

"What do you mean?" your voice trembled, but there was fire beneath the fear.

Alatar’s smile turned cruel. "You’re already too late. The spell has nearly run its course—within a few hours, his mind will be lost forever."

You felt your knees buckle, but Rhys’s grip on you was firm, keeping you upright.

"You’re lying," Rhysand hissed, but his power flared like even he was afraid of the possibility.

"Am I?" Alatar tilted his head. "Your Azriel is gone, High Lord. He is in Winter Court right now, walking through the frozen woods with Elain Archeron, telling her that he loves her. That he has always loved her. He has already forgotten his mate."

"NO," you choked out, shaking your head violently.

But Alatar continued. "She traveled to him. She is with him as we speak, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, basking in the love he believes is real."

His smirk deepened. "And do you know how the spell becomes irreversible?"

Neither you nor Rhys answered.

Alatar leaned in, his smile a dagger in the dark. "They must consummate their bond."

The words struck like lightning, searing through your body, igniting the deepest, darkest kind of agony imaginable.

You could barely breathe past the pain.

"Once he takes her to bed," Alatar said with a mocking sigh, "Once he claims her, mind and body, the spell will be solidified. The bond he had with you will be nothing more than dust in the wind. Forgotten forever."

"You son of a—" Rhys’s power surged, his rage tangible, his violet eyes burning with lethal fury.

Alatar laughed again. "You should have listened, Rhysand. I warned you that you should have never come for her."

He opened his mouth to say more—to gloat, to revel in his victory—

But he never got the chance.

Because Rhysand lifted a hand and with a flick of his wrist, Alatar disintegrated.

Misted into nothing but a fine spray of blood and ash.

You let out a choked sob, collapsing against Rhys’s chest, your hands clutching at his leathers like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

"We have to go," you gasped between your sobs. "Rhys, please, we have to get to him before—before—"

Rhys wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead for the briefest moment, grounding you.

"I know," he murmured. "We’re going now."

His arms tightened around you, and the next thing you knew, the world shifted, the stars bending, the night folding in on itself—

And when you opened your eyes, you were in Winter Court.

But was it already too late?

*****

The air in Winter Court was sharp and cold, the biting wind slashing at your exposed skin as you and Rhysand winnowed just outside the estate where Azriel was staying.

Your heart was hammering.

Lights glowed warmly from inside, flickering through the windows. A fire burned in the hearth, casting shifting shadows against the frosted glass.

He was here.

With her.

You felt sick.

Rhysand didn’t hesitate.

With a wave of his hand, the doors to the estate burst open with a violent crack, the sound echoing through the empty halls like a clap of thunder.

The moment you stepped inside, you could feel it.

The wrongness of it all.

A place that should have never held him and her together.

"Azriel!" Rhysand’s voice boomed through the halls, dripping with authority, with power, with fury.

There was no response.

You rushed after him, your heartbeat a wild, erratic rhythm against your ribs as you moved through the estate, desperately searching.

Then—

Rhysand stopped.

And you knew.

You could hear the moans and whispers of love being murmured as two lovers came together.

You knew what lay beyond that door.

Your stomach twisted into knots.

Rhysand turned to you, his face hard, unreadable.

"Are you ready?" he asked, soft, but firm.

You could barely breathe.

But you nodded.

And with one sharp push, Rhysand threw open the door.

Chapter 20

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel angst #azriel x y/n #azriel x female!reader

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motheroffeline · 1 day ago

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Infatuation (pt. 3)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, extremely dark, overstimulation, P in V, oral (m receiving), violent sex, hair pulling, crying, dubious consent, dom! dark! egoistic! Aaron Pierre x photographer!OC!(Ari), some voyeurism, de@th threats, usage of the N word, and spanking. Summary: Ari finds her own plan backfiring against her in a tremendous way; tied and fucked on her own bed she decides that she has reached a low point in life but somehow Aaron Pierre forces her to go even lower. Ari's friend calls her wanting to know how the event went but she can't find the words to describe it. Why? He's fucking her while she's on the phone with her lifeline.

Word count: 1600+

Alyssa talked and talked away to Ari but she might as well have been mute because of how hard her guts were being dug out. This was the second longest time she had been in the bed – the first time being because of catching pneumonia. It was a fucking so good that it had Ari crying out his name wanting so much more and so little because of how his dick was fucking right into her g spot, barely scraping against her cervix. He was fucking her like he hated every inch of her and he probably did.

“Ari, you still here? I was asking you last night went with that fine ass man you work for. Girl you on the other line? I'm hanging up then!” She sighed as the call ended because there were more important things to focus on because the fine man she had dreamt about for years was fucking her. His eyes were looking right into her soul, dissecting every piece of her with that piercing stare.

Her head was yanked back even further as he forced her to stare into her eyes, “Ari, look at how good I’m fucking you. Any nigga ever had you speechless before? I thought so. I’m so glad you decided to give yourself to me; baby I didn’t even have to try for fuck’s sake. Mmmmm you squeezing it so good just cum for me.” His mouth was so filthy that everytime he said something Ari felt herself on the verge of something life changing and then she came so hard she almost fell flat down on her face, but he kept her suspended with his arm clutching her stomach.

He was quite literally growling as he came inside of her. This Aaron was different from the man who had that childish smile, the man that was so curious about her different ideas, and the man so afraid of her that he got on his knees to please. No, this Aaron was angry, furious about how he had been betrayed that he could kill her right now. A silence hung heavy in the air of the room but the animals stirred outside just the same. Pulling himself out of her reluctantly, he got off of the bed with a devious smirk on his face.

“From now on, that blackmail shit won’t work when you want to threaten me. A picture of me naked? Send it on any platform and I’ll be even more famous than I already am. You think I’m scared of you of all people? Got so cocky that you dragged a grown ass man back to a secluded house not even having the common sense to know that I could have overpowered you at any time.” There was a knowing in his voice and that knowledge sent a chill down Ari’s spine: everything had gone wrong in every inconceivable way. First of all, she had got more than what she had bargained for and there was a possibility that she would never leave her house alive again.

“What can I do to make you forget about all of this? I-I… you can have anything in this house and all of my money I’m just fucking sorry about everything…Look, I always had this crush on you and I took it too far and I’m sorry. Please, don’t hurt me, I’m not even in my 30’s yet I’m just 25 years old and I haven’t even started my li-” Aaron busted out laughed as Ari pleaded for her life not caring about the tears running down her face or the way her voice trembled instead it gave him a sick satisfaction to have scared her so badly.

“Ari, instead of running your mouth and spewing dumb shit out of it, come use it to suck my dick. You gonna start liking this shit and I got this hunch that you already do. What happened to the bold moves you pulled on me?” He shoved his dick in her mouth, choking her and Ari couldn’t say a word if she wanted to. The man had fucked the living daylights out of her and now he was fucking her mouth? Porn stars had this type of stamina.

Ari tried to talk but her words came out as jumbled nonsense as he forced more of his length into her mouth. It was like he was trying to kill her with his dick and if it was possible he would have. “Ari, them damn lips feel so good around my dick you don’t even know… Mmmmm that’s it let daddy have his way with your mouth. Ohhh yes… gonna cum and you better not spit it out either.” Throat fucking was an understatement compared to what was happened to Ari it was like his dick was hitting the roof of her mouth and touching the back of her uvula. His balls slapping against her chin and she could only whimper as he groaned and came into her mouth.

In a blur, she was on her bed again with him hovering over her like the antichrist himself with how formidable and evil he seemed. But, Ari could not believe that the man she wanted who she came to know as someone who seemed to be only into vanilla shit had carved her body out like this. And because she did not believe what was happening to her she decided to test his resolve: “what you gonna do now spank me? Fuck me? I don’t believe this shit you just putting on an act. Ha! Why I didn’t think of the shit sooner? In a moment, we’re just gonna walk away and act like we don’t know each other…” There was doubt evident in every word she said and he could see right through it.

“Half of that shit you said was wrong, Ari but I am going to fuck and slap this ass so…” He flipped her over on her stomach and plunged into her pussy from behind and they both moaned from how tight Ari’s pussy was. His palm collided hard with Ari’s ass cheek mixing with the wet sounds of his dick sliding in and out of her pussy. It was a macabre symphony of flesh clapping against flesh and new sounds being brought out of each other’s chests that they didn’t even know they could make.

He moans and reaches down to catch Ari’s lips in a dominating kiss, swallowing her moans as he continues his relentless assault on her pussy. Ari just babbled away incoherent nonsense from how good everything was beginning to feel. His dick was hitting spots inside of her that was making her brain go blank and she pushed against his chest but he just slapped her hand away.

“Uh-uh, don’t make me stop fucking you. Tell daddy whose pussy this is…” Ari mewled as he slowed down only to push himself in deeper. “Fix that arch before I make this shit hurt…” He said while gripping her hips. She quickly did as he said while trying to think of what to say.

“This pussy yours daddy. Mmmm, hahhhh, all yours because you touch me so much better than I touch myself. You in so deep fuckkk.” Ari whimpered out every word as Aaron’s face glimmered with sadistic love for how he had corrupted her.

“This pussy is mine. You hear me? No other nigga gets to taste this, touch this, fuck this… I think I’m gon’ have to keep you locked in the bedroom, keep this pussy all to myself.” The deepness of his voice sent Ari over the edge, and she slammed her ass on his dick as she lost herself in complete and utter pleasure. Something warm felt like it was spewing out of her as he continued to thrust into her and her eyes rolled back.

“Oh shit…I’ll be a good girl daddy just fuck me… yesss.” Aaron laughed as he took in the completely blown out face of Ari. Aaron pushed Ari on her back and said, “I know you’ll be a good girl because you not going outside again and if you escape I’ll fuck you up. Me? I don’t even gotta act to bring in money, I can just post pictures of my face and shit gets done. You? Probably lonely and you only got one friend out here so tell me why you need to leave.” Ari’s breathing came out in huffs as she tried to formulate an answer that would explain why she needed to leave her house and why everything was coming undone around her.

“Please, let me go… Aaron. I know you don’t wanna hear what I gotta say but I think you’ll like this… Use my body however you want, hell, I’ll even delete the pictures! Don't do this to me...” Tears were rolling down her face again and fear seemed to be becoming her new normal even though she was only two days into his torture. But, isn’t this what she wanted? Ever since she started collecting enough stuff to ruin his private life, she was doing it to force him into her arms and now that she had been forced into his arms she didn’t know how to escape.

Aaron smirked, getting off of the bed while staring at Ari with those stunning eyes of his, and said “this is how it’s gonna go: you’re gonna come with me to my house so I can get all of my things to live here with you for a while; when I get tired I’m dumping you in a lake somewhere; also, you better start prepping yourself from the moment you wake up to the very hour you go to bed because if I want it then I want it ready for me. Don’t look at me like that… you wanted me and now you got me. Love, how someone appears on social media is different from the real them, don't you know that? Guess you do now…” There was a slow drawl in his words, probably exhaustion finally settling into him, but it was apparent through his demands that Ari’s life would now be on someone else’s terms.

***************************************************

Taglist: @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @fairygoround @notapradagurl7 @secretlifeoofmarpessa @alonahh @fakxmbj @writingsbytee @blackpinup22 @nayaesworld @jniyaa @ovohanna24

#aaron pierre #black men #black fanfiction #oc #blackmail kink #rough cnc #rough k1nk

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homestuckreplay · 2 days ago

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take me down to the pesterlog city where jade’s text is green and john gets all petty

(page 1394-1406)

It’s pesterlog time!!!! In a 12 page spread (1391-1402) there are seven pesterlog pages representing five characters. I feel like I am a medieval peasant attending my first palace banquet. The rich offerings of character moments and variety of colors on display is blowing my gruel-fed brain.

The art also kicks ass this update! Tbh I am going to make a post about the art more generally as I’ve noticed some big changes recently (and some slow changes that are very apparent when jumping back) so for today I’ll just say: look at this super cool art of John exploring LOWAS on page 1395. He’s so clearly questing in a way that the sprite just can’t represent. I would get this framed for my wall.

I’m delighted to get a longer conversation with CG, who I’ve named Reggie. They’re actually fun and creative with their trolling techniques here, and knowing what they look like means I get to imagine this little grey kid grinding their fangs as they tap away on their keyboard furious at a comparatively sweet and clueless guy. They look like a goofy nerd whose bark is way worse than their bite.

‘IT WOULD MAKE ME SICK TO MY HUMAN STOMACH IF I HAD ONE OF YOUR HUMAN STOMACHS’ is VERY funny. Reggie feels similar to the Felt and Midnight Crew in being so over-the-top in their violence that it loops back around to being funny. And John’s reactions are good too – he’s not upset at the trolling like Jade is, he’s hilarious and willing to turn Reggie’s snark back on them. Their willingness to play off each other definitely increases the ‘enemies to lovers’ feeling of this Valentine’s Day conversation.

It is interesting that Rose accepted GA’s offer to be friends (p.1093), and now Reggie is telling John that they’re friends in the future (p.1394). So suddenly the trolls, who act and look textbook malicious at first, are trying to play nice. Are the trolls setting this up in order to double cross the kids in the future? Or are the trolls trying to incorporate the kids into their group and get them to follow some sort of dark trolling agenda? Or are they also just outcast alien kids who troll people because they’re lonely and want some attention? Hard to say when we have only heard from three of them.

There is something amazing about PM’s sword previously being used for vengeance (p.844, 870) and this time when she tries to do similar, she’s interrupted by WV who convinces her to use it to open cans and share food instead. WV may be from the dark kingdom but he feels like a peacemaker between the light and dark sides, refusing to fight against either PM or AR. I mean he is literally followed around by the light of serenity. And now he sits between PM and AR and shares his food and Tab and they all become friends, which honestly, is amazing mayoral work. Solving disputes in the town already. I really think he could build a town just like Spades Slick did.

This view of Dave’s city is cool too, I love the color of the sky! He straight up lies by saying ‘i always keep birds in here its sort of my thing’ (p.1400) and calling it sincere, considering his earlier bird-free room (p.312). He is on way too many layers of irony to decode (i.e. he just says whatever bullshit comes to mind that might be funny with no regard for whether it’s true or false). Which is soooo great for getting to know his character (also he should stop saying slurs).

However, I can see why Dave is annoyed by Rose here. Like he does kind of bring this all on himself by being so ironic all the time and talking about how ‘cool’ his brother apparently is, but, it’s gotta be hard when he’s been telling Rose about fighting his brother on the roof and she’s dismissing that he went through a lot to get the beta to save her, when Jade had it literally handed to her. Rose doesn’t know the details so I’m not mad at her, but it still can’t be easy for Dave to hear that dismissal from a friend.

I do feel like Rose and Jade have this alliance in seeing themselves as the two who know what’s going on, with the combined power of Jade’s visions and Rose’s perceived high intelligence. This whole update is very gender roles but this does evoke page 838, where Rose is far more aware of Jade’s powers and the type of information she has access to than John or Dave are.

Meanwhile in Dave and John land...

TG: i should probably text him soon TG: see whats up TG: because TG: i love him

Straight up adorable. Don’t even pretend to me that there’s a shred of irony in this. I love how close these guys are. This is sort of the first declaration of love in Homestuck unless you count John’s telling Liv Tyler on his Armageddon poster that he loves her (p.223).

We specifically don’t get to see Rose’s conversation with a troll (yet), but I think we can assume she’s talking to GA, probably the only troll she respects enough to prioritize over Dave. We also don’t see where in the Medium Rose is; John assumes that she’s also in the Land of Wind and Shade, but according to Rose, ‘It’s hard to say for certain. But I think I like it here.’ (p.1402). If the Medium has four planets in between the light and dark (p.703) (holy shit half the story ago) then it makes sense for the players to all start on different planets and have to find each other, so we could be getting ANOTHER super aesthetically cool land within the next few weeks. Or teased repeatedly until the end of the act, who knows.

The puppets (including a wizard puppet) clinging to the totem lathe on page 1403 is a very good gag. Also, ‘eggy loking thign’ (p.240) spotted here in the menu?? Implying a limited set of Sburb entry items?? Also 2,000 starting build grist for Jade to use compared to 20 for Rose, and a bunch more gizmos and gadgets available to deploy, including a disc with a piece of green grist (?) and two devices shaped like captchalogue/strife cards; a further tease of what’s to come.

Finally, I’m so glad Hussie agrees with me that there’s no fucking way Jade knows how to clean a house. Even if she has absorbed gender roles and sees cleaning as a woman’s activity (p.1405) she definitely was not taught to do that and designed some kind of robot to do it for her.

#homestuck #reaction #adiosToreador is definitely named Wayne #as for grimAuxiliatrix? definitely a Cool Name like Carson #chrono

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tenderwatches · 5 hours ago

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summary: Viktor refuses to trust the people of Piltover—and that includes Jayce Talis. (someone hug that boy; he is doing his best!!)

Though Viktor sleeps well, perhaps better than he has in months, he’s still weary when he wakes. Golden light creeps into his new room, and reality sets in like a paradox in an otherwise mundane dream; the sensation is at once ordinary and disarming.

He is back in Piltover.

The council wants him working on Hextech again.

He’s argued with Jayce Talis.

Now, he’s making his way slowly around his former partner’s lab, taking everything in as if he’s on a tour. This lab is bigger than the one they’d previously shared (it has a second story with enclosed rooms and a loft, which Viktor finds excessive even without considering the below-ground forge). Along the far wall, boxes bearing various mercantile clan insignia line the shelves—evidence of funding that extends well beyond the Kirammans’ patronage.

Jayce seems to have forgotten altogether that Viktor had arrived yesterday and has taken to staring at him, as if trying to determine why he’s here. Sky Young (he recalls writing her a letter of recommendation and is pleased to see Jayce has taken her on) and a young man she introduces as ‘Thomas’ (clearly of Piltovan stock, by the way he stares at Viktor like a wide-eyed doe) have set about in a valiant crusade to carve out a space for Viktor amongst the chaos of papers and instruments.

The flurry of movement finally breaks Jayce’s stupor. He retreats to his workstation, where he begins cramming papers into a drawer. A key appears from his sleeve just long enough to turn the lock before vanishing back beneath his cuff.

Of course, Jayce would have lab assistants fretting over the mess Viktor knows damn well he made. He only just contains the urge to roll his eyes, especially when Jayce has the audacity to lean against the back of his chair in a poor attempt to look casual. “What, uh. What are you doing here?”

Maybe Jayce really has forgotten all of yesterday. “I wanted to talk to you about your work.”

Jayce’s honeyed irises glimmer with something like expectation, or even hope. The fact that this man thinks that they can reconcile so easily after everything he’d done to oust Viktor from the city that, much to his chagrin, kept him alive, indicates to Viktor just how much Jayce has always gotten his way. He’s always known this; he’s fallen into his own traps of wanting to please, to give, to see that almost boyish smile alight upon the other man’s lips.

But that grace, he reminds himself, is not to be trusted—just like any other member of Piltover’s upper caste, no matter how much Jayce likes to paint himself as the paragon of the common man.

Jayce laughs in a way that sounds a bit delirious, and Viktor has to look away. Jayce’s cravat lies on the desk, surely discarded the second he was able to remove it. The leather bracelet he typically wears sits beside it, half folded over itself, and Viktor knows Jayce must have been deep in thought, turning its length over and over, like a circle of prayer beads. These little signs of how his former partner hasn’t changed much in the time they’ve been apart begin to tug at his resolve, attempting to find frayed edges to pull apart. Viktor will not bend to this man again, just because he wears his emotions so openly.

“I can’t believe you’re using that line on me again,” Jayce mumbles, and as he does, Viktor notices his mouth fluttering through a fleeting smile.

“What line?” He sits at the newly cleared workstation that Sky indicates to him in gestures, making her way through a series of pantomimes that he interprets as her going to get breakfast. She practically shoves Thomas out of the room once he returns from ferrying a box of half-finished prototypes and tools upstairs. The doors shut firmly behind them; it can’t be any more obvious how awkward they’ve made this environment for the two young lab assistants. Well, he’s not doing anything more or less than he’s been asked, and he’s not going to let Jayce’s inability to hold a normal conversation keep him from carrying on with the work.

He has every right to be here, after all. He doesn’t need to justify himself. This thought gets forced to the back of his mind, where he refuses to give it any further attention. He has always had to make his own space, and just because this is Jayce doesn’t mean it’s any different.

Jayce turns on the spot, his erratic movements betraying his discomfort. Viktor finds himself looking first at Jayce’s rumpled clothes, then the shadow of overnight growth on his face, his tousled hair, and finally, his sleep-heavy eyes. He lingers there for a moment before clearing his throat, causing Jayce to jolt into awareness. “About yesterday—”

Viktor scoffs. “We’ve clearly said enough about how we feel.”

Jayce makes a noise that tells Viktor he’s pouting. “Look, I’m not trying to bring it all up again—”

“Obviously, you are.”

He feels as exasperated as Jayce sounds. His focus is on the tabletop, watching Jayce flatten his fingers against the surface in an attempt to keep his composure. “It’s just—that… That wasn’t how I intended it to go.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Intended what to go?”

“You know—seeing—seeing each other. Again.” Jayce pauses to wet his dry lips with the tip of his tongue, and Viktor’s hands clench around the crutch he still has not let go of in spite of having sat down. “So, uh. I’m sorry.”

Viktor doesn’t respond beyond lifting his gaze to meet Jayce’s, maintaining careful indifference. They hold this moment in silence, then, Jayce releases a strained huff. A small, petty part of Viktor is satisfied.

“I’m… going to make tea.” Jayce stands, sliding his chair back with a loud scrape. “Do you… want any?” His makes his offer with hesitation, and that alone makes Viktor respond with almost a sneer.

“No. I’m fine.”

Once he’s moved across the room, Viktor finally allows himself to track the other man’s retreating back. He’s quick to dismiss the olive branch; it has something to do with how he can’t help but notice how Jayce’s coat settles across his broad shoulders, wrinkled from what must have been hours of the night spent hunched over his notes.

The effect this mental image has on him is maddening.

He focuses hard on the blackboard behind Jayce’s workstation, heart beating rabbit-fast. Fragments of calculations spill across the surface in that familiar, passionate scrawl; some notation has been viciously crossed out, others circled with aggressive emphasis. Viktor recognises the momentum of Jayce deep in the throes of inspiration and pictures him pacing between his notes and the board, brow knitted in thought.

Viktor wills himself to breathe evenly, setting his crutch aside against the table with a long exhale. This side of Jayce—dishevelled, intense, brilliant in his chaos—shouldn’t be so compelling—but this isn’t the city’s Progress Day darling. This is his Jayce, the real man behind the sculpted model that flashes up in front of the Council, crowds, and investors.

No—not his. Not anymore.

His pulse beats in his ears. His breath, superficially steady, falters. He has always possessed this deep affection, this painful attraction to his former partner, but his feelings are now much more intense than he ever remembered.

He retrieves the notes he collected from the floor following last night’s argument, stacking the papers on the desk in front of him. His motions are foreign with artificial precision as he adjusts them a fraction, aligning the corners and far edge. He places his pen along the top, then slides it to the right. He frowns at it.

“So,” Jayce starts, piercing the stiff silence. “How… are you adjusting back to Piltover?”

Viktor’s lip curls unkindly, but he keeps the ugly expression between himself and the tabletop. “Small talk, Jayce?” The words still drip with derision. Jayce either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“It seems safer.” The kettle bubbles to a boil. Jayce crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. The pads of his fingers drum an anxious rhythm against his bicep that Viktor follows with his eyes. His sleeves are hastily rolled up past his forearms, and his tanned skin is a shade paler across his left wrist, where he normally wears his bracelet. His hands are strong, rippling with his movements.

After an incriminating length of time, Viktor manages to tear his gaze away. The truth is clear to him, even after less than twenty-four hours topside. Adjusting will be hard—is hard. Living in Piltover has always been difficult for him; he has to play their games ten times better whilst only hoping for the barest return, and he can’t trust anyone. Not even Jayce—not again. “I don’t see why it’s necessary.”

“I can’t do silence, V—Viktor.” The correction of his name lands like a blow between them. Viktor reels from it, even though he’s the one who insists on their distance. Jayce’s next words are soft with cautious apology. “You know that.”

Viktor wants to shake himself. “Put on a record,” he suggests dryly.

Jayce’s shoulders tense. He purses his lips into a thin line. “Let’s… just get you caught up on the work.”

Irritation flares to life inside of Viktor—of course, Jayce expects him to simply fall in line, to pick up where they left off as if the years between them were merely a brief interruption. As if Viktor’s exile had been a minor inconvenience in the great narrative of their incredible journey. As if Piltover—as if Jayce hadn’t torn away everything he’d built for himself from scraps, much as the Undercity has risen from Piltover’s castoffs.

Familiar bitterness rises in his throat, but he swallows it back with a cough as he watches Jayce fix his tea with trembling hands. Nothing in Viktor’s life has ever been so easy, so accommodating, and Jayce has always failed to see what that truly looked like.

Jayce’s betrayal was agony, certainly, but its most terrible cruelty is that it was preventable. Viktor knew better, and, despite himself, he’d let Jayce’s warm smiles, gentle hands, and scientific enthusiasm win him over. But this time, he promises himself, he’ll abide by his lessons for living amongst the wolves in Piltover.

𐡸.:𐫱:.𐡷

Autumn, 974 AN - nineteen years ago

This city was specifically designed to torment him.

The Academy Square was impossibly wide, a torturous distance stretching between him and the classrooms. Even after trekking across its expanse, there were still endless stairs to climb before reaching the gauntlet in which he would have to demonstrate that he belonged in this city. Each landing was a temporary refuge before trial, a chance to catch his breath. Lances of pain shot through both legs, never mind just the bad one, and his overused muscles quivered with the effort of maintaining dignity under the wary glances of countless passing students.

The whispers had run, lightning fast, through the student body before the end of the day was out.

“Do you think he can read?”

“Must do, right? They wouldn’t let him in otherwise, even with Professor Heimerdinger’s favour… “

“Where did the professor even find him?”

In the grand lecture hall, he cautiously approached a group of students discussing coursework in low but animated voices. The conversation died the moment he approached, sending his heart leaping first into his throat, then to the pit of his stomach. He swallowed audibly, uncertain how to proceed under their attention.

“We were just discussing Professor Wingert’s summer intensive,” one student offered, a false brightness in their tone. “Did you attend?”

“No,” Viktor answered, attempting to keep his voice low enough that his accent might not be detectable, but this felt too insufficient an answer. “I studied independently—”

One of the students in the group, a round-faced teen with an absurdly large collar, gave him an aborted little cough that failed to hide his snicker. The girl next to him elbowed him without discretion, and Viktor noticed they all now seemed to be enraptured by anything that wasn’t him.

He clenched his teeth against the sharp stab of humiliation, refusing to give them the benefit of noting his embarrassment. Instead, he swept out a chair and settled into it, hooking his cane on the edge of the table before folding his fingers atop the surface. “Please, continue. I’m sure it will be enlightening.”

The students blinked at him, obviously unsure how to take his intrusion, and he waited them out with as patient an expression as he could manage. Eventually, they turned back to their chatter. He gave the occasional hum as if he followed the thread of conversation, quietly stewing in the bitter misery of the moment. He made himself sit through the banal recounting of their fancy summer course and laughed at jokes he didn’t fully understand until it felt less like retreating when he gave his quiet excuses and left.

He realised at some point that he had faded into the scenery for them. It felt marginally better than being an open interloper in their space, and it let him breathe, stretch out his aching leg, and dig his thumb into the painful knot that had been building at the joint of his knee after a day of endless stairs.

He marked this exchange down as his first lesson learnt.

Rule number one: make space for yourself; they will not make it for you.

It was as good a thing to learn as any about manoeuvring in this city. The Undercity had its own set of rules: never look distracted whilst walking alone, haggle a merchant’s first price, and memorise the locations of hazardous vents, the times at which they release, and when they can be safely walked over. Of course there would be plenty of similar circumstances for him to familiarise himself with, but he regretted stumbling unawares into one on his first day.

Survival in Piltover was less literal than it was back home, but the swift current raged around him, close to dragging him in. The threat of drowning made his next lesson all that more painful to swallow, like gulping water instead of air.

As his first few weeks continued, Viktor found himself existing in proximity to several other students in his year. He didn’t exactly pull them into conversation, but they seemed content to let him occupy their space during meals and study at their table in the Academy library in the evenings.

He appreciated the opportunity to not be left alone. The last thing he wanted was to make himself a target here. He wasn’t exactly sure what cruelties the shining citizens of Piltover might be capable of, but he hadn’t gotten that far in life by ignoring the simple rule that those left behind by the pack were easy to pick off.

What he didn’t anticipate was how quickly that illusion of safety in numbers could dissolve when he moved from being a mildly annoying shadow to something far more sinister—a threat to the proper Pilties in his lessons.

Viktor, after all, was smart. It was the one thing that carried him through every indignity of his life, every agony and complication. His intelligence was a weapon he had forged, honed, and used to carve his path.

He, however, didn’t realise it was a blade that could cut both ways until he showed up a fellow student at a lecture. It hadn’t been meant as a slight; it was simply in his nature to act on his knowledge. Classes were the one place he felt confident that being silent would do him more harm than good.

So when he cut across his fellow first-year’s fragmented attempts to reconcile an equation with a simple, “The math you did here is wrong,” he didn’t expect the daggers that shot his way. They came from not just the boy he’d corrected, but nearly half the class. He cleared his throat, resigning himself to make himself unshakeable in this clear social catastrophe, and picked up the chalk. With his cane tapping gently, he moved to the board and made a short correction of the boy’s work. “An oversight, I’m sure,” he managed stiffly, stepping back as their professor looked over the work with a hum of approval.

His classmates moved away from him that evening when he settled at their table to work. He spared a moment to watch them walk away before forcing himself to look back at his notes and stuff down the absurd notion that rejection could hurt him. Even if it could, he would never let them see it. He had been a loner before; he would manage being one here as well.

Rule number two: never rely on their grace—it is precarious, and they will exploit your weaknesses.

So went the rest of his first semester at the Academy, and in time, winter gave way to spring after a quiet holiday break that Viktor chose to spend on campus. It was towards the end of that first school year that he learnt his third lesson.

Viktor wasn’t one to notice looks right away, but even he noticed the striking appearance of the student approaching him—olive skin, jet black hair, and sapphires for eyes. Perhaps this was why he had been utterly unprepared when this person stopped beside him, peered over his shoulder, and asked, “What are you reading?”

Their accent was one he couldn’t place—it wasn’t quite round enough to be Piltovan, but it sounded close, perhaps belonging to a nearby neighbour.

Viktor looked up, already prickling with awareness. His hard expression softened slightly at the edges, though, when he saw that those blue eyes were bright with interest. “Realms of Runeterra,” he offered finally, lifting the book to show its cover.

“Sounds… big,” they commented with an easy smile, presenting him with a hand. “Morgan.” Viktor took it in his own, giving a cautious but crisp shake.

“Viktor.”

“Viktor,” Morgan repeated, as if trying out the name as they dropped onto the emerald grass beside him. “Well, in case you can’t tell, I’m not from around here either.”

For the remainder of the school year, Morgan and Viktor orbited what one could loosely call a “friendship,” if one were being generous.

Viktor didn’t see the other student much, as they were a year ahead of him and so didn’t share but two of his classes, but he found himself growing… excited for those lessons in particular. Something about those periods made his stomach perform tight backflips, which doubled in intensity whenever Morgan caught his eye and gave him a swift smile.

One evening, as the sleepy start of winter started to nip at the air, Morgan caught Viktor’s wrist as he was gathering his things. “Hey,” they said, leaning in conspiratorially, “there’s something I want to tell you.”

Viktor fumbled one of his books, nearly dropping his cane, but Morgan’s next words were not what he’d expected. “You’re brilliant, Viktor—but if you want to succeed here, you need to… adjust.” Their thumb traced circles on the back of his hand. “The way you speak—I know you can’t help the accent; I can’t do much about mine either, but—the way you present yourself? Like you have something to prove.”

“I do.” The words burst forth more insistently than he intended. He faltered, trying to justify them. “I… I know they don’t think I belong. But I can do the work just as well—better than any of them.”

Morgan sighed. “I’m only telling you this because I care.” They let go of his hand, standing back to fold their arms over their chest. “You worry too much about what others think. It keeps people away—I mean, you don’t see anyone other than me, do you?”

Viktor looked askance, burying the wellspring of discomfort that was beginning to burble in his chest. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to.

Later that week, Viktor heard Morgan’s lilting laugh from around the corner of one of the Academy’s sunlit halls. “It’s sort of cute how he’s more confident than anyone from the Undercity ought to be,” they were saying, eliciting snickers from their captive audience, “but he really ought to know his place.” Light flashed in his vision in a way that didn’t have anything to do with the crystalline window panes.

Viktor turned sharply down the hallway towards the voices, his cane stabbing the floor with each step. Something in him had gone cold and still; he didn’t even take satisfaction in the way the clack of his cane clipped off the group’s laughter when he passed by. He could feel their stares landing all over him but kept his own gaze firmly fixed ahead. He no longer remembered where he had been heading, but at least they knew he wasn’t going to lie down, clueless and naive, for their cruel humour.

Rule number three: they will lie to you. Their kindness is an instrument made of ice and mirrors instead of steel.

He spent that night, and each one after it, alone. Much like home, you couldn’t trust anyone topside. But at least in the Undercity, people bared their fangs so you knew they’d tear out a chunk of your flesh if you let them. Here, they flashed their pretty teeth like anglerfish, beckoning you in to be devoured before you knew it. Viktor refused to let himself be consumed by this city. He would learn everything it offered him, and even from what it did not. If their kindness was a weapon, so too would be his perception.

It wasn’t until the next week that Morgan attempted to approach him again as if nothing had changed. Viktor didn’t look up from his work as Morgan greeted him, but his voice carried just enough for those nearest them in the library to hear. “Here to offer me more advice about fitting in?”

“Viktor, I—” He could hear Morgan’s smile faltering in their words.

“You want to help me pull people in instead of keeping them away? Like you?” He fixed Morgan in his gaze, trapping them there, each word a pin to hold them down. “To tell them about who I know, what my family does—all so I’ll be worthy of my confidence?” He snapped his notebook shut, placing it carefully into his bag. “Are you going to teach me how to tell six different versions of the same story, depending on who is listening?”

Morgan wasn’t smiling now. Their hands clenched into fists at their sides, shoulders straining the perfect cut of their starched academy uniform. Viktor took this in, tracing the style of their hair, coiffed in the latest fashion without a single strand out of place. Despite their obvious mortification, their posture was still Piltovan perfect. Viktor wondered how long they had practiced in the mirror, turning to examine their pose from every angle. How many versions of themselves had they tried on before finding one that Piltover would accept?

In his periphery, he could see the nearby students pretending not to listen, but their pens were frozen in mid-air. Viktor leaned into his cane to push himself to standing and started for the door. He paused next to Morgan, letting his words fall softly, perhaps mercifully, over his shoulder.

“Before you mock someone for not minding their place, make sure you know yours.”

𓊈 first chapter | previous chapter 𓊉 𓊈 next chapter on AO3 𓊉

AN: thanks for reading chapter 5, 'Design' of our fic, Lies We Tell Ourselves! We're posting twice weekly on AO3 and sharing previously posted, full chapters on tumblr each day before update day 🎉 Our next update (ch. 18!!!) is coming up tomorrow if you want to get caught up!

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burning2know · 2 hours ago

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as the chinese idiom goes, 不打不相识

they were a good approximation of lizzie bennett and mr. darcy as intellectual equals and enemies(rivals?) to lovers trope

it worked as well as i could hope from a romcom imo. in fact, I think it worked better than p&p because they were business competitors so they had a real reason to be at odds. instead of lizzie overhearing darcy say she's kinda ugly to his friend, though her reaction is rational, the situation is much more contrived.

In fact, Chai An's conflict resolution style is to manipulate until he gets his way rather than having a slightly more direct/confrontational approach of just talking to people heart-to-heart. Probably because he grew up around other business people and not his parents, not exactly people who are safe to practice emotional vulnerability with. and this even becomes a point of tension in their relationship. Kangning was not happy with how he chose to resolve the conflict between him and his mother, and I don't think she would want to be lied to or manipulated by her husband on important family matters. I thought that was handled relatively well in the show. And he's not even fixed by the time they married, (which is a nice touch, because people don't chsnge overnight. and way More healthy conflict resolution skills are needed and improved inside a marriage, especially a long one). it's even the surrounding families that helped them get together in the end. And that's also a nice change from "couple against the world". And it also makes me look forward to see how the both of them will mature together as a couple.

Anyway, in the context of MY media diet, it was a nice change of pace.

i know there are some complaints about chai an as a character and i guess i get it? but at the same time, for me, the thing is, wang xingyue has enough charm to make this character work 😅 also, i’ve said this under someone else’s post, but i think kangning falls in love with him simply because, well, she’s a freak like him lol. girlie is not exactly innocent; she’s manipulative and cunning, and chai an doesn’t mind this and constantly challenges her.

#perfect match 2025 #perfect match cdrama #perfect match spoilers #if you don't know chinese it's too bad #this idiom's untranslatable... jk there'a a wiktionary entry with like 10 slightly varying translations

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hsslilly-blog · 2 months ago

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hollywood u never specified what addison’s mother is sick with, or if it’s terminal; just that she’s really sick, right? rather, that she has been really sick (for a while). personally, i’ve always read it as if it were terminal. lmao not surprising. anyway you know what that means *hits her with dead parent beam*

#i know her and shae bond over it too at some point #i’ll be honest her mom has cancer to me and i’m making her die #nothing against mrs. sinclair that’s just how life is. you accept it with time. anyway this is important because i think it happens #around the time addison and claire are not speaking #<- i think they’re on really bad terms too. like. they had a really bad fight really ugly things were said by both of them #their friendship is basically over (that’s what both think). because it gets Personal really really quick (as it often does with claire)#theyvstart fighting because claire hid her relationship from addison/claire lied to addison/addison thinks she’s been insincere this #entire time and then it quickly transforms into Something Else. Resentment is a terrible feeling and my god how it festers.#so that’s the context of their relationship and then i think addison receives the news her mother Will Die. and then claire abandons #everything to be by her side. they don’t ever talk about it (this) but they do talk about Their Fight and Stuff afterwards #<- plus relating to addison i think it’d be cool to explore the whole thing of her mom not knowing she changed majors. because in my canon #addison is not starring in anything after she changes major lmao. that plotline is stupid sorry. i already said NO studio plotline HERE. an #majors*#it includes this. but also because i think it makes things more complicated and i want to think about it. does she tell her mother at any #point? if she doesn’t how does that make addison feel after her mothers death? is she guilty forever? is she okay with it because her mom #died ‘happy’? how does grieving her mother impacts her work?#<- also addison not starring in anything besides ticket to ride of course. i meant according to canon and that plotline. and that’s the onl #thing she’s in after that. addi is exclusively a designer to me for (industry) Reasons #i don’t want character having an easy way out. i want them to live with the consequences to their actions. good and bad.#characters * sorry it’s 8 am and i haven’t slept #anyway that’s what i’ve thought so far. i love killing a character and having the living dealing with it #that happens with hunt and claire too and i think it’s funny. we’ll talk about it another time

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lisbonsteresa · 2 years ago

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i'm going to SCREAM

#tm #you don't get how UNHINGED this makes me it's SO #like he's been out all day trying to track down this missing kid (as part of her case too; to give her another avenue against volker)#and they have their little catch up and at first he's concerned (she's been at this all day and now into the night too #and he GETS it - in a way maybe other people wouldn't - but he doesn't want her to burn herself out; he wants her to be careful #maybe he's about to tell her a version of 'get some sleep')#but then she talks about amanda and it makes me NUTS because she does NOT ask for his help #she doesn't ask him to stay; to read the files with her; to 'burn the midnight oil' with her #she's just...stating her case; explaining why this means so much to her; and he listens; he takes it in; and he makes the choice to help #to sit in this with her and to help her work through it #and i just -- neither of them will ask the other for help (yes i know she did at the end of the last episode the context is different ok)#but they're both so quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) desperate to help each other it makes me sick #it's so interesting to see how they deal with this as the show goes on....idk how to explain it but like #when jane needs help he closes himself off; he keeps secrets and he schemes and he lies ('let me help you' 'you're sweet')#because he's trying to keep the people he cares about - the people he never planned on caring about as much as he does - safe #even as he shares more with lisbon (and sometimes the rest of the team) he still doesn't share everything #because that puts them at risk #and that's what lisbon used to do to - in the earlier seasons she put up walls when she felt vulnerable; and she still does in some cases #but with this case especially she's much more accepting of help - she relies on her team (not that she doesn't usually)#and she's practically an open book to jane - in this scene most of all - she lets herself be more vulnerable #(and open to suggestions/ideas she might otherwise scoff at or reject)#idk idk it's very interesting but this scene makes me so wacky there's something so soft and tender and understanding about it #the way there's no spoken acknowledgement - no 'i'll help' or 'thank you' - just the silent understanding that they're in this together #because they're partners #(also the way he picks at the rest of her food - the 'done with this?' the only thing they say - and the framing through the window #is still somehow very domestic it's like my perfect scene)#spinning my wheels hard i'm not thinking clearly i just love everything about it

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gibbearish · 6 months ago

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btw similar to the whole "if you try adderall at a party and it calms you down, get an adhd test" thing, if at some point in your life you try microdosing shrooms with a friend and end up feeling like a functional person for the first time in your life, get tested for depression. like yeah hallucinogens come with elation so youre probably gonna have some "this is the best ive ever felt in my life" vibes regardless, but like. if that in and of itself feels like finally breathing in for the first time in years, thats for sure a sign that something is up with your ability to process serotonin most of the time. feeling better than ever before should be a nice bonus, not a crushing weight off your chest

#fun fact there are currently multiple ongoing studies vis a vis the effectiveness of psilocybin on depression #both on its own and as a companion to ssris #psylocybin targets the 5ht2a serotonin receptors which wikipedia tells me are more numerous in the brains of those with depression #so like. if you spend most of your life feeling like your brain is an aquarium with a leak in it and serotonin is the water and your default #state is 'slightly damp gravel grinding painfully against itself' thats ummm not normal 👍#and on the flipside of that if you have depression that no other med has worked for and know a guy. its 1000% worth it #origibberish #also i say 'wikipedia tells me' as if i just looked it up but that all comes from a long night of spite filled research after i asked my #psychiatrist if we could use the fact that psylocybin worked for me as a basis to like. narrow down which legal antidepressant #might work instead of basically just throwing darts at a board every time #and after several minutes explaining to her that i was not just asking her to prescribe me shrooms but in a legal way she went #'ohhhh yeah no unfortunately theres been no research into that‚ yeah.... sorry......:)'#which. as far as 'lies you come up with on the spot to avoid having to say i dont know' go‚ that is. maybe the worst one to pick #like. 'no‚ thats not an option'? alright fine maybe theres some internal rules or something who knows #'theres no research' though just. immediately tanks any and all credibility 100% even on its own but considering the subject matter?#youre telling me. that humans. the famously curious species that researches fucking Everything. and also Loves playing with drugs. when #trying to figure out how to make drugs that make brains feel good. would not start with the drugs they already knew made brains feel good.#youre telling me that not one (1) singular scientist tried shrooms and went 'oh my god wait. i dont feel like im dying for the first time #ever. holy fuck i need to study this'#complete misplay. absolutely legendary fumble. there were so many ways to fuck it up and somehow you found the worst. congratulations #om the other hand though. really was an excellent setup for the punchline that is the voicemail i have from them saying she'd been fired LOL #they didnt say what for specifically but yknow. based on my own experiences i certainly have theories jebfksbfk #it was annoying in the moment but at the end of the day i have shrooms and she doesnt have the job so. whos laughing now emily KSBFKSBFKDN #this is what i mean though like. rn i feel fine. not on top of the world‚ not like a god #just. fine. i just dont feel like shit. i feel like i can do stuff if i want to‚ or chill peacefully and have it actually be. relaxing.#i dont feel like gravel right now‚ i feel like a person.#and god what a fucking relief it is #really i guess the moral overall is that if at any point you react to trying a new drug the same way an addict craving a hit for days would #then there maybe is something up with your brain chemistry because that means your default state of existence is comparable to that #of withdrawal. a famously shit experience

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mistmarigold · 19 hours ago

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Also, I think even when he disappears as an act of protection for her, deep down he probably still knows that she’ll find him eventually. She did it that first time when she didn’t even know his face, let alone his name. He makes her promise later that he’ll come find her if he goes missing but even then it’s obvious she wouldn’t sit idle because she’s just not that kind of person.

Over and over again, she has sought him out and all of this was when she wasn’t even in that deep. The entire equation is different now and there’s literally nothing she wants more than having him by her side and well. Even when she finds him and reads his words out to him, he’s not super surprised. He does try to cover up his clothes with his jacket maybe so he can come up with an excuse but he isn’t that surprised to see her.

Also, I was going through Twitter and came across a review on dramalist which mentioned how the ptsd treatment (+ the doctor) they showed was akin to malpractice. I didn’t pay much attention to it because I was going off the novel + don’t know much about it but I found it very weird/odd the way the therapist just went that you either lock him up or he’s gonna kill you or himself…. like I’m sorry what?

I’ve also been thinking that Li Zan isn’t a soldier so he definitely lacks that kind of training and support system perhaps. But isn’t there more responsibility because he was a volunteer? He wasn’t even obligated to do anything at all but still did it so shouldn’t there be some sort of system in place to deal after the volunteers get back? It kinda seemed like he was on his own outside of his (voluntary) service.

Going off track a little bit but I’m also thinking how much worse has he had despite not being a soldier. He literally was a volunteer and even if he was at the most ‘protected’ - last - number in the chain, it’s him who got the worst, most horrible trauma. It gets worse when you realise how close they were to finally having a somewhat semi normal life if it wasn’t for this random dude’s revenge plan against him??? (ngl I’ve often thought about why didn’t they kill/capture him at Matuman when that guy was defenseless and hurt - it made no sense to me, especially bec he was also skilled at setting up bombs so was a key figure?)

Honestly, despite all my qualms about this ending I’m still relieved that both Ben and Zan didn’t get that treatment - specifically the torture bit for Ben and 6 months for Zan. I kinda hoped that because they reduced from months to days, maybe he’ll be able to recover at least to the point that he can function enough for her. But it doesn’t work that way + his physical wounds were a constant reminder regardless.

Yup, still thinking about Olive Tree.

I was thinking that at first glance, it may appear rather sudden to have Zan run off to psych ward after that one episode in the hospital and then for Ran, after finding him and marrying him, leave the elope note for their parents and disappear into parts unknown. I mean, yes, it's been only months since he came back and this is ONE big incident, not years and repeat incidents.

One may be tempted to go "but wait! isn't it hurried!" but it actually makes total sense. Not just from the practical aspect of the fact that even this drama, as amazing as it is in centering on trauma, would not make viewers sit through ten episodes of agony as its finishing arc (who could even bear to watch?)

But because it fits Zan's character (and Ran's.) If you think about it, Zan is an absolutist and someone who by choice of profession makes quick decisions and seeks quick solutions. Impatience in term of long time is a trait and so is, tragically a binary sort of "well or not" thinking.

That is what motivates him to go back for the third tour. Yes, he is driven by guilt and desire to help, but even more he is driven by desperation to be healed, to be a whole man for Ran. The thing is, unlike when he comes back at the end, his situation is not horrifying. He is ill and he has episodes and it's tough but he is healing - slowly, painfully, with set-backs but he is. (And if he didn't push his trauma past its limits like with the bomb test, he might do even better.) But he cannot wait and he is desperate because he doesn't deal well with uncertainty and long wait times. I mean, it's so clear that if he didn't go for that last tour of duty, he'd be so much better off - he'd either heal more or even if somehow he never got better than he was before he went, he'd still be miles better than he ended up being.

And I think it's that kind of absolutist, impatient thinking that drives him to the psych ward after the hospital disaster. He is not a man to wait and ruminate and hope. He is so decisive and so unhesitating and that was helpful in his work but is detrimental here. To him this means things are not working - but this time he doesn't have the strength to try to fix it, he just wants to take himself out of equation to protect Ran. (If you think about it, he was motivated to help - like that stranger who fished him out of a well as a child; only this time he's fallen back into that well only so deep nobody can fish him out.)

(Of course, it didn't help that the hospital scene WAS horrific - it was so public and it made strangers look down on her and just...oooof. When you think that he started the story as a man who would turn women's heads as he walked in, who all these coworkers and soldiers and children adored, the light of any crowd and now he's surrounded by faces that hold only pity, fear or disgust...oooof.)

And Ran - she just wants to do what makes him as comfortable as he can be. So of course she is fine with disappearing with him into the aether. I have to say, his shrink is genuinely awful. She was awful the first time (sure, you are cleared to go to the war zone to deal with your trauma WTF) and she's terrible here - there has to be a middle ground that's not "if you don't keep him drugged up to the gills he will kill either himself or someone else sooner or later." Send him to some place that is equipped to handle war trauma for one - she doesn't even specialize in this omg.

Anyway, enough from me for now but I am also amused that the makers apparently said they thought long and hard and decided to change the novel's tragic ending. I mean, I suppose it's not the tragedy of the novel but I can't say I'd call it a happy ending in any way.

PS I love this MV

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#the white olive tree #cdrama

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markrosewater · 10 days ago

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I want to speak out against the whole push towards DEI. I feel that ever since you made the push to make identity the forefront of a character it has hurt the stories you tell. Captain Sisay's race was never the focus of her character and she was a complete badass! And I fear if you did it over again Gerrard would be trans, black and disabled just because. It also cheapens the stories of world devastation when characters worry more about their gender than Bolas destroying everything.

The reason I started this blog is so we can have frank conversations about things, so please let’s talk about this.

Imagine if every time you turned on the TV or watched a movie, no one looked like you. For some of us, that’s never happened. We see ourselves constantly, so it’s hard to truly understand what not seeing yourself represented in media is like.

I do have a personal window to this experience. While I am white and male, there’s an area where I am the minority - my religion. Jews are just under two and a half percent of the US population. I have had many experiences where I’ve been in situations where everything is geared towards a group I do not belong to, and zero consideration is given that not everyone at that event is part of the majority.

You just feel invisible and like an outsider. It’s not a great feeling. And I just experience it a tiny portion of time, only things that are geared specifically towards something religious. Most minorities have this feeling all the time, whenever they’re outside their personal community.

Now imagine, after years of not seeing yourself ever, you finally see someone that looks like you, but nothing about the character rings remotely true. They don’t sound like you, they don’t act like you, the facts about their day-to-day life are just wrong. It’s clear whoever wrote the character didn’t truly understand the lived experience of the character, so the character feels fake.

You bring up Sisay. Michael Ryan and I didn’t technically create Sisay (she played a small role in the Mirage story), but we did do a lot to flesh out her character as the creators of the Weatherlight Saga. We turned her from a minor character into a major one.

And while I’m proud, in general, of our work on the Weatherlight Saga, I don’t think we did justice to Sisay as a character. Neither Michael nor I have any knowledge of what it’s like to be a black woman. Nor did we ever talk to someone who did.

And if you’re someone like us that has no knowledge of that experience, you probably didn’t notice. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.

Imagine if we made a movie about your life, and we just made everything up. We invented people you never knew, we gave you a job you never had, and we had you say things you’d never say. The movie might even be a good movie, but your response would be, but that’s not my life - that’s not me.

Now imagine we put the movie out, and people that never met you assumed that was what you were like. When people met you for the first time, they assumed things, because, you know, they’d seen the movie.

That’s what misrepresenting people does. It not only makes them feel not seen, it falsely represents them, spreading lies, often stereotypes, making people believe things about them that aren’t true.

Our move towards diversity is just us trying to better reflect the world and the people in it. We’re trying to do to everyone else what a certain portion of people get every day without ever having to think about it.

But why are we “making it the forefront of their character”? We’re not. We’re making it a part of their character. But in a world where you’re not used to ever seeing it, it feels louder than it is. Things that are a natural part of the world that you’re used to feel like the background of the story because you understand the context to it.

If a man kisses his wife before going off to a battle, that’s not a big deal. It’s just a thing a husband might do to his wife when he leaves. It’s not the forefront of his character. It’s just part of his life. But you’ve seen it hundreds of times, so it feels normal.

When someone does something that isn’t your lived experience it pulls focus. It seems like a big deal, but only because it’s new to you. It’s just as mundane a thing to that character as the man kissing his wife is to him.

Even the turn “pushing” implies that it’s unnaturally here, that we’re forcing something that naturally shouldn’t be. But why? That thing exists naturally in the real world, and it doesn’t make the real world any less. Maybe you’re less aware of it, but is making you aware of how others live their life “pushing” something on you?

How you live your life is represented constantly, everywhere. Why isn’t over-representing your experience at the expense of everyone else’s “pushing” it? Why is media only being the experience of those in power the “proper way”?

Having more depth and variety doesn’t lessen stories. It makes them deeper, more rich, more nuanced. In short, it makes them better stories. In my former life, I was a professional writer. I took a lot of writing classes. One of the truism of writing is “speaking truth leads to better stories”.

There’s another famous quote: “When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.” You’re used to being over-represented, so being a little less over-represented feels like something has been taken from you. But really it hasn’t. Having a better sense of the rest of the world comes with a lot of benefits.

I’ll use food as an example. Let’s say all you were ever exposed to was the food of your heritage. Yeah, that food is really good, but sometimes isn’t it nice to eat foods of other nationalities? Isn’t your life better that you have a choice? Isn’t your exposure and access to the food of other nationalities a positive in your life?

Exposure to variety is a positive. It allows you to learn about things you didn’t know, experience things things you’ve never experienced, and get a better sense of understanding of your friends and neighbors.

Our actions are not to harm anyone, and if you think that’s what we’re doing, please take a minute to actually absorb what I’m saying. You’ve spent your whole life metaphorically eating one type of food, and we’re just trying to show you how much you’ve missed out on.

And while this might not impact you directly, we’re making a whole bunch of people felt seen. We’re bringing joy. Think of it this way. We make a lot of cards. Not every card is for you. But if it makes someone else happy, if they get to include it in a deck, and it makes Magic better for them, how is it harming you that we include it? You have so many cards that you can play.

To this poster or people that share their viewpoint, the narrative that a gain for someone else is an attack on you is just not true. As I just pointed out above, you play a game all about personal choice, about players getting to choose how they play and enjoy the game. Why should life be any different than Magic?

Thanks for reading.

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seospicybin · 6 months ago

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THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART I

Bangchan x reader. (s,a)

Chapters: Part II / Part III / Final.

Synopsis: Having issues to break up with your boyfriend, you seek help from the boy next door and the number one fuckboy in the area, Chan. (10k words)

Author's note: I went through a nasty break up a few weeks ago and this is basically just me trying to cope by being delulu about having a fuckboy Chan as a neighbor. Enjoy x

It becomes a habit now that Chan doesn't know where he is when he wakes up in the morning.

The first thing that he'll do is retrace everything to last night. He was DJ-ing at a club, had a few drinks in between, met a girl who was eyeing him the whole night, had a few more drinks, there was a little touching and a quick makeout session in the dark alley and people can guess what happens after that

So this is where he is right now, the girl's bedroom and he can recall everything that happened last night except the girl's name.

"Fuck!" Chan mutters under his breath.

Judging from how bright the sun is outside, he knows he only has a little window to make his escape so he quickly gets off the bed as calmly as possible. He then tiptoes around to gather his clothes and put them on without making any noise.

However, he fails at it as the head from his belt hits the bed frame and the clanging of metal meets metal echoing in the room.

The girl steers on her sleep and rolls over to the side, she brushes her hair away from her face, catching Chan putting his belt on.

The plan to make a quick getaway has come to a failure but he keeps his cool, continuing to buckle his belt and then plants his hands on each side of his waist.

"Morning," He awkwardly says with a forced smile.

"Morning," the girl replies with a smile then props an elbow against the mattress, sending the duvet sliding down her body and exposing her bare chest to him.

Chan might have been a little drunk when he met her but damn, his fuckboy radar works well even under the influence of alcohol.

"You're leaving already?" She asks, flipping her hair to the back to expose more of those beautiful mounds to him.

Chan has to tell his pervy brain to focus actively, he looks away and picks up his jacket from the floor.

"I promised a friend to help him move out today," He lies, then pretends to check the time on his phone, "And I'm kind of late."

The girl nods then twirls her hair around her finger, "Well then... when can I see you again?"

"I hope soon," Chan says with his charming grin that disguises the insincerity in his answer.

The girl smiles at that which confirms that the grin works, "But seriously, I can't wait to see you again," she says.

"I'll call you," he says because that's what he can promise her at the moment but whether he'll do it or not is uncertain.

"But you don't have my numbers yet," she says with her eyebrows wrinkled in suspicion.

"No, I'm sure you already did," he says, convincing her by scrolling the contacts on his phone.

"Yup. I have your numbers already," he lies again, showing her a random contact on his phone for a quick second.

"But my name is Thalia," she says, cleverly catching the name on the contact.

"Yes, of course, you're Thalia," he says with utmost confidence and his ultimate weapon of a dimpled smile.

The girl seems alarmed though. She sits up on the bed and clutches the duvet close to her chest, "We're going to see each other again, right Chris?"

"Yes," he answers without a beat, and at this point, lying is as easy as breathing to him.

"Can I get a kiss before you leave?"

"Sure," he says, coming around the bed to give her a quick peck on the lips.

The girl smiles when he lets go and watches as he walks to the doorway, "I'll call you, Tanya."

"It's Thalia," she corrects him with an apparent displeasure on her face.

Chan shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans and takes the time to properly bid her goodbye. Nothing a girl likes more than a sweet mouth and a little assurance, he'll give her exactly that.

"I'll see you soon, Thalia," Chan says with a smile.

"See you soon, Chris," and the girl naively believes him, if only she knew that this will be the last time they're seeing each other.

Yet again, Chan makes another successful getaway.

The warm weather of spring makes it a pleasant walk from the bus stop to his apartment building. He wants to stop somewhere for breakfast but his head feels heavy from the hangover, he just wants to go home as soon as possible, have a bowl of cereal then take an aspirin for the pounding headache.

In the lobby, he makes a quick stop to collect his mail and takes a quick check at it, sorting them out on the spot so he knows which ones he should bring upstairs.

From the corner of his eyes, Chan catches his neighbor, you with your boyfriend chatting by the elevator. He notices the gestures, the expression, and the whole interaction, it doesn't take a genius to know that something is going on there that the naked eyes can't see.

Chan throws the unnecessary mail into the trash bin nearby and walks to the elevator, hearing the little conversation going on between you and your boyfriend.

"...the waffles were delicious. We should have breakfast there again," the boyfriend says as he looks at you, "What do you think?"

"Yeah," you meekly answer while looking at the little screen that shows the floor the elevator is stopping in.

Chan tries to remain invisible but his eyes accidentally make contact with your boyfriend so he may as well make his presence known.

"Hi, neighbor," he greets, he knows your name but you seem to prefer to be called that way.

You do what you always do whenever you meet each other in the building, give him a quick judging look and a courteous smile.

"And hi neighbor's boyfriend," he greets your boyfriend next.

"Hi," your boyfriend greets back, "Chris, isn't it?"

"Yes and you are Lee," Chan responds.

"Right. So how was your Friday night?" Lee initiates a small talk.

"I believe it wasn't as good as yours," Chan playfully answers.

"Oh, we just stayed in and watched a movie, right baby?" Lee says, putting his arm around your shoulder.

All of a sudden, you take a step forward and say, "It's here."

The elevator doesn't chime until a moment later but you seem to be more than eager to get in. You turn around to give your boyfriend a quick hug.

"I'll try to leave early so we can have dinner together," Lee says with a quick kiss on the cheek.

"It's okay. Take your time," you say with a faint smile.

Chan quietly gets into the elevator and holds the door open for you, he tries not to look at what's happening in front of him not out of politeness but it's just painful to watch.

"I'll call you," Lee adds, catching your hand as you enter the elevator and kissing it.

"Okay," you say then wave your hand at him.

To help you get out of it, Chan releases his finger off the buttons and sends the doors sliding shut.

"Bye, baby," Lee says for the last time before the doors completely close.

It's just another awkward elevator ride with you and he'll usually try to endure it but after watching all that and trying not to say anything is hard, he can't help but impose.

He glances at you to check whether you're ready to hear about what he has to say but you always have the same stoic expression. Then it occurs to him that he has never seen you smile impolitely or out of joy, or even hear your laugh, but maybe after you hear what he's about to say, he'll get to see a different facial expression on you.

"Oh, man! That was painful to watch," he sighs as he keeps looking straight ahead at his reflection in the shiny furnace of the elevator.

There's no one else in the elevator so you're fully aware that he's talking to you but you don't respond until a while later.

There you go, with your judging look and stoic expression, looking at him as you say, "Excuse me?"

Chan doesn't want to sound rude but beating around the bush isn't his thing, he prefers to be straightforward. He knows it's all based on assumptions but he's pretty sure his judgements are pretty accurate.

He's going to just do it and lay out the facts, he turns to the side, then leans his back against the cold surface of the elevator.

"Your shoulder tightens when he called you baby and the fact you lied about the breakfast tells me that you didn't actually like his choice of restaurant," he pauses to let out a cynical chuckle, "the waffles weren't that good, I guess?"

When he wants to see a different facial expression on you, he doesn't mean seeing your angry one, but oh well, the damage has been done.

"Because I'm a good girlfriend that's why I let him choose the restaurant," you become defensive all of a sudden but that's an unconvincing answer.

"No, you let him choose out of pity," he simply remarks, "And just now, your nostrils flared when I pointed it out."

With all of these signs combined with his personal experiences, Chan narrows it out to one conclusion. He looks at you in the eyes and says, "You're about to break up with him, don't you?"

It looks like you've been slapped right on the face except that the slap doesn't come from someone, it's from the truth that comes out of Chan's unfiltered mouth and he instantly regrets it for meddling in in someone else's business.

"I'm sorry, but why are we having this conversation?" You ask, crossing your arms together in front of you.

"It's not like you're any better. You slept around, you're scared of commitment and now, sticking your nose at my business. You are the kind of person that I deeply despise!" You angrily say with your chest heaving.

It seems like you're saying all of those things about him out of anger because he sees right through you but now he knows why you always give him that judging look. He's the one who started it so yeah, okay, maybe he deserves that but that doesn't change the truth. The problem is what he said and your response, they're heading in the opposite direction.

"I think someone has her panties in a twist," Chan coyly responds.

"Look, there's nothing wrong with wanting to break up. That doesn't make you a bad person," he adds and decides to end the talk right there.

It gets quiet in this enclosed space and it's already suffocating as it is but how lucky that he has to patiently wait for the elevator to ride through three more floors to get out of here.

When the elevator finally dings open, Chan lets out a breath he doesn't know he's been holding but he's not the one in a hurry to exit both this space and the situation. He stays where he is and lets you out first.

When he thinks you don't have anything else to say, you stop right outside the elevator and look at him with a piercing gaze.

"Don't, for one second, think that you had any effect whatsoever on my panties!" You emphasize every word in anger, then storm off.

Know what? Maybe Chan should skip the bowl of cereal and take two aspirin instead. As for you, maybe you need to chill the fuck out.

Just because you've been neighbors with Chan for the past three years doesn't mean that you know each other on a personal level.

All you know about him is that he's a DJ which explains why there's always music playing in his apartment, he always wears a sleeveless top to showcase his muscles, and he always has a stupid grin on to show off the stupid dimples on his stupid face, an annoying Australian accent and from how many times you caught different girls taking a walk of shame out of his apartment, it's safe to say that he's the number one fuckboy in the area

So how dare he say all of that stuff in the elevator when he doesn't know anything about you at all? Moreover, what does a fuckboy like him know about relationships?

It shouldn't be hard to ignore because it's something you usually do but gosh, the memory of the conversation still vexed you a few days later.

Then it hits you that it bothers you so much because deep down, you know what he said is true. You've been wanting to break up with your boyfriend and hearing that comes from someone outside that relationship only solidified that thought.

There's nothing wrong with your boyfriend, Lee is nice, too nice even, and when you think about it, maybe that is the problem, he is too nice and that leads you to another problem, you don't know how to break up with him without hurting his feelings.

But you know who can help you with that? Someone who has a lot of experience in breaking up with people.

Oh, what a joy that you find the answer right across your door!

Before you get to ask for his help though, you're fully aware that there's another thing to do and there's no other way to do it but walk up to his apartment, knock on his door, and apologize.

As you're standing there in front of his apartment door, you're dreading it. All sorts of thoughts crossed your head like why did you have to be so riled up that time in the elevator? Why did you have to say that thing about the panties? Just why? Ugh!

Let's just get it over with, you mutter inside your head.

With hesitant hand, you knock on his door and then hold the urge to turn around and run back to your apartment. You let yourself take a step back as you wait for him to come for the door.

Do not open the door, do not open the door, you chant inside your head while tapping your foot against the floor. However, things are not always going the way you want.

The door swings inward and a second later, Chan appears with disheveled hair and he only has one arm in the sleeve of his t-shirt, then you spot a girl's shoes next to his feet.

Oh no, please don't say you're coming at the wrong time.

You reflexively take another step back but he grabs your forearm and then opens the door wider, showing you that there's a girl there.

"It's my neighbor, she's here to remind me about the tenant meeting," he says to her.

The girl looks at you rather suspiciously and crosses her arms together in front of her as she glares at Chan.

"No. Don't you dare try to get out of this, Chris!"

"But it's true. We have to leave now," Chan says, then gives you a look that tells you to lie along with him, "Right?"

Running a quick assessment of the situation, you're certain that Chan is trying to get himself out of it to avoid having a difficult conversation with the beautiful lady. You hate to be the accessory to his crime but if this means that it would help you earn his forgiveness...

"The pigeons!" You make up a lie on the spot.

"The pigeons are ruining our rooftop garden so we held this urgent tenant meeting," you add with what you hope is a convincing smile.

"Oh, those damn pigeons!" Chan heavily sighs with a phony expression.

The lie makes your throat dry and your cheeks hurt from forcing a smile, you have to keep it going as the lady considers whether to believe that the tenant meeting is true or not.

Chan grabs his jacket from the clothes hook and puts it on, "We'll continue this later, okay?" He says to her.

Without waiting for her answer, he gets out of the door and drags you with him to go to your apartment. Once both of you get inside, he immediately closes the door behind him and lets out a long sigh.

"Oh, wow!" He exclaims once he realizes that he's inside your apartment.

He allows himself further inside and leisurely walks around your apartment, checking your kitchen, trailing his fingers on your book collection on the shelf, and observing the potted plants lining up on the window sill.

He walks back to the middle of the room and takes another 360-degree look around the apartment, then nods in approval.

"So, this is what the inside of your apartment looks like," he says in a cryptic tone.

Not sure if he wants you to respond to that or if should respond at all. You choose to remain silent and only respond when his intentions are intelligible.

Chan then sits on the sofa, making himself comfortable, and looks at you, then at what you're holding in both hands.

"Is that for me?"

The jar of cookies you've been unknowingly holding in your hands is a token of apology and it is for him.

"Yes, it is for you," you say, handing it to him with both hands.

"I'm sorry about the other day," you sincerely apologize, but you know you have to let him know what you're apologizing for, "for what I've said to you. I'm terribly sorry."

"Well, since you're helping me with the uh... situation," he coyly says as he scratches his eyebrow, "consider us even."

See? That wasn't so hard. You feel bad for lying to the girl but at least, you've been forgiven.

"Thank you," you add with a smile.

Chan doesn't say anything else but opens the lid and takes a cookie out of the jar. He gets comfortable on the sofa, sitting slumped with his legs spreading wide, and then he takes a big bite of the cookie.

It doesn't take long for him to notice that you have something else to say to him other than an apology.

Before he gets to it, you force yourself to start speaking.

"So, Chris..." you call, then abruptly stop talking. You suddenly have a second thought about asking for his help.

"What's up?" He asks while chewing on his cookie.

It's at the tip of your tongue but your mouth feels like they're sewn shut. You clasp your hands together and muster up the courage to just blurt it out.

"Do you want something to have with the cookies?"

You swear you plan on asking for his help but somehow, your mouth saying a different thing.

"Milk would be nice," he answers.

"Milk. Yes, I have milk," you awkwardly say, slowly making your way to the kitchen like a walking dead.

You take a carton of milk from the fridge and while pouring it into a glass, you're scolding yourself for being so cowardly.

After taking a moment to take a deep breath and muster up the courage to ask, you walk back to the sofa with the glass of milk in hand. With a smile, you hand it to him.

"Thank you," he says, his eyes catching something in your eyes.

You immediately break the eye contact and take another step back, standing and watching him finish his third cookie then wash it down with a sip of milk.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm going to stay here until the girl leaves my apartment," he informs.

"Oh?" You meekly gasp.

"But I can leave if you're uncomfortable," he says as he sits straight on the sofa.

"No, it's fine," you shortly reply, "Take your time."

"Okay, thanks," he says, reclining back on the sofa and continues munching on the cookies.

You can't decide if he stays longer than you expected is a good thing or not. You use the opportunity to reconsider it and walk to the kitchen to get out of his sight.

"Do you need help or not?" You quietly ask yourself as you pour yourself a glass of water.

Why is it so hard? He's right there. All you need is to go and ask for his help.

The water sloshes out of the glass as you fill it too full and you reflexively back away to avoid getting water all over the front of your dress.

"Everything good there?" Chan asks in a slight panic.

That's it! Enough time has passed from overthinking it! You walk up to him and just do it.

"You're right," you blurt out, "I've been wanting to break up with my boyfriend."

Sensing that it turns serious, Chan slows down his chewing and puts away the cookie jar. You expect the I-told-you-so grin on his face but no, he looks saddened instead.

"Things aren't working out," you openly share with a sad sigh.

You take a seat on the ottoman facing the sofa and sadly sigh, "I've been wanting to break up with him for a week now but I just don't know how."

"How long you've been dating each other?"

"Three years," you answer.

"Wow," Chan lowly gasps in awe.

Three years is not a short time, he understands why you hesitate to break up and it isn't an easy decision either.

"I need your help," you hopelessly say, unintentionally becoming vulnerable in front of him.

"My help?"

"Help me how to break up with him," you further explain.

"Of all people, why me?" He asks in utter confusion.

It's hard to answer that without being rude, you decide to let him process the question until it leads him to the answer. After a while, he lets out a dry chuckle and nods, "Okay, yeah. Make sense."

Chan takes another minute to accept the fact that his help is needed because he knows how to break up with someone without feeling awful about it afterward.

"I guess you want to let him down gently?"

"Yes," you answer.

"Well..." he inflates his cheeks then lets the air out through his pursed lips, "You can break up with him through a text."

Which part of 'let him down gently' did he not understand? How is it a good idea to break up through a text? But okay, it's just one suggestion, you give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Who knows he'll come up with better suggestions.

"I'm sorry. No, I can't do that," you kindly refuse his suggestion.

"You can send it when he's sleeping," he adds.

Oh, God! He gives you an even worse suggestion instead of better ones. You know what? This is a bad idea and you regret asking for his help.

"I don't—" You stop yourself from talking and get up from your seat.

"I'll just check if the lady is still..." Your words trail off as you walk towards the door and check through the peephole first, then you get out of the door to check his apartment next.

"Hello? Excuse me?" You shout from the doorway but no one is answering you.

You take it the lady has left and walk back to your apartment to deliver the news to the rightful owner of the apartment.

"She already left," you tell him.

Chan lets out a sigh and closes the cookie jar, he finishes the milk to its last drop and then gets up from the sofa.

"Thank you for the cookies and the milk," he says with his signature grin.

"No worries," you reply, trying so hard to hide the disappointment in your voice.

Chan holds the cookie jar in one arm and takes a step closer to you, "if you need help on how to write breakup texts, I'm just across the hall," he says.

You don't respond to that but keep a smile on for him as to seem polite.

"And good luck!" He says with gentle pats on your shoulder.

The second he walks out the door, you collapse onto the sofa and dread it even more than before. Turns out, asking for his help is not helping at all.

The next day, you meet him as you collect your mail in the lobby and it's hard to ignore him when his mailbox is next to yours.

"G'day!" Chan greets you as he leans the side of his body against the wall while sorting his mail.

"Good day!" You respond and hurriedly walk toward the elevator. You push the button to summon it to the lobby and hope it comes soon enough for you to avoid talking to Chan.

Of course, things don't go as you want it. He comes just in time for the elevator about to arrive, he crumples a few letters in his hand into a ball and then tosses it into the trash bin.

"How did it go?" He asks.

"Pardon?" You nonchalantly respond.

Good thing that the elevator chimes open and you can pretend to forget about what he asked you a while ago. You get inside while clutching your mails in hands in front of you but it's not safe yet as you have to share the elevator ride with him.

"So... the break-up texts? Did you do it?" He asks again, going to the corner of the elevator and leaning his back against it.

"Chris, I think you can't just end a three-year relationship with a text," you put it as nicely as you can.

"Yeah, I reckon," he innocently answers.

It seems like Chan can't tell the difference between what is easy and what is right. It isn't a good idea in the first place to ask for help from someone like him who doesn't consider other people's feelings except his own.

"What are you going to do then?" He asks, shifting his weight on one leg.

Since his help is not helping at all, you have no answer to that yet. This should be something you have to figure out on your own in the first place.

"I'll figure it out," you not-very-convincingly answer.

Chan crosses his arms in front of him, making the muscles and veins on his arms more evident under the fluorescent light of the elevator.

"Lee seems like a nice guy," he remarks with a deep inhale of air.

Well, if you have to compare your boyfriend to Chan, then yes, Lee is a really nice guy. Lee excels in a lot of things, including how to treat a person with feelings.

"Yes," you settle with a simple answer.

"A drawn-out break up is only going to end in a big scene," he says, "Just saying."

Chan has a point. It's worse to prolong the pain for both you and Lee, you can't keep pretending that the relationship works and it's unfair that you keep Lee oblivious about all this.

"We can practice, you know," he offers.

"Practice?"

"On how you're going to break up with him," he explains.

He comes up with a better suggestion this time and is almost endearing even but again, he wouldn't know how a person with real feelings reacts to a break-up which makes you unsure if the practice would be any help.

The elevator is about to arrive anyway so you decide to skip on responding to his offer. Once it chimes, the doors part open and you take the first turn to get out with Chan getting off after you. You turn to the left to your apartment while he turns right. You take the key out of your pocket to unlock the door and push your way in while clutching your mail close to your chest.

"You know where to find me if you need help," Chan says just before you close the door to your apartment.

Hard pass, you answer in your head but you put on a smile for his kind offer, then close the door

Okay, you admit it. You were too haste when you said that you didn't need his help. You were doing fine for these past few days, you've been avoiding meeting your boyfriend to give you some more time to think of the best way to break the news to him until he calls you.

The phone rings and you just stare at it, considering whether to pick it up or not. If you pick it up, that means you have to lie to him and if you don't, it'll alert him that things are, in fact, not okay.

The latter seems like a better idea so you pick it up after taking a long, deep breath.

"Hi, baby. Am I calling you at the wrong time?"

Not entirely wrong but it would be nice if he didn't call you, you answer in your head.

"Yeah, sorry, I was in the bathroom," you lie.

"Coconut shrimp for dinner. What do you think?" he asks out of the blue.

"That sounds nice," you easily respond.

"I know you'll like it but, babe, do you mind getting us a bottle of wine on the way?

"I'm sorry?" You ask in confusion.

"For our dinner, remember?" he answers, "I'll cook tonight we'll be having dinner at mine."

You hardly paid attention to him because your mind was always elsewhere, you couldn't remember saying yes to the dinner but you did and it must be out of pity.

"No, of course, I remember, I'm just..." you rake your brain to think of something to say.

"I thought it was next week," you lie again with an awkward chuckle.

"You silly!" Lee says, "Aren't you glad that I called, huh?"

"So glad," you lie, again and again.

"I should start prepping the ingredients so they'll be ready when you get here," he says, his voice exuding enthusiasm.

"Okay."

"Don't forget the wine!"

"I won't."

"I can't wait to see you, baby," he sweetly says.

The lies are piling up so may as well add another one to the pile, "Me too."

"I love you, bye."

Don't think you can lie your answer to that, you gulp air, "Bye," you say to the phone, then quickly hang up.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and you don't know your desperate measure means knocking on your neighbor's door. Probably because you hate to admit that you need his help.

Not long after, Chan opens the door and his head pops out from the gap, "What's up?"

"My boyfriend just called and tonight, we'll be having dinner in his place," you blabber in panic.

It takes a second for him to process it then his face turns a little surprised, "What are we going to do then?" He asks in confusion.

You may be in dread but you catch the error in his question, "We? Now, you got your panties in a twist," you tell him.

"Shame on you!" He responds with a sly grin then opens the door wider and shows himself dressed in nothing but a white towel hanging low around his hips.

He puts one arm against the doorframe and leans close to you as he says, "Cause I'm not wearing any panties right now."

You should have noticed it from his wet hair and the beads of water rolling down his neck, and now that you're seeing the whole of it, your eyes immediately following where the beads of water going, they're going down the outline of his abs and eventually, to where they're all gathered as his pelvic bones leading down to one way: down south.

However, your instinctive reaction goes against what you're actually feeling inside.

"Ugh!" You groan and turn to the side, "Put some clothes on and I'll see you at my place!"

Without waiting for his answer, you rush back to your apartment and close the door behind you as fast as possible, then you rest your back against it.

The images of his naked body flashing through your head, his glistening wet pale skin, and how some parts of his body are blotchy red around the neck and chest. You get flustered all of a sudden, you immediately press the back of your hand to your cheek and you can feel them heating.

"Get it together!" You scold yourself.

After waiting for almost fifteen minutes, Chan finally comes knocking on your door like it's a musical instrument.

"Are you dressed?" You ask with your hand on the doorknob.

"Hardly," he jokes.

You peek through the peephole and see that he's already dressed to what you can say is his usual attire of dark short pants with a matching sleeveless top, showing off his bulging biceps. You open the door to let him in and he coyly walks in, treating your place like it's his own, sitting on your sofa with his legs spreading wide.

"Okay, so, why am I here?"

You stand in front of him with your hands clasped in front of you, "I've been lying to him the whole phone call and honestly, I've been doing it since the moment I decided that I want to break up with him, and I... I don't think I can lie to him again."

It's easy to admit your mistakes to him because he barely knows you and his opinions about you won't matter that much to you.

"I need to do it tonight," you hopelessly say.

"I take it you need my help to practice your break-up speech?"

You hate that he guesses it right but it's also convenient that you don't have to beat around the bush to ask for it. But first, you try to explain the situation as much as possible so he has ideas on what you're facing here.

"Lee is a man of many emotions and I'm not exaggerating when I say he'll likely cry," you inform.

Chan's forehead wrinkles as he processes this piece of information then stifles a nod. It seems like he still has no idea what you want him to do about it.

"I think it's less painful if you acknowledge the dumpee feelings," you blatantly explain.

"Okay, I got you. Let's practice!' He says, sitting up straighter on the sofa and then putting his hands on his knees.

It's just a practice but your anxiety takes over you not just mentally but also physically as your palms get sweaty. You wipe them down your jeans and take a breath.

"Lee," you call him by your boyfriend's name, and even though it's weird that you're roleplaying, you continue, "I want to break up with you."

Chan looks at you and gets quiet for a moment, "Wow. I'm in utter shock and it makes me very sad to hear that," he says with a rather serious tone.

Not the kind of reaction Lee would likely pull off but that will do if you decide to continue with it.

"I'm fully aware that this is so sudden but I've been thinking hard about it for some time and I think this is a decision that I should take," you say and you know it's a practice but you feel something caught in your throat.

"I'm sad and I need time to process it, but I'll be okay," he calmly says.

Chan gets the tone right but you believe breaking up wouldn't be this easy in real life, especially when there are real feelings to protect. To be honest, you're not ready to face the truth that you may hurt those feelings tonight.

"I think that went very well," Chan says, returning to his default settings.

"Yeah, I think that's it," you meekly say.

The worries and sadness are drawn on your face that Chan can easily see through your veiled expression, "If Lee is as nice as you said he is, then you shouldn't worry much," he says.

He waits until your eyes meet his to continue, "He may get surprised or shocked even, but he'll come around and respect your decision."

You can't believe that those words are coming out of his mouth or that he even tries to comfort you, but you appreciate it. Maybe his heart is still there, he just doesn't let it control him most of the time.

He gets up from the sofa and walks up to you, he takes your hands, ignoring how cold and sweaty they feel in his, "You got this," he assures you.

"Thank you, Chris," you sincerely say with a sad smile.

It is time to stop torturing both you and Lee with lies and forcing yourself to believe that the love is still there. It's time to accept the truth that if you can fall in love, you can also fall out of love.

It's a surprise that Chan worries about things that aren't his business. He's been playing some music to distract him from his head but he keeps the volume low because he doesn't want to miss hearing the sound of the elevator that will tell him any signs that you're back from the dinner.

Eventually, he tires himself out from worrying and falls asleep on the sofa. He startles always close to midnight after hearing the knocking on his doors.

Half disoriented, he trudges his way to open the door and finds you there, surprisingly, looking nice in a white cotton dress and your eyes dry.

But from the way you let yourself into his apartment, forgetting your impeccable manners and walking with shoulders slumped and carrying your shoes in your hands, he takes it that you did it.

"So... how did it go?" He carefully asks, following you as you're making your way to the sofa and then sitting on it.

You let a heavy sigh and your shoulders slumped even more, "At least, there's no crying," you answer with a sad smile.

Chan is unsure of how to react to that, is that a good thing or a bad thing? He just stands there with his arms crossed on his chest, thinking out loud.

"And even though it was ending... it was incredibly meaningful to me and I'm going to miss him," you say with your lips trembling.

Oh, no, Chan knows when a girl is about to cry, he quickly finds a remedy to it, one that he knows always works wonders for him. He runs to the kitchen and brings a bottle out of his alcohol stash, then hands it to you.

"Let's have a drink!" He says, realizing that he forgot the glass.

"Wait another second, I'll get the glass," he says, sprinting to retrieve two glasses from his kitchen cabinet.

When he returns, he sees that you're chugging the alcohol straight from the bottle. You gasp and then wince from the bitter aftertaste of it.

"Okay, straight from the bottle it is," he says, popping onto the sofa next to you.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and then hand the bottle to him in which he wastes not another second to take a sip of it.

"The thing is... I really care about him but he wanted to get married, and I'm just not ready for that," you share with your eyes blank and looking at the void.

You take a deep breath but it seems like it only sends your heart sinking deeper and deeper, and making it harder for you to breathe.

"And if I'm not ready with a guy as great as him then what if I'm never ready?" You say, turning your head his way with your eyes glassy, pooling with tears.

"What if that was it..." you lift your shoulders then drop them as you let out a low sigh, "my one chance at love?"

The tears start streaming down your face like a bursting dam and Chan knows he can't do anything about it but let them out.

Hearing your words makes him think about what his idea of love is. He used to think that it was something he could get whenever he wanted it but now he knows that he's wrong, because that's just a short-lived infatuation, just some sort of meaningless connection.

From you, he learns that love is a privilege that not everyone can experience.

"What if I never get a second chance?" You ask him the question that he doesn't know the answer to.

"I don't know. I'm just sad," your voice cracks, then you break into tears.

Chan is quick to catch you into his arms and offers you his embrace. He knows he can't do anything about this sadness but he can try to soothe the pain, he's placing gentle rubs on your back as you cry into his chest.

The cry is resounding in this space, echoing the sadness back to you and it makes him inexplicably sad too, and he gets the urge to make it stop.

"It's going to be alright," he murmurs at the top of your head.

You look up with your eyes wet and red with tears caught in your lashes, "Is it?" You croak.

He doesn't know when but he knows for sure that time heals everything.

"It will be," he answers with a gentle caress of his knuckle on your wet cheek, "eventually."

Your eyes tell some more assurance for him and he doesn't know what drives him to do it, but he leans in, then kisses you.

To his surprise, you kiss him back and he knows you're doing it because you seek his comfort and he wants to give you exactly that. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, giving you that closeness you seek. He kisses you ever so softly because he knows he's kissing a broken heart and he wants to mend it. He can taste your sadness and the bitterness of it, and also the relief underlying all of it. As he kisses you, he lets his heart open just enough to take some of that sadness away from yours.

As the kiss deepens, the sadness withers, and something else emerges. Chan loses in it for a bit until he realizes what you're trying to do with your hand that reaches for the front of his jeans.

He abruptly detaches his lips from yours and shakes his head, "No, we can't do this," he says.

As much as he fancies you enough to have sex with you, he knows better not to do it when you're not in your right mind and your judgments are clouded with sadness. The last thing he wants is you waking up in the morning full of regrets.

"I want this, Chris," you croak.

"No, we can't," he adamantly says and takes your hand away from him.

"You're sad. You do want this," he says in an effort to put some sense into you.

You roughly crumple the front of his t-shirt and pull him close, "I want– No, I need this, Chris," you say to him with your eyes dark like two bottomless pits.

"Please?" You plead as a tear rolls down from the corner of your eye.

This is the most hopeless he ever heard of you and it breaks his heart. You said it yourself, you need this and he knows what you mean by that. You need the distraction, you need him to take this pain away even just for a fleeting moment, moreover, he can't break what's already broken.

He takes your hand off of his clothes and puts it in his, he leans in until his forehead is pressed against yours.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks once again.

"Yes," you answer without a beat.

That's all Chan needed to hear, he inhales air and puts an inch between your faces. He then tenderly holds your face with both hands and looks at you, unsure where to start but maybe, he can start by making those tears coming out of your eyes.

Chan dabs the tears pooling in the corner of your eyes with his knuckle and without the slightest of hesitancy, he places a gentle kiss on each of your closed eyelids and before you can open them, he captures your lips in a kiss.

Sex is not something new to him but Chan knows that this time is not about physical fulfillment, but a way to offer comfort and hopefully, to also mend your broken heart.

He takes his time to strip away every piece of clothing on you until you're bare, lying on the bed with nothing but sadness that fills your heart.

He touches you with utmost gentleness, using just his fingertips to feel the softness of your skin and you're so pliant, sensitive to his touch.

To make it fair, Chan takes his clothes off as well before joining you on the bed, caging you in between his arms and hovering only inches away above you.

"Touch me," he says to you, taking your hand and placing it on his shoulder.

He then glides your hand down his neck and chest, he makes you feel every inch of his pale skin with him. However, when he looks at you, your eyes remain on his.

"You feel so warm, Chris," you lowly mutter.

He brings your hand close to his mouth and kisses it, then crashes his lips on yours.

The gap between your bodies becomes non-existent as you keep pulling him close, he relents by lowering himself on top of you and props an elbow against the mattress to not put his whole weight on you.

Lips locked, hands around each other, bodies pressed together and the temperature keeps on rising in the room. Chan makes you feel every part of his lips brushing and gliding over yours. He skillfully parts your mouth open with his tongue so he can kiss you deep and hard, yet slow until you run out of breath.

At the same time, his hand makes its way down until his fingers land on your delicate flesh. He touches it tenderly, running his fingers between the folds, and drags them upward to rub on your bundle of nerves.

"Ah..." you moan against his lips as you curve your hand around his neck and pull him incredibly closer.

Judging from it, he knows he's doing it right and he should continue, he applies gentle pressures on your clit, making you drenched and that way, he can slowly put a digit inside of you.

You let go of his kiss to let out a moan and your head falls onto the pillow as he puts another digit into you, two fingers pumping in and out of you.

Chan intently watches as your face contorted along to the pleasure, how your jaws slack open and breathless moans keep spilling out of your parted mouth.

The way you clench around his fingers makes him impatient to feel you and how tight you feel around him, and the noises you make oh, they're his new favorite tune that he wants to keep listening to until his eardrums burst.

He glances down as he pulls his fingers out of you and finds them thickly coated with your essence, it doesn't stop him from shoving them into his mouth and lick them clean.

Chan holds you by the chin to keep you still as he kisses you, "Give me a second to get a condom, yeah?" He says to you and you nod in answer.

He makes his to the bathroom and pulls the drawer open to take a condom. To save time, he decides to put it on right away, he tears through the foil packet with his teeth and rolls the rubber down his hard length.

On the way out, he catches his reflection in the mirror and gets reminded that this is not about him. Tonight, it's all about you.

He returns to the bedroom, finding you still lying in bed naked and hugging yourself. He climbs onto the bed and lowers himself on you, letting you absorb his body heat to warm you.

Craving for another taste of it, he goes down and plants his mouth on your cunt next, tasting you right on his tongue.

You're squirming as his tongue laps over your wetness, drinking in on your essence and then using it to circle on your clit.

He's not the only one getting impatient and asking more of it, you both want it and there's no wasting time anymore. Just before he takes it to the next part, he places a long, tender kiss on your clit and immediately brings his mouth to yours again so you can taste yourself on him.

"I'm going in, mmh?" He says as he endearingly brushes your hair away from your face.

You hold on to his shoulder as he settles himself between your legs, aligning his cock with your entrance but before that, he rubs his length between your folds, lubricating it with your essence.

Your hands fly to your chest, hugging yourself again as you lowly moan to his hard length rubbing over your clit and then, pushing its way into you.

"Goodness fu—" he can't even finish his sentence without breaking into a satisfied groan.

It's just the tip but he can already feel how tight you are around him, he's scared yet excited to push more of him into you. He reorganizes his breathing and rests his hand on your abdomen to do it.

Chan looks down to check and he still has a little more of him that needs to be inside you, he sharply inhales air through his nostrils and pushes the remaining length in one quick push.

"Oh..." you breathlessly moan as you're squeezing on your breasts.

Chan allows himself to take a moment to adjust himself to being inside you and you seem to also need time to adjust to his size because you feel so incredibly tight around him. It makes him wonder how this little thing can take him so well.

He takes your hands away from your chest and puts them around his shoulders, that way he can put his body on top of you, lips locked with yours again in no time as you wrap your legs around his waist, sending him deeper inside you.

As he takes a breath in between kisses, you hold his face and look at him with a different kind of sadness in your eyes which only reminds him that his initial plan is to make it go away.

He starts thrusting into you, wanting to fuck this sadness out of you. He wants to make you think of nothing but how his cock fills you full and how good he is fucking you right now, and soon, he's going to make you feel nothing but immense pleasure.

"Ah... ah... ah..." you moan for every thrust going into you and the skin-slapping sounds echo along with it in the room.

Chan plants his mouth on your breasts to contain his grunts and groans while keeping the steady motion of his hips pulsating against you.

A hand reaches for his chin and forces him to look at you, instantly engaged in eye contact with you. He continues thrusting into you with eyes looking deep into you, they're no longer looking like bottomless pits, they look like deep oases that he wants to dive into.

The next thing he knows, Chan finds himself deep in you, not just physically but also connected with you in a way that he's never experienced with anyone else until now. He feels barer than he already is and instead of shutting himself off, he embraces it and lets you in.

Soon enough, he finds himself lost in it and fully connects himself to you in a way that lets him know how it feels to love without fears or insecurities holding him back, without worrying if it's being reciprocated or not, to love wholly and completely.

"Oh," you let out a broken moan and that's when he notices that you break into tears again.

Chan abruptly stops moving, afraid that something he does is hurting you without realizing it.

"No, keep going, keep going," you tell him with your voice hoarse.

He needs to make sure to continue, he cups your jaw and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, please, keep going, please," You repeatedly nod and plead with your teary eyes.

He wants you to stop crying, he wants you to stop thinking about what hurts you and start to see him as he tries to take this pain away from you. His body picks up the pace, going impossibly fast and also taking himself close to his high.

Your eyes are screwed shut, your breath is ragged and your hands are gripping onto his shoulders, overwhelmed by the pleasure that he brought on you.

The moment he's sure that you already come to your climax, he allows himself to let go and uses all of his strength to give you a few more thrusts until there's nothing left in him but waves of pleasure that wash over him.

"Chris..." you softly call and then pull him for a chaste kiss on his lips, "Thank you."

Chan's face hovers only inches above you as he softly gazes into your eyes, you look so fragile and open like a wound and he's just glad that he can make your heartache gone even just for a while.

"Shh..." he stops you from talking by running his thumb over your lips and then kisses you with his heart wide open. He lets this beautiful feeling pour out of him and into you.

"No, thank you," he mutters his gratitude between kisses.

Thanks to you, he experiences something he's never felt before with someone else, something new, something pure and real, something that feels a lot like love.

When he wakes up in the morning and finds you're not there, it hits him that maybe it is love but Chan is not ready to admit it yet.

A week passes and Chan hasn't seen you ever since that night.

He can't tell if you're avoiding him or needing the space and time to piece yourself back from the break-up, he hopes it's the latter. Gosh! Let him be right.

Regardless of what happened, he can live with the fact that you despise him but it would be sad to know if you choose to go down the path of believing that you're not going to find love again.

Chan just needs to know if you're doing okay, that's what matters for now.

Fortunately, the two of you have been neighbors for quite a long time to learn your routine and knockabouts. He knows what you like to do on a Saturday morning, he goes to the lobby and chats with the concierge as he waits.

At the first sight of you entering the apartment building, his heart palpation, and in all honesty, he's just so happy to finally see you after a while.

Are you not seeing him there? Or you're just pretending which only confirms his initial thought that you've been, in fact, avoiding him.

You're walking through the lobby carrying a bag of groceries in your arm, you skip checking on the mailbox and go straight to the elevator. It just happens that the elevator is vacant and the doors slide open after you push the button.

Chan decides to take the risk, sprinting to get into the elevator before the doors close. You already despise him so a little more hate shouldn't be a problem to him.

"Morning, sunshine," He greets you with his dimpled grin.

"Good morning," you politely reply without looking at him.

Things are going back to normal and he should be glad, right? At least, you're back to your usual settings of looking stoic and acting polite, and the best thing about it is you're still talking to him.

"I should learn to avoid people from you. You're good at it," he pushes it a bit just to see if he can crack through this facade.

"Excuse me?" Your head turns his way and with your eyes widen, "I have not been avoiding anyone."

Chan holds the urge to smile for successfully getting your attention and rests his back against the cold, metal furnace of the elevator, "Are you sure?"

"Well, we're seeing each other now," you tell him.

"That's because I know you like to go to the farmer's market every Saturday morning," he says at the same time, admitting that he knows about your routine.

You slowly turn your body facing him and squint your eyes at him, "You've been keeping tabs on me?"

"It's my favorite pastime activity," he shamelessly answers then pokes his cheek with his tongue.

"It's better than watching porn," he playfully adds, something that he knows will annoy you the right way.

"Ugh!" You groan as you look straight ahead.

Oddly enough, that's what he misses the most about it, interacting with you and seeing your reaction to his antics, but you, especially.

"Don't be so uptight," he coyly says.

He takes a step closer to you and puts his hand on the handlebar, "it's not like we haven't slept together or anything."

You let out a scoff and hoist the strap of your grocery bag higher on your shoulder, "I'm shocked you even remember," you say.

You turn your head next and your eyes immediately lock in a gaze with him, "I figure I'm just a low notch on a very long bedpost," you add.

"Are you calling me a man whore?" Chan says, feeling offended.

You take a step closer to him and daringly stare back into his eyes, "I didn't call you a man," you answer with a sly smirk.

There's a few seconds of silence until Chan realizes what you just said to him but you know what? He's going to give it to you, for now.

He looks at you and smiles, "Touche!"

You both look at each other and at the same time, burst into laughter, and it keeps going until the hilarity subsides with each passing second.

Is this real? Did you just poke fun at him with a beautiful smile on your face? Did you really laugh and the sound of not only echoing in this enclosed space but also in the back of his mind? Did he just see a different facial expression on you? Either way, he likes it and he likes how it makes him feel.

The elevator chimes open and soon, the doors part open. He lets you get off first and then takes his turn after, he gets a little disappointed as you both are going in the opposite direction.

"Hey, Chris," you call as he's only a couple of steps away from the door of his apartment.

His heart palpation again but he keeps his calm and then slowly, turns on his feet to face you, "Yes?"

"I'm cooking curry for dinner and I know it'll be not as good as the one you always ordered but you can come and..." your hand is fiddling with the strap of your grocery bag as you speak but your eyes remain steady on him, "see if it suits your taste."

And did you just invite him for dinner? Him, the neighbor you despise so much?

Chan acts coy and scratches the back of his head, he holds the urge to answer right away. He has a reputation to uphold and he reckons, you have to at least wait a minute for his answer.

"Yeah, okay, let's see," he nonchalantly answers but his smile tells otherwise.

You crack a laugh and nod, walking to your door with the keys jangling as you're unlocking it.

Chan thinks that's the end of it until you call his name again, his heart leaps this time and he almost flies his way to you.

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you what are we," you say with a smile then get inside of your apartment.

That's funny because, after that night, he was hoping that you would ask him that as most girls do but that's where he is wrong, you're not most girls, you are his neighbor whom Chan is secretly in love with.

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