#but like how can they prove they are not a danger when a single step shakes buildings and cracks tarmac

[fun-littlescribbles]

Day 4: Share one of your favorite scenes from a creator

From Caught in a Crossfire by @gtypewriter

I absolutely looove the descriptions of Zeyan, and the interaction with the local in the car… MUAK.

Like giants causing fear and destruction without meaning to?? LOVE. IT!

[supercap2319]

"Bucky, let me explain." Y/N began.

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, his brow furrowing as he looked at Y/N with a stern expression. "Explain what, exactly? You inserting yourself into a mission without my knowledge or approval? You putting yourself in danger without even discussing it with the team first?"

"I'm sorry, but you needed help."

"And you thought the best way to help was to go behind my back? This isn't about doing what's right, is it? It's about you trying to prove yourself." Bucky's eyes narrowed. "You're just as reckless as..."

"As who?"

Bucky paused, his jaw clenching visibly. "As Steve." He saw the shock register on Y/N's face, knowing he'd hit a nerve. "You always try to do the heroic thing without thinking it through, just like him." He uncrossed his arms. Y/N looks down in guilt. He knew Steve was a sensitive topic for Bucky. "Look, Bucky. I didn't mean to play the selfless hero, but how can you expect me to wait around while you, Yelena, Ghost, hell, even John Walker risk for your lives on these suicide missions and not want to help."

Bucky's expression softened a bit at your guilt. "I know you mean well - hell, that's what makes you dangerous." He moved closer to Y/N, his voice dropping even lower. "But you still don't get it, do you?" His hand gently caught his arm.

"Maybe I don't." Y/N said. "Tell me."

"You think this is about being selfless or heroic?" Bucky released his arm and stepped back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's not, okay? It's about survival."

"And I get that." Y/N said.

"Do you? Because sometimes..." Bucky's voice gets lower, more intense."Sometimes I think you just want to prove you're as capable as Steve."

"Is that such a bad thing? Everyone wants to believe they're good enough for the big leagues. To believe they're worth something."

The former Winter Soldier's expression shifts, becoming unexpectedly vulnerable for a moment. "Worth something?" He steps closer, his other hand coming to rest gently on Y/N's waist."You really don't see it, do you? How..." His voice becomes a whisper. "How dangerous you are just being here."

"I will always be in danger, Bucky. As long as I have powers. As long as the world knows I used to work with the Avengers, my life will always be in danger. Better start getting used to it." Y/N said.

Bucky's eyes search his, a mix of concern and something deeper. "You're not just talking about physical danger, are you?" His hand squeezes his waist gently, as if trying to anchor you to the present. "You're talking about emotional danger, too."

He nods. "That's right."

"Emotional danger is the worst kind, Y/N." Bucky's voice is a soft murmur, his face inches from his. "Because it's the kind that can break you without anyone even laying a hand on you."

"I know. Which is why I'm trying to protect you."

Bucky's smile is small, almost sad. "And who's protecting you?" His hand moves from his waist to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against his skin. "Who's making sure you don't break under the weight of all this?"

"You."

Bucky's expression softens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Me?" He repeats, his thumb still gently stroking Y/N's cheek. "And what happens when I'm not around, huh?"

"Then whoever's near me better pray you come back to me." Y/N said.

A low chuckle escapes Bucky's lips as he moves even closer, his free hand finding its way to Y/N's lower back. "That's... terrifyingly possessive of you." His voice carries a hint of amusement and something warmer. "And here I thought I was the dangerous one." Y/N smiled at Bucky. Bucky's breath catches at Y/N's smile, and for a moment, everything else falls away - the war, the missions, the constant threat. Just you and him in this quiet moment. "You know..." His voice drops lower, more intimate."Sometimes I think..."

"Yeah?"

"Sometimes I think I'd rather face a room full of armed enemies than have to spend a single day without you." Bucky's words are soft, almost a whisper, but they pack a powerful punch. "Is that crazy?"

"It's not. Because I feel the same way."

Bucky's heart skips a beat at his words, and he feels a warmth spread through his chest. "Damn it, Y/N..." He murmurs, his voice cracking slightly. "You're going to make me say some really stupid shit, aren't you?"

"Oh? Like what?"

Bucky's eyes darken, pupils dilating slightly as he leans in even closer, nearly pressing his forehead against Y/N's. "Like I think I'm falling for you, sweetheart. Hard and fast, and there's not a damn thing I can do to stop it."

"Me too." Y/N gulps.

The Soldier's breathing hitches, and he closes the remaining distance between them, pressing his lips firmly against Y/N's in a kiss that's both desperate and tender. "Fuck." he mutters against Y/N's mouth, his hands tightening on his back. "I'm so fucked."

Y/N laughed and touched Bucky's stubble with his fingers. "You certainly are, James Buchanan Barnes."

[kpopfanfictrash]

Elemental (M) Pt. 1

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

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

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

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

Rating: 18+

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

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

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

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

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

Magic, to you, has never been a boon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Better to stand in the cold than enter and shatter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he joked.

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

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

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

“Yes?” you said, impatient.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach sank. “Pissed… at me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet another lesson you learned from your mom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Some people aren’t worth listening to.”

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

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

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

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

Magic is dangerous.

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

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

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

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

Except for the person you actually were.

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

Earth Elemental suspected behind San Raoul earthquake!

Jailed air Elemental claims innocence against onslaught of tornadoes!

Fire Elementals flee after string of arson!

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

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

Art was a risk, though one you found necessary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were in love with Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sink and shower in his bathroom burst on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had to leave. Now.

Sensing the change in your body, Jungkook paused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You went still.

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

At him, not on him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A weighted pause, and then –

“Come in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rain splatters against the window, and your stomach lurches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook will never forgive you for this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not running.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s… a tornado, Seokjin.”

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

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

“Listen.”

Turning around, he shuts the dishwasher with his hip.

“Oh, no.” You grimace. “What now?”

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

“Was there a question in all that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you say, automatic.

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t know – a few months?”

“Not long after you started dating Jungkook.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” you ask. “I never noticed.”

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

You frown at the obvious joy in her voice.

“Yeah,” you admit.

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

“I know, mom.”

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

Your entire body goes still. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Missing Jungkook is painful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

“Want a receipt?”

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Hey.”

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

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

“Like what?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s still holding your elbow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything was not fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s all, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Startled, you turn and find a stranger beside you.

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw nearly drops. “Are you serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Classes?”

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

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

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

You can’t help but grin. “Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your cheeks heat. “Yeah, that’s me.”

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

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

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

“Yep,” you admit. “That’s me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Dangerous.

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

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

“Will do. Thanks, again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A throat cleared from behind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. No, no, no – absolutely not.

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

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

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

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

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

Startled, Jungkook stares.

Equally swift, you withdraw. “I, uh…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you whisper.

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

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

A tiny fissure within your chest splinters.

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you whisper.

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

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

“What… do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He starts to go.

Everything around you becomes white noise.

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

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

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

Silent, you shook your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hands grip your arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Could you… you know, set me down?”

“Oh.”

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

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

“Are you okay?” he asks.

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

Truthfully, you’re not okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Once shattered, the dam can’t be rebuilt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[formylovetodaryldixon]

“When you finally came back.” Daryl Dixon Imagine.

After escaping from the saviors, Daryl and you finally meet again to stay together this time. And there, alone, your husband gives you a letter that perhaps expresses a little of what you mean to him.

A/N: This is an imagine I wrote looong time ago. This is literally my second try to write smut, but I don't do it often because I feel i can't express properly how the characters feel :( But I tried, so I hope you like it AND the letter Daryl gives to you. Thank you!

We’ll find a way to get you back. Okay? Just be strong, please. The only thing he can’t take away from you is your strength. So you just have to prove them you are stronger than them.”

With the light steps of a professional hunter, like the most dangerous and silent animal, that predator that doesn't make the slightest noise before catching its prey, Daryl walks through the empty halls, in the middle of those cold and gray walls. The small chance of escaping from that place is shaped as a key, hiding in the pocket of the trousers he stole from Dwight’s room, not without destroying his carved figurines on the table first. Daryl is agile to avoid the saviors, deathly silent as he takes that pipe, running down the last aisle before turning in the right corner to leave the place, hiding his face under a cap.

Finally, he opens the door to get out of the building, running to the first bike on the line full of them.

“What the hell?” Joey looks at Daryl, who looks at him back, holding a calm, but completely threatening look. “Wow. Wow…” He drops the half of his sandwich and raises his hands in the air, just to show he is harmless. “It’s cool. I swear…”

Daryl approaches him, slowly, his gaze fixed on the frightened prey in front of him.

“Buddy, you can walk down that back gate there and I won’t say anything to anybody. I’m supposed to be there now, but… listen… I… I’m just trying to get by, just like you… Please…”

But, with a contained fury that surpasses human strength, Daryl lifts the pipe and smashes it into Joey’s head, again and again, and again. He remembers the brutality with which he was treated, the fear, and the anger that explodes inside him right there, letting out all the pain in the most inhuman way possible.

Turning around the corner, Jesus runs to him from behind some trucks, stopping at the bloody commotion.

“Daryl…” Jesus says, but Daryl doesn’t stop while the blood splashes on his clothes and part of his face. “Daryl!”

Then, like being pulled out of a trance, Daryl finally stops, looking at what is left of Joey.

“He was jus' walkin’ by here… but it ain’t 'bout gettin’ by.” He breathes out, dropping the pipe. Rick’s gun is hanging from Joey’s waist and Daryl takes it, straightening up himself to look at Jesus. “Ya know anythin’ 'bout ma wife?”

“Yeah. Carl said she’s fine so don’t worry. You will be with (Y/N) again very soon.” Jesus looks at Joey quickly before looking back at Daryl, still surprised by what had happened.

Daryl nods absently, thinking about you as he walks again to the bike.

“I got the key. Let’s go.”

As the others enter the Hilltop through the tall wood gates, your owl brooch slips from your shaky hand in the middle of your way. You are nervous, and you stop yourself to pick it up. The brooch has two silver owls sitting on a branch, and it might have been cheesy if you had received it in the old world you used to live in, and although Daryl said that too when he gave it to you, the gift was a reminder of him.

Finally, you walk through the open gates, but stopping yourself again as you hold the brooch a little harder when you see Daryl pulling away from Rick’s hug when he looks at you. Rick smiles before patting his best friend’s back so Daryl can walk to you, without stopping for a single second. You feel the tingling in your chest, something moving inside you, like the flapping of thousands of butterflies. Then, he picks you up from the ground, taking you in a warm embrace as you wrap your legs around his waist, arms around his neck as his strong arms around your back hold you tight. Still holding the brooch, you hide your face in the crook of his neck as you feel a total relief to see him safe.

A breath of air for the times you two stopped breathing, hearts beating again for the times they stopped beating, bodies aching for the time you two were apart.

“I made it, peach.” Daryl says, breathless, pulling apart just a little to look into your eyes. “I made it thanks to ya.”

But you shake your head, pushing his hair away from his eyes.

“You made it because you’re strong.”

Then, Daryl smiles softly, finally in peace before kissing you.

After the failed attempt to convince Gregory to fight against Negan, fighting against the urge to shoot him when he found a polite way to tell you all to go to hell, while using the back door of the Hilltop, you all go to see King Ezekiel looking for help, guided by Jesus and his good intentions, but that doesn’t work either. King Ezekiel wanted to give asylum to Daryl, but he rejected it believing that the lack of strength from the king against the saviors wasn’t going to help you all beat Negan and his sadistic people.

It was a waste of time for Daryl, so with all of you standing in the middle of the street in the Kingdom, he puts his hand on your lower back to make you turn, pulling you with him to get out of there. One by one, the group walk to the exit too, plunging into a new kind of disappointment.

“Hey. Open it up!” Daryl says to the man in charge of the front doors. “We’re gone.”

The gates make a metallic sound and it opens for the group who walk out of there.

“You’re not.” Rick says to Daryl, and in the middle of his confusion, Daryl takes your hand to stop you.

“I ain’t stayin’ here.” He says looking at Rick, his accent getting thick, his voice deep but full of frustration.

“You have to. It’s the smartest play. You know it is.” Rick places his hand on Daryl's shoulder, trying to tell him with words and a kind look that this is what he has to do. “Try to talk to Ezekiel. Whatever it takes. We’ll be back soon.” Rick walks out of the kingdom, looking at you both before the doors closed. “We’ll come back for you two.”

Alone in that unfamiliar place, Morgan guides you two to a room so you both can rest. Your spirit is more tired than your body, so you say thank you before following him, with Daryl taking your hand to let himself be guided as well.

Uneasy with the lack of support, but not wanting to say anything because more negativity is not going to help save the situation, you lie back in bed on your right side, kicking your boots off first, head on the pillow, your disappointed gaze lost in the window. Daryl closes the door, locking it before approaching the bed as well, taking his boots off as well before lying on his side so he could look at you in the eyes this time.

"We will going to be okay, right?" You ask, in a small voice.

His hand looks for the warm of your body, your soft skin under your black t–shirt, smiling at the contact he missed so much.

"We will, peach."

The sunlight comes in, the garden is green on the outside, people’s voice passing by the building, thinking they will be safe forever. Even if Daryl doesn’t want to stay there he has to. It was necessary for him to be safe from the saviors. However, now, he seems to enjoy your hand massaging his hair. His eyes are closed, grunting softly once in a while every time you touch a good spot. Everything seems to be okay when the world is as quiet as it is right now, without the endless grunting of the walkers, nor Negan’s voice that had no mercy.

“Stop thinkin’ 'bout it, peach.” Daryl says softly, opening his eyes again, taking your hand away from his hair to hold it in his. “We’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

He watches the ring in your finger, the place where it belonged to, and then, Daryl finally looks at you for real. This time, for a moment at least, there is not a shred of shame in his gaze, exposing himself completely to you, as he did every time you two were alone, because it was easy for him to be who he really was with you. Your love was the kind of love he never thought he would get, or deserved, but there you are now: loving him like no one else ever did.

“I got somethin’ for ya…” His hand leaves yours, looking in the back pocket of his pants. But suddenly, it is as if a feeling of vulnerability comes over him as Daryl pulls a folded sheet of paper, handing it to you as his blue eyes sparkle with a new kind of shyness. “S’ somethin’ I wrote for ya… ’bout ya, actually.”

You smile at him before looking at the paper, but without opening it yet. You know Daryl never was good with words, even when there was so much he wanted to tell you, so you understand that he decided to write those feelings down. But they weren't even a quarter of what he really felt for you.

“Can I read it now?” You look at him kindly, giving him the option to be there or not if he wasn't comfortable with it. "If not, I can wait ‘til I'm alone."

“Ya can read it.” He gets closer to you, pushing you softly for you to lay on your back, climbing on you, his nose brushing your skin as he starts kissing your neck, his hand caressing your side. “I'll entertain myself with somethin’ else.”

You love the sudden hot feeling, the tickling between your legs in anticipation, the need to have him close again.

“That’s not fair, you asshole.” You chuckle, trying your best to read the letter.

Daryl loves the aggression, chuckling too against your skin as he pulls himself lower, just to meet your most sensitive and still covered area. His hands look for the bottom and the zipper of your jeans, pushing them out of you with your underwear lock in his fingers. You try very hard to concentrate on reading, trying to understand the messy words on the paper, but when Daryl buries his face into you without a warning, just to devour you completely, earning a moan form your closed lips, it is impossible to do so.

His hot tongue moves against you, kissing and licking and sucking, sending a vibration with the low grunt he makes and that travels through your entire body, so intense that you have to hold onto his long hair to keep your balance, so that your bent legs wouldn't give in with everything he’s giving you.

Your back arches, overwhelmed with the thousands of different sensations that hits you right there. The cold air mixes with the heat emanating from his tongue, as hot as your body starts to be, so hot that you think it is hell itself. The view of the roof is replaced with darkness behind your closed eyes, mouth finally open as the pleasure is starting to make you see stars.

For a second, you think he can make you come with just that, just like the previous times he did it, but now it is because it had been a while since you two made love, your body extremely sensitive to his touch. And right there, your sex is throbbing painfully, waiting impatiently for him to be inside you.

“Daryl, please…”

He can hear the plea in your voice, so full of desire that he can feel it right in his hard member. Daryl licks and tastes one more time, his warm hands holding your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth to get you ready. Daryl loved that feeling every time he ate you out, to know only he could take you so high with only his tongue, listening to those sinful sounds from your precious mouth, but as he rises on his knees, his hands catching the buttons of his shirt to remove it, Daryl and his ego love the view of you.

“Take off yer t–shirt.” He says low, and it is not a warning but a promise. “This ain’t over yet, peach.”

You lick your lip but you do as he says, sitting on the bed before taking the t–shirt out of your body, your bra next, with him loving the view of your naked and soft flesh. But as he finishes the last bottoms and while feeling bold, you lean forward, your hands finding the belt of his pants, mouth close but holding an innocent smile as you undo it.

“Only ya can be hot and cute at the same time, woman.” Daryl grunts. “Now lay back and lemme feel what I've been missin’ all this time.”

You lay back down, watching your husband take off his pants and his boxers, like the hottest imagine in the whole world. Daryl is hot, with his broad shoulders, the tattoo in his chest, his strong arms, calloused hands that always touch you softly. And when he is completely naked, he lays on top of you, feeling the beating of your heart in his own body, with you bending your legs at each side of his waist and hips, feeling him pushing himself inside of you.

He is thick, and he fills you completely, reaching places you are dying to feel him, and then, your moans and his grunts are silenced when he kisses you, finally moving. Your hips receive the movement of his, pushing himself even deeper, one hand on your cheek, the other holding himself at the side of your body.

You feel his length beating inside you, your walls squeezing around him, making him grunt against your parted lips. The feeling inside you intensifies with the minutes, with the swaying of his body and yours, your hands hugging his back, feeling his muscles contract under your touch.

Daryl rests his forehead against yours, breathing through his parted lips.

“That feels good?” He asks, and you nod, drowned in the sensation to form a word. “Lemme hear ya, peach. I really need ya right now.”

He chokes with his own words, looking at you with eyes full of lust, between the strands of hair that fall over his forehead, but when you think that can’t get any hotter, Daryl brings two of his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them before pressing them against your clit, rubbing the area, hard and fast, causing you to cry his name.

And he fucking loves that. He would gladly drown in your voice calling his name.

The sensations and the sounds are making him mad as he feels close to his climax, pressing himself into you even harder, deeper and faster when he feels your inner walls clenching against him. You feel close too, and it takes you seconds to finally cum letting out a cry, feeling him release inside of you with one long push.

Daryl buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, moving slowly as you two enjoy the hot feeling leaving your bodies. You stroke his hair for a while, just to give him some comfort.

And after a while, he pulls away to look at you, so close you feel his nose brushing yours, with him smiling at the contact. Daryl strokes your cheek softly, making you smile too. His touch is always soft, it is sincere, just like his love for you.

“I love ya, Mrs. Dixon. Yer the only one for me and it’ll be like that for the rest of ma life.”

After saying that, Daryl presses his lips against yours, and it melts you like honey, so sweet like his love for you. He came back to you to stay for real this time, and as he falls sleep on his side after a while, dressed again, pressing his body against yours, you take the letter which was forgotten next to the pillow.

His handwriting was always messy, and you used to tease him about it, but now, it makes you hold the air inside your body as you start reading.

Ma lil’ angel:

Awake or when I can sleep, I’m always dreamin’ ‘bout ya. Sometimes, I dream ‘bout meetin’ ya in the old world. I wish I could have found ya there. Our life together wouldn't have been perfect but I’d have worked hard to give ya all the things ya deserved, I’d have done everythin’ to make ya the happiest woman in the world. I know someone like me couldn’t have offered ya much in that world, fuck, I can’t offer ya much in this one either, but I promised ya I’d protect ya from everythin’ and Imma keep ma word, ‘cause now I can’t live without ya. Ya always were a sweet thing to look at, and even when Carol used to make fun of me when she caught me doin’ it, I couldn’t stop. But even now, when in ma mind I see the ring in yer finger, I still can’t believe ya’re really ma wife. I never told ya this, but when ya said yes, I promised God I would never let ya go. And now, ya’re stuck with me forever ‘cause thanks to ya I started livin’ and not jus’ survivin’. So yeah, ya’re ma life, ya’re the peace, the sun, the moon and all the fuckin’ stars in the diamond sky as ya call it.

It was nice to find someone who loves me like ya do, even with ma temper. I love ya, peach, so much, and m’ sorry I don’ say it often. Ya know I’m bad with words, but I’ll try to be better.

Yours, Daryl Dixon.

@fluffy-dixon

[slu7formen]

luke castellan x fem!reader

Luke has been making fun of your ‘unnecessarily absurd beauty routine’ —as he liked to call it— for the past week, so, you decide to drown him in it, just to see how much he can handle.

warnings: just a single use of the word b1tch, fluff at the end <3, little use of yn

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

i. the eyebrows

“Ow, ow, ow! That hurt!”

“No it didn´t!”

“Yes, it did!”

“Shut up and hold still”

“Ow! You´re pinching my skin, you bitch!”

“That was fully on porpuse”

A chorus of laughter erupted from the nearby bunk beds. Most of the boys, Luke´s half-siblings, gathered around you both, enjoying the show, eyes gleaming with mischief as they witnessed their usually stoic and confident counselor reduced to a whiny mess. Luke´s head was leaning on your thighs as you plugged his eyebrows with some dangerously sharp tweezers.

“See, that´s what you get for making fun of a girl” Travis Stoll, the elder of the Stoll brothers, joined in, a smirk on his lips. "We all warned you about messing with her” he pointed towards you.

“Shut up, Travis!” Luke spat.

You enjoyed the way his face was turning red, from embarrasment and because he was trying so hard to hold back his tears.

“You know, Luke” you started, plugging on another thin hair which earned you a little curse whispered from his lips. “You can always just, give up on the bet”

You found yourself enjoying the sight immensely. The perfect Hermes´ cabin counselor who'd spent the past week mocking your beauty routine,– here he was, sprawled across your lap, a prisoner of your tweezers.

“There´s no way in hell I´m letting you beat me that easily" he declared, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.

You couldn't help but smirk. The bet had been born out of sheer frustration. For the past week, Luke had been relentless in his teasing about your beauty regimen. He'd mocked the meticulous way you cared for your eyebrows, the endless battle against unwanted body hair, the whining about the occasional pimples even when you spent a good twenty minutes locked in the bathroom cleaning your skin. He'd called you high-maintenance, a slave to societal expectations, and everything in between.

Finally, you'd snapped. "Alright, Castellan" you'd declared, eyes blazing. "How about a little bet? If you can handle a full day of 'girl stuff,' I'll clean your cabin for a week"

The look of surprise on Luke's face had been priceless. He'd scoffed, of course, overconfident and utterly clueless about the sheer torture involved in waxing, tweezing, and mud masks. But fueled by his arrogance, he'd readily agreed.

Now, here you were, watching him squirm on your lap like a fish, a testament to his underestimation of the situation. A wave of satisfaction washed over you. It wasn't just about winning the bet, though that was certainly a perk. It was about showing him, in a slightly sadistic way, that there was more to "girl stuff" than he thought. It was about proving that self-care wasn't about vanity, but about feeling confident and comfortable in your own skin.

“As you wish, little baby”

Chris suddenly appeard in your vision, the satisfaction on his face plagged as if he was enjoying this more than you did. “You know, yn” he called out, you momentarily stopped, accidentally giving Luke a break. “Luke has a little hair situation going on under his arms”

“What!?” Luke blurted out. His siblings laughed again.

“He does?” you asked Chris, looking down at Luke and patting his head like a little kid.

“Oh, yeah” Chris smirked. “Maybe that could be the next step, don´t you think?”

“I´m gonna-” Luke tried to get up from his bed, hands reaching out towards Chris. He took a step back just as you grabbed Luke by his shoulders and pushed him down again towards your lap.

“I´m not done with you yet, tough guy. But Chris´ right. Get your hairy armpits ready”

ii. the waxing

You pulled out a box of waxing stripes. Luke, oblivious to the impending torture, was too engrossed in examining his newly sculpted eyebrows in the hand mirror you'd provided. A satisfied smirk played on your lips. The eyebrows looked fantastic – perfectly groomed without being overly feminine. Because yes, he asked you to keep them as close to their natural shape as possible.

“Shirt off” you declared.

His head whipped towards you, eyes wide with horror and disbelief. His half-brothers, mirrored his action, erupting in a chorus of whistles and catcalls.

"Excuse you?" he sputtered, h is voice a touch higher than usual.

"Damn," Connor drawled to you. "at least ask the guy out first"

You rolled your eyes. Luke shot him a withering glare, but beneath the bluster, you could see a flicker of nervousness.

You held up the waxing strips. “It´s time for your armpits, champion” you announced with a playful lilt in your voice. You began rubbing the strips together to warm the wax.

He whined, pulling his camp t-shirt over his head, revealing his well-toned torso, and throwing it over a nearby bunk. You stole a glance at his body for a microsecond, a slight red blush coloring your cheeks. His brothers were quick to start a echo of whistles.

He flopped down heavily on the bed, one arm raised awkwardly above his head. To your surprise, there wasn't as much hair as you'd anticipated. But that didn't diminish the sheer terror radiating from him. You stifled a laugh. "Relax, Luke" you said, your voice gentler now. "The tenser you are, the worse it'll be."

His brothers leaned in closer, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. You carefully pressed the strip against his skin, smoothing it down with the practiced ease. He held his breath, his entire body tensing in anticipation.

You inhaled sharply yourself, then you ripped the strip off in one swift motion. Luke let out a yelp that would have made a banshee proud. His face contorted in pain, and his free hand clenched into a fist. His brothers erupted in laughter, their amusement fueled by his pain.

"Alright, alright" you said, trying to sound sympathetic despite the laughter bubbling in your throat. "Deep breaths, Luke. If you don´t relax, it´s gonna hurt more"

He glared at you, his voice laced with a hint of betrayal. "Easy for you to say."

Ignoring his grumbling, you ripped off another strip. A chorus of gasps filled the room, and Luke let out another yelp, his face turning an even deeper shade of red.

"See?" you said, holding up the strip adorned with a few stray hairs. "Not so bad, right?"

He wanted to murder you.

"Don't you use anesthesia for this?" he wheezed after a particularly harsh pull on his other armpit, his eyes watering slightly.

“We´re not babies, Luke” you replied, shaking your head. "Just good old-fashioned grit and determination. Besides, you wouldn't want to miss out on the full 'girl stuff' experience, would you?"

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity —at least for Luke—, you finished. His armpits were as smooth as a baby´s butt. His brothers, unable to resist themselves, reached out and slapped the freshly waxed skin, earning them a swift kick each from a now-furious Luke.

iii. the skincare

"Skincare? Seriously?" Luke asked, sitting down on your bed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You all went to your cabin to continue his so claimed ‘girl´s day´. You would´ve paid to take a picture of your sisters´ faces when they saw you walk in with a bunch of boys following you behind.

“Just lay down, princess” you declared “I´ll bring my stuff”

He leaned back against the your pushy pillows, getting comfortable.

“First time on a girl´s bed?” Chris asked, earning a few laughs from his siblings.

“Shut up” Luke spat.

You came back with your washbag, full of different products that nearly gave Luke a heart attack. You had to assure him that this time, this wasn´t gonna hurt. At least not the first part, but you kept it a secret.

"Alright, beautiful” you teased. “Let’s get started. First thing’s first. “Cleansing”

You dipped a soft washcloth in warm water and began gently wiping away the dirt and sweat from his face. Luke closed his eyes, a look of unexpected serenity washing over his features. You noticed him get loose under your touch, a slight smile playing on his lips, and crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture of surprising compliance.

“Wow” he said. “This is actually quite nice”

"See?" you said softly. "This isn't so bad"

He opened one eye, a playful glint mirroring your own. "Not bad at all" he admitted, a hint of amusement in his voice “Guys, you should try this."

The Hermes´ cabin boys leaned in closer, their usual boisterousness replaced by a quiet attentiveness. They watched as your fingers moved with a practiced ease, cleansing Luke's skin with a tenderness they hadn't seen before. They saw you take some cleanser, and rub it softly against Luke´s skin.

They all exchanged glances, a new kind of curiosity flickering in their eyes. Usually, the sight of anyone touching Luke, let alone his face, would have elicited a barrage of teasing. But seeing you, your movements gentle and practiced as you gathered a gentle cleanser, they found themselves strangely mesmerized.

"Well, he looks chill" Connor added. "Could you clean my face sometime, yn?"

You chuckled, throwing a playful glance thorwn at him. "Maybe later, Connor. Right now, it's all about Luke's glow-up."

Next came the toner, followed by a light moisturizer. Luke remained surprisingly still, his eyes closed, a contented sigh escaping his lips from time to time. His brothers, bored by the lack of drama, started to get bored.

Just as you were about to get some eye patchs, your eyes drifted on a little tool inside your washbag; your blackhead remover. An idea came up to you.

"Alright, Luke" you announced, a hint of warning in your voice. "Time for the fun part."

You reached for a steaming hot towel and pressed it gently against his nose and forehead. He inhaled deeply, the steam opening up his pores.

"This feels so nice" he mumbled, his voice muffled by the towel.

A slow grin spread across your face. "Oh, it gets better" you said, an evil spark in your eyes.

You grabbed the blackhead extractor and, with practiced ease, began gently removing the unwanted blemishes.

Suddenly, Luke's eyes flew open, a look of pure horror replacing his previous serenity. "Wait! What are you doing?" he shrieked.

"Shh" you hushed him playfully. "Relax. These little guys gotta go. Trust me, it'll be better for your skin in the long run."

"But it hurts!" he whined, swatting your hand away with a surprisingly weak attempt.

"Just a little pinch" you reassured him, your voice a mockery he hated. "Besides, if you don't remove them now, they'll grow bigger and poppier, and that will hurt even more."

Luke opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his lips as you expertly extracted another blackhead. This bet was getting a little harder to beat than expected. He winced slightly, then a defeated sigh escaped his lips.

“So, Connor” you called. “You wanted to be next, right?”

iv. make up

"So," you began, a sly smile playing on your lips as you settled into the chair across from Luke, "you think makeup is easy, right?"

"Shouldn't be that hard, I guess" he mumbled, trying to sound confident. Inside, however, his stomach churned with fear and worry.

You gestured towards your desk, which was now overflowing with an array of colorful tubes, palettes, and brushes – an arsenal of beauty products foreign to the boys' eyes. "Alright then," you declared, a playful lilt in your voice. "Here's a little game. I'll show you each product and you have to guess what it's for. Every one you get wrong? Goes on your face."

Luke's eyes widened in horror.

"Wait, what?" he sputtered, a nervous tremor in his voice. "You can't be serious!"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "But Luke, you just said makeup was easy. This is your chance to prove it!"

"This is cheating" he mumbled, looking betrayed. "You never mentioned makeup in the bet!"

"Technically," you countered, holding up a finger, "it's still 'girl stuff’, as you call it”

A groan escaped Luke's lips. He shot a desperate glance towards his brothers, hoping for some kind of intervention. Charles Beckendorf, who allegedly decided to join the fun, just grinned towards him.

"Don't chicken out now, Luke" he said, arms crossed over his chest. "You can always give up on the bet and let her win”

Luke glared at his friend, silently cursing the day he ever agreed to this ridiculous wager. He sighed dramatically, slumping back on the bed. "Fine" he mumbled, defeated. "At least try your best to make me look decent."

“That´s not gonna be on me, dear”

You couldn't help but laugh at his misery. You reached across the desk, picking up a sleek black tube with a silver cap. It felt cool and smooth in your hand.

"What do you think this is?" you asked, holding it up for him to see.

Luke squinted at the tube, his brow furrowed in concentration. He recalled seeing something similar in movies, actresses applying it with a flick of their wrist. An idea flickered in his mind.

"Eyeliner?" he ventured, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty.

You arched an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Huh, correct”

You set the eyeliner aside, a mischievous glint returning to your eyes. Next up, you picked up a thin, wooden-looking tool with a pointed tip. There was a small, round piece of what looked like colored chalk attached to the end.

"Alright," you announced, "round two. What is this?"

Luke studied the object carefully. It did resemble a pencil, but the colored tip threw him off. He wracked his brain, trying to recall anything similar he'd seen in the vast array of makeup products on your desk.

"Uh… a pencil?" he finally ventured, his voice lacking conviction.

You burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the cabin. Tears welled up in your eyes quickly, blurring your vision slightly.

"A pencil, Luke?" you wheezed, wiping a tear from your cheek. "It’s a lip liner"

Luke's cheeks flushed crimson.

"Lip liner?" he echoed, his voice barely a whisper. "For what? Do I need to draw on a bigger mouth?" He gestured to his own lips, a hint of self-consciousness creeping into his voice.

You shook your head, stifling another giggle. "No, no need for a bigger mouth. Lip liner helps define the shape of your lips."

With a shake of your head, you said, "Now the fun part begins. Bring those lips here, handsome."

Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his face hovering a few inches from yours. The air got filled with a strange tension, probably because his brothers walked closer so they could get a better look. His breath hitched slightly as your fingers brushed against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

“You´re lucky this is the same shade as your natural lip color” you whisper.

“Yeah” Chris adds. “Maybe you should wear it more often, handsome” he reaches out his hand to squeeze Luke´s cheeks, but he´s quick enough to slap his hand away.

“Shut up”

The minutes that followed were filled with a more lighthearted energy. You continued the game, Luke surprisingly getting a few things right – foundation, and even a surprisingly good guess on a shimmery eyeshadow palette.

But he wasn't without his misses. The concealer, a light, creamy formula designed to camouflage blemishes, ended up being applied liberally under his eyes, leaving him with a ghostly pallor that had his brothers doubled over in laughter. Then came the blush. A delicate peach shade, turned his cheeks a comical shade of fuchsia thanks to your deliberately exaggerated application with a fluffy brush.

His brothers, fueled by this new display of comedic gold, howled with laughter. Charles, wiping tears from his eyes, wheezed, “He-, he looks like a baboon in heat”

"Oh man" Travis howled, clutching his stomach. "This is even better than the armpit wax"

Next came the eyelash curler, that strange-looking contraption that promised to create dramatic, fluttery lashes. The moment you held it up, Luke's eyes widened in suspicion. He snatched it from your hand before you could ask him what he though it was.

"What the hell is this!?" he exclaimed, his voice laced with a mixture of disgust and fear. "You girls like torturing yourselves with these things?"

You reached out and gently took the curler back. "No torture involved" you replied. “And since you know absolutely nothing about it…"

He tried to look defiant, but a flicker of uncertainty betrayed him. "I know what it is" he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

"Oh really?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Then what is it?"

You handed him the curler and watched as he fumbled with it, his big hands clearly not designed for such delicate work. He eventually gave up with a defeated sigh.

"Okay" he grumbled, handing the curler back to you. "Do your worst."

The final touches were a disaster, a glorious, hilarious disaster. Every fiber of Luke's being screamed in protest as you handed the brushes over to his merciless brothers.

“Come here, Lookie-Pookie” Travis cooed, his voice dripping with mock sweetness as he leaned in with a thick brush loaded with sparkly eyeshadow. Luke recoiled, swatting his hand away with a glare.

"Don't touch me!”

“Come on Luke, give us those pretty little lips. We need to make sure they're nice and kissable” Beckendorf joined, opening a little lip product tube he wasn´t sure what it really was.

Luke wanted to melt into the floor, his face burning hotter than the volcanic eyeshadow now smudged across his eyelids. The audacity, the betrayal! His own brothers, the supposed bastions of masculinity, were gleefully participating in this humiliation.

“Maybe some of this highlighter will make him look prettier”

He couldn´t believe his own brothers knew what highlighter was except for him.

As he looked at his reflection in the mirror, a mix of horror and amusement washed over him. He never thought he'd feel so violated by makeup. But somewhere amidst the frustration and embarrassment, a strange sense of camaraderie bubbled up. His brothers, usually his biggest tormentors, were doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down their faces. And you, the leader of this whole mess, were practically glowing with barely suppressed mirth.

Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corner of Luke's lips. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Sure, he looked like a technicolor disaster, but the shared laughter, the fun, it felt strangely… good. He glanced at you, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Gods” he breathed, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "This is the best day of your life, isn't it?"

You couldn't help but laugh, a genuine, unrestrained laugh that filled the cabin. "Hell yeah it is" you replied as you offer him make up wipes.

v. the reconcile

Night had fallen, painting the sky with shimmering stars. The campfire illuminated the campers´ face, its flames dancing higher as the Apollo cabin filled the air with joyful camp songs. Laughter mingled with the strumming of guitars and lyres, creating a symphony of pure summer camp bliss.

The fire itself danced in response to the campers' emotions. It roared a little higher with every burst of laughter, dimmed momentarily during a quiet story, and flickered with a playful intensity as the Hermes boys, fueled by their mischievous exploits, recounted their version of the day's events.

You sat by the fire, poking a marshmallow with a stick, watching the scene unfold. Their narrative, of course, focused heavily on your supposed "torture" of Luke. Specially the Stoll brothers; they painted a picture of you as a ruthless makeup artist, a waxer who pealed Luke´s skin off and left his face shining like marble. Meanwhile, Luke simply sat there, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You noticed the Hermes boys regaling other campers with their story, punctuated by bursts of laughter. And yes, you didn´t like to admit it but, you'd lost the bet. Technically. But watching Luke handle their teasing with surprising grace, a hint of amusement in his eyes, filled you with a strange satisfaction.

You were there by yourself for a few more minutes. The camp sounds filling your ears as you tried your best not to stuff your face in all the toasted marshmallows your sisters offered you. Your hands felt tired, because yes, even though what you did was not too much for you to handle, Luke squirmed and behaved like a worm covered in salt, which only made your work harder.

Just then, a figure settled in front of you. Luke. He held two sticks, each crowned with a perfectly toasted marshmallow. He offered one to you, his usual smirk replaced by a genuine smile.

"Truce?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge.

You couldn't help but grin, accepting the marshmallow with a playful jab. "Truce"

He sat beside you, the marshmallow on his stick disappearing in one swift, hungry bite. Suddenly, you leaned in closer, feigning seriousness. "Oh dear" you said, your voice laced with mock concern.

Luke raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "What is it now?"

"You've got a blackhead. Right, there" you declared, pointing to a non-existent imperfection on his nose.

His eyes widened in mock horror. "No way! I´m not letting you touch my face again" He swatted at your hand playfully, but you were quicker.

"Hold still, you wriggly worm" you teased, pretending to grab his nose. A playful fight ensued, a flurry of limbs and laughter. You managed to land a swipe at his cheek with a gooey bit of marshmallow.

Finally, breathless with laughter, you both settled back down, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the quiet camaraderie. As you bit into your marshmallow, a comfortable silence settled between you.

"So, about that bet" he began, wiping his marshmallow-streaked hands on his cargo pants.

You turned to look at him, still chewing on another marshmallow and a piece of melted chocolate. "Yeah?"

"I don't want you to clean my cabin" he explained.

"Why not? I lost the bet" you replied, surprised by his sudden declaration.

He looked at the sky, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. "Yeah, but… We're kind of a mess, actually. I would feel bad if you did it alone."

"Aww, Castellan, are you worried about little ol' me?" you teased him, squeezing his cheek playfully. He blushed a deeper shade of red, looking positively flustered.

"Maybe" he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

"Okay, here's a deal" you continued, trying to cover your own blush. "I'll clean your cabin, but you have to help me. I really don't wanna get into dirty-underwear-business."

Luke considered this for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. "Deal. But I'm warning you, there might be some things you shouldn´t even try to touch with bare hands. And I mean Travis´ and Connor´s bunks”

From a distance, a group of campers — a mix of Hermes, Apollo, and Hephaestus cabins —watched your exchange with keen interest. The playful teasing, the way your hands brushed as you made your deal — it was all too much for their already overactive imaginations.

"I bet you fifteen bucks he's gonna ask her out by the end of the week" an Apollo camper, Lee, declared.

Chris snorted. "That's weak. Twenty bucks says he does it tonight."

hiiya, just thought I could write something different to what I usually do. hope you enjoyed <3 🩷

[yan-lorkai]

Hi hi! I really like all of your Yandere TWST stuff, but I admit I’m in LOVE with vampire Pom Trio. I wanted to ask how you think the whole trio would react to a sickly/frail darling. Like maybe darling was spooked and nervous to go in based on the rumors of the manor but their “friends” forced them to. Like friends could be their own.y ride, being sick could limit their interactions so they try to please their friends cause they’re lonely, etc. Like I could see Epel becoming such an overprotective big brother, especially if his new sibling is weaker/cuter/smaller than him. Vil could see the hidden beauty behind their weak/sickly form and try to bring out their “true beauty”. While Rook just loves their naive sweet demeanor and how so much of the world seems new to them. Uh! Just the idea seems so good to play with and darling could legit come to care for/love the trio cause while they are yandere and vampires they treat them better than anyone else ever has.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: This was so fun and cute ngl, Epel's brotherly instincts really shine here when he realized that Yuu is like he is when he was human. And thank you, the Pometrio au was something I writed on a whim but it's my favorite oneshot so far! I hope you like this!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Platonic yandere content, vampire stuff y'know, blood sucking, dead corpses, angst, Ace is an asshole here, Reader has a very bad immune system and gets sick easily.

You were standing in front of the abandoned house, staring at it for a few minutes now. Something about its energy was so dark and draining, though the drops of heavy rain were soaking you from head to toe effortlessly. You had to go in now, you are already here, alone and cold, as your friends didn't want to wait for you to have a sudden change of heart and enter with them.

Your friends, mainly Ace and Sebek were excited while Jack tagged along just because, Deuce tried to make them wait for you but all of them were eager to explore the hidden secrets that the old mansion may hold. So they went on without you. Letting you here alone, in the dark, your only company was a sense of discomfort seetling on your bones.

'I'm going to catch a cold', You thought to yourself as your coat was completely soaked and your whole body was trembling.

You could turn around and go away. Or you could enter and search for them. You were certain if they were in your position, they would go away without a single thought, but you felt a bitter taste on your mouth just by considering this option. It didn't seem right.

With a resigned sigh, you went through the rusty gate, running through a long path to get to the door, passing by a garden full of withered flowers. With every step, the sound of your feet crushing the wet grass echoes around you as you huddle under the hood of your coat, trying to shield yourself from the rain that falls incessantly and the cold that seeps into your bones. You just knew that tomorrow you would wake up with a raging fever and a cough that never goes away, your health was so fragile and weak, a simple rain could put you to rest in bed for several days. You try not to think about it too much.

Without a doubt this mansion used to be a beautiful place years ago but now it was downright chilling, even more right now where your imagination can ran free, making appear as the house loomed over you as it was too dark to see anything clearly. The broken windows and peeling paint only proved to you how much time has passed, how not a single human had put their foot here in a long while.

And if someone was here and now, they didn't have any good intention. Abandoned houses were first of all, abandoned, nobody repaired it or took care of it, so it was dangerous to walk through it.

And second, you knew that in houses like this it was common to dispose of bodies or sell drugs, things like that. It was just common sense.

Swallowing hard, you turned the doorknob and entered the mansion, preparing mentally for whatever was going to happen.

Inside, darkness seemed to consume everything it could touch. The frail light came only from the moon and was not enough to see clearly. The hallway was empty so you took to wander around a little, hugging yourself to not get so cold. It was not working as a sneeze left your lips, your throat starting to get rough and dry.

It was so cold, so cold and wet, and dark everywhere. Your eyes got used to it very slowly and sometimes you kept bumping into doors and walls because the light wasn't enough. Though you really thought you heard at least once someone laughing when this happened.

"Gosh, why did I came here?" You thought out loud. Bitterness rising inside you as you remembered how Ace belittled you and forced you to come. All the rude things he said running through your head as you very slowly walked through the maze of decrepit corridors and forgotten rooms, still feeling that something very wrong was about to happen.

If not right now, then later on.

The dim light filtering through the broken windows casted eerie shapes on the decaying walls, and the silence was oppressive, broken only by the creaking of old floorboards beneath your feet and your breathing. The whole place was devoid of life, of happiness, you looked for it in the portrait faces and all of them were seemed so sad and gloomy. Just like you.

Gloomy just like you are, having to deal with your bad immune system almost daily.

"Why didn't I just said no?" You knew why you didn't said no. Ace was one of your only friends, even if he was mean and rude without reason. You didn't want to be alone inside your room anymore, you didn't want to see your mother's worried expression or your father's frown as you got sick and bedridden again.

It was exhausting.

Even convincing them you'll be alright to go out tonight was hard as they were too worried about you.

"It could be worse" You smile even when your legs started hurting from how much you have been walking. Your stamina was always lacking, contrary to other teens you knew.

You got tired pretty quick so this was nothing new.

Feeling your energy dissipating, you call out for them once more, your voice echoing through the halls and then fading away slowly, leaving you behind. "They left me here all alone, didn't they? Well, it is my fault to allow them to drag me here, I suppose."

Then, you hear it: a strange noise echoing through the darkness. It's a faint, ominous sound, like a whisper carried on the wind or a belt being dragged on the floor, sending a shiver down your spine.

You strain your ears, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise but it seems to come from all directions at once, disorienting and unsettling.

"Really guys, you're going to play a prank on me?" You rolled your eyes. "Here of all places?

Certainly it was Ace idea to scare the daylights out of you and honestly it could have worked if you aren't so tired, another sneeze leaving your throat as you started walking again in a random direction. "I'm telling your brother you're being mean again, Ace and Sebek!"

You heard a giggle behind you but when you turned around there was no one there. Then it happened again and again but there was never someone there when you looked. An instinctive fear was growing on the pit of your stomach as you struggled to maintain calm, making excuses to not get scared.

It could be the wind. Or your imagination, maybe.

Or... Or... You didn't know.

You realized then that with each passing moment, the noise was louder, more insistent, it was as if the mansion's walls were alive with some unseen presence, watching you and waiting for a better opportunity to strike, faint smell of something you can't quite name it was on the air.

The wind was howling sofly at your ears, water dripping somewhere above you. Or was it beneath? Your coat was heavy on your shoulders, entirely soaked.

You weren't entirely sure as it was too dark to distinguish anything on the floor. What you did recognized was the sounds coming back.

I always knew I would die but it has to be here?' You looked around.

You were still surronded by doors who lend nowhere and the sound was getting near, taunting your existence as your friends liked to do, joking how you had more time to rest and the only price to pay was taking some meds or go to the hospital.

How it was easy to exist like this.

You hesitate, unsure of what to do next. Should you stay and investigate the source of the noise, or should you ran? Every instinct screams at you to run, to escape this haunted mansion and its unknown horrors. But a part of you don't want to leave now.

You knew so little of the world, you were drawn to the mystery, to the possibility of discovering what lies hidden in the shadows, plus it was still raining outside.

"If there's someone out there, come out." You added after a few seconds, uncertain. "Please?"

You heard a little laugh behind you but this time when you turned around, there was someone there - said someone was so close that you both bumped your heads by how fast you had turned around.

You stumbled back, almost tripping if the stranger hadn't grabbed both of your hands, you were apprehensive but otherwise curious about this strange boy.

"Ouch, look where ya goin!" He grumbled, though there was a little smile in his voice. He laughed again and the sound was soft.

You protested loudly. "You were the one who was standing behind me!"

You meet the boy's gaze with a calm expression, snickering a little at the face he was making. The boy rolled his eyes, seemingly amused by how you didn't reacted at all by his sudden appearance and yet he wasn't in no hurry to introduce himself, letting the seconds go by, instead taking to observe you and the little bandages that adorned your cheek and the little cuts on your fingers.

"Ya alright, kiddo?" He asked after a while. His voice was softer than you could imagine. And there was a special glimmer on his eyes as if he was approaching a wounded, frightened animal.

"I'm fine, thank you," You replied, a little too quickly for it to seem natural as you hid your hands behind your back and straightened your back.

You didn't want to tell him you fell and scrapped yourself just the other day or how your arms were sore because of the injections frequently administered into your veins. You wished to forget this.

But then again, you had no reasons to tell him that, even if his inquisitive eyes searched for something deep inside your soul. "Just a few scratches, nothing serious." You laughed it off, not mentioning the potentially growing fever that seemed to burn your body very slowly.

"I can be a little clumsy sometimes." You lied, averting your eyes from his, a shiver running down your spine as you did so. His eyes, lilac and big, were like two stars staring at you, burning you.

The boy hummed softly, not at all buying your story as his eyes lingered on the bandages that adorned your cheek. There was a thoughtful expression on his face as he observed you, as if he was trying to piece together the story behind your injuries.

He was stranger, more than this, you thought, what was he doing here? Why was he here? He didn't looked much older than you, maybe a year or two. And he didn't look dangerous too.

After a moment of silence, he finally spoke again, a little awkward and unsure as if he didn't talked much with people his age. "Glad to hear that, the name's Epel by the way." He said, a hint of genuine concern in his tone. "So... What brings you here?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal to this stranger. But there was something about him that put you at ease and you found yourself opening up to him more than you had expected. You didn't felt any judgement coming from him, instead he was very warm and friendly enough that he made you forgot about where exactly you two were at that moment.

"It's Halloween. My friends wanted to visit a creepy place, even if I didn't agree to it. Not because I'm afraid, well, I am a little, but because I'm still recovering from a very bad flu. They didn't care about it, though." You answered him, and that made you cringe.

Admitting this out loud - that they didn't cared about you - was a little sad even more because of the things they had called you when you voiced your opinion. "And then, next thing I know they all go in and I'm getting soaked in the rain."

Epel nodded understandingly, a sympathetic smile gracing his lips. "But friends don't force each other into uncomfortable situations, don't call them names and don't hit them either." He stated as if it was obvious then he flicked your forehead.

You flinched, a little groan leaving your throat, not expecting this.

He was right.

And you knew it, of course you knew. But you also didn't want to be alone anymore with your thoughts. If being the scapegoat to Ace's comments and pranks was the price to pay, you found out that you didn't mind at all.

You were used to it by now.

"You don't have to endure this, you don't have to live a life you don't deserve." Epel pondered for a minute, looking at you from head to toe, water still dripping from your heavy coat. "That's what my dads say, anyway. There's a bathroom turning to the left, go dry yourself and I bring you some new clothes."

It was almost comic how you were being lectured by a stranger who didn't knew anything about you but had a little of common sense. But what was more strange was how he knew where to go and even knew where to get some clothes, humming you decided not to voice your suspicious about it and take this opportunity instead.

It would, after all, be easier to run from him in dry clothes if he truly was dangerous.

Not that you'll run that far, a voice in your head told you. But at least I could try, you answered it.

With a hesitant smile, you followed his instruction, turning left and making your way down the corridor to the bathroom. You felt his eyes on you as you walked and that scared you a little but you knew that deep down, he was not a bad person.

Or maybe you were wishing really hard for that to be the truth.

You turned the doorknob and started coughing when the dusty winds slapped your face. The bathroom as any other room was not used for many years now and its age showed. A little light came from a broken window revealing a cracked mirror hanging above a chipping sink and tons of vines still growing over the walls and stretching to the floor. You observed them for a second, in some way this was almost beautiful. You wished you had brought your phone with you. Alas, you didn't.

Your searched for a towel inside the cabinet below the sink and surprisingly enough there was one. A little dusty but it was the only thing you could use. You hanged it on the back of the door and then closed it. The bathroom now was completely dark but this was nothing new, though you didn't really like it how suffocating it could be.

You quickly strip off your wet clothes, shivering in the cold air as you used the fluffy towel to dry your feet and legs, then your torso. Part of you still find this whole situation strange and comical. Maybe you were hallucinating everything? It would not be the first time this happened. And you did spend a while out there in the rain.

As you dry yourself off as best as you can, you couldn't help but wonder about where Ace and the others had gone to. You were separated for a total of ten minutes or that was how long you had counted before giving up and entering the mansion. Could it be that they were in another wing of the mansion? Or did they leave through another exit and left you there?

Honestly you don't even want to know.

Right now, you're just grateful for the warmth of the towel and the promise of dry clothes to come. If this was indeed a dream, then you would feel saddened when you woke up. Epel was the first boy who didn't look at you with pity but with curiosity instead.

He was the first one to be gentle with you rather then offer tips about how to get better soon or how you should suck up and live instead of lamenting that you're sick again.

It was easier to cling to the idea that he was a good, caring boy instead of a total dangerous creep who was wandering around an abandoned mansion.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door and Epel's voice sounded from the other side. "I brought you some clothes," His tone still gentle and reassuring, like an absolute angel. "I hope they fit."

You open the door to find Epel standing there, holding out a bundle of clothes for you. "Thank you," you answered softly, meeting Epel's gaze with a heartfelt smile.

You close the door again, hearing his footsteps moving away while you observed the clothes he brought you, which funnily enough were exactly your size. And were similar to his own. A pair of pants and a really pretty purple coat. It seemed so fluffy and warm.

As you slip into the dry clothes he's provided, you can't help but feel a little curious while you thought about Epel. Who exactly is he and what is he doing in this abandoned mansion with his dads? Why does he seem so familiar with the layout of this place? You might not know a lot about tons of things thanks to your illness and being homeschooled, but you do know that people in abandoned mansions must be here for a reason, usually not a good one.

You're giving him the benefit of the doubt for now, though.

Still you must find your friends and leave soon. This whole game they're playing around is getting boring and you are tired.

Or I could leave alone. You reminded yourself. It's just fair to leave them when they've done the same to me many times before.

Stepping outside the bathroom, you could hear a faint sound. Weak. You couldn't understand what it was though. It was quiet like the wind howling or the house creaking, it was there only for a second before disappearing as if it had never existed. Still a chill went down your spine as if somethine was telling you to run away and don't look back.

"Epel?" You called sofly.

There was no response. The air seemed thicker now and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach again, remembering the noises from before. Did Epel had a sudden change of heart and was going to reveal he is actually a serial killer?

Or that his dad is the serial killer? Or that someone is a serial killer?

You're watching too many documentaries, that's for sure.

You took a hesitant step forward, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet. The faint sound echoed again, this time closer, but still indistinct. It seemed to be coming from the end of the hallway, the same hallway that you supposed Epel had gone to after you went to the bathroom.

I should probably run away now. You thought.

But then again, you never had time to be curious with how quick you could get sick. You had to find out more, or you were going to regret when you got back home.

The sound became louder, more pronounced. This time, it wasn't like a whisper carried on the breeze, but like thunder that consumes everything within reach. It was unnerving, almost as if the very walls held secrets they were reluctant to divulge. And yet you were persistent enough to try and get your answers.

You followed the sound quietly, hoping that nothing bad had happened. With each step you took, you turned your nose up at the strong smell that permeated that area of the house.

"Epel?" You called out to him once again, this time louder, as soon as you turned the hallway. "Ace? Jack...? Guys?"

A figure came running in your direction and crashed into you, sending you both to the ground, dust raising as you did. The world seemed like a blur, spinning around, your ears tingling. Before you could fully process what had happened, you felt strong arms wrap tightly around your middle, pulling you close.

Instinctively, you tensed, kicking and screaming at whoever was holding you to let go.

Then you heard the familiar voice. "You're alive, thank God."

Relief flooded through you as you recognized Ace's voice, hands still raised to punch him; when you looked up, your relief turned to shock.

Ace was bloodied and bruised, his clothes torn and ragged. His face was a mask of pain and exhaustion, but despite it all, he held onto you with a fierce desperation, as if afraid to let you go. You could see guilt on his eyes, on his frown.

Guilty for how he treated you. Guilty for dragging everyone to this cursed place.

He placed his hand over your mouth and pointed to somewhere behind him with his head. "Vampires. They're real."

A half laugh escaped you. "No, Ace, they aren't."

But as you glanced over his shoulder, you couldn't deny the sublte movement in the darkness, the sense of danger lurking just beyond your sight. For only a second, you thought you saw a pair of lilac eyes and then it disappeared as if it didn't existed.

You remembered Epel. His familiarity with this mansion, how he was walking in the dark as if he could see clearly. You thought about the strange sounds you had been hearing and the bad, metallic smell. Despite your doubts, you could feel fear growing on you, whispering that perhaps there was more to Ace's warning than you were willing to admit.

Before you could think about it, Ace stood up and helped you, looking to the dark that still surround you - the moon hidden behind the clouds, his grip on your hand tight as the darkness only grew.

"I do a lot of dumb shit but there's no way I'm going to pour fake blood on me. You have to trust me on this." He begged you, almost desperately, taking both your hands on his own as he stared at you with pitiful eyes.

But you still couldn't believe him, not yet, there was so many holes on his plot.

What if it was just another prank? Once Ace pretended that he was been chased by a serial killer or something and then laughed when you got worried, being really dismissive and cruel to you. You met his gaze. Could it be true? Could creatures of myth truly walk among us?

No... Yes...? Everything was so confusing.

You met Epel and he didn't seem like a vampire to you. And if he was one, he was a very polite one.

"I doubt it." Is finally your answer. But even you could tell your tone was unsure. "Call Jack, Deuce and Sebek back and let's go home already. My feet hurt."

Ace threw his hands up as a disbelieving laugh escaped him. Dried blood made you wrinkle your nose as he was still close enough for you to catch the scent. Ace paced back and forth for several seconds, like a man convinced of a bad idea but who desires more than anything to pursue it without a second thought.

"You don't understand the gravity of the situation!" He exclaimed, his voice filled with indignation as his hands trembled slightly. "Jack and Sebek are dead. Deuce is missing. They were murdered by that trio of vampires. Why, out of everyone who could have stayed alive, do I end up with the sick and useless burden? The one who can't run? The one who can't do anything? Why did you live while they didn't?"

You felt a lump form in your throat upon hearing Ace's words, laden with pain and frustration. Tears threatened to flood your eyes as the weight of Ace's final words hit you like a punch to the gut, his voice dripping with bitterness and despair.

You felt like a dead weight, a burden only bringing more pain and suffering to those around you. It was a feeling you knew all too well.

Impotence. Sadness. Yes, you knew them well.

You searched for any trace of regret in Ace's eyes, hoping there was something there. But there was nothing, as if the red of his eyes was just a facade for the darkness behind them.

Sometimes he talked before thinking. That was one of those times but this didn't excuse his behavior.

"Well… This sick burden here won't bother you anymore, if you want to run, then run. If you want to escape, then escape, I won't delay you."

Tiny tears finally escaped your eyes, rolling silently down your cheeks as you felt yourself sinking into the darkness of your mind. Burden, burden, burden, being repeated over and over again.

"Oh, Ace, my feet hurt, oh, Ace, you hurt my feelings and now I'm crying like a fucking baby. For fuck's sake, we have no time for this!" He exhaled hard, his frustration palpable in the air.

You took a step back, pulling away from him. Your head was a mess right now, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and thoughts fighting each other. And it was so hot here, unbearably hot.

The weight of Ace's words hanged heavy in the air, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt hurt by his harsh words and the way he had dismissed you so callously. Like he always did, always used to do in front of his friends. You wiped your tears away roughly, feeling a surge of frustration building within you.

With a final, determined glance in his direction, you turned and walked away, a little awkward and feeling really hot all of sudden. Each step bringing shivers down your spine, feeling as if thousands of eyes were staring right at you.

"Fine... I'm going to prove to you that there's nothing there." You pointed to the dark corner. Too tired to care about the possible danger lurking around.

"Wait- get back here!" Ace whisper shouted. Almost desperately.

You paid him no mind, couldn't find the strength to care. If there was a mystical monster then at least you could ask it some questions and you had so many. If there wasn't, you two could go home and reunite with your other friends tomorrow.

"I'm going to count to three and then I'm going to run." Ace warned you.

You were almost there. The air was a little heavy now but you knew it was just fear acting up. Sweet, heavy air that didn't seem to want to reach your lungs. You breathed through your mouth instead, counting the sound of your footsteps and the whistle of the wind.

There was nothing there.

"One." He started, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead and coating his shirt. Fear was visible in his eyes when you turned to face him.

"There's no one here, Ace." You gestured to the dark corner. Though you felt uncomfortable there, you shifted from one foot to another, looking around.

Yep, nothing there. Or so you thought.

Slowly Ace started to move away, still facing the dark you so willingly surrounded yourself. He made a vague gesture for you to follow him, audibly gulping large amounts of saliva, wetting his lips with his tongue.

Is he being serious about this whole vampire thing? You ponder about. The human perception truly was something curious, the mind capable of creating something with so little. Or perhaps this was all a prank? You couldn't quite decide what to think about.

"Tw--"

An unexpected noise sounded behind you interrupting him. Both of you froze, your heart pounding in your chest. Gentle hands settled on your shoulders, drawing you back until you were pressed against someone's chest. All that escaped your lips was a small gasp.

Feeling the cold of the person's body against your back, you couldn't shake off the tremor of fear that ran through your whole body. There was someone behind you, someone you didn't know who they were. You could feel whoever it was breathing, cold air trickling down your neck, a smile on their face as their arms wrapped around your mid. Too tightly.

Slowly turning your head, you found yourself face to face with Epel. As Ace had said, a formidable figure - a vampire. Though he wasn't the same gentle and soft boy you met minutes before, now he was dangerous, and his fangs were exposed, his eyes glinting with an unsettling hunger and yet, playfulness.

Behind him, stood a beautiful man. A long, black coat wavying in the air as he walked out of the shadows, blood dripping from his chin. Unashamed, he licked it, savoring it.

"Why...?" You ask the boy who held you. Tired.

Epel's grip on you tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "Why?" He imitated you, his voice a mix of amusement and something darker. "Because I hate people like your friends. They can'tsee anything beyond their limited world vision, everything is so easy to them so they don'tcare about the feelings and thoughts of people like you."

Ace, who had been standing frozen in place, finally found his voice. "w'dya mean? I didn't do shit!"

The beautiful man in the black coat stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Ace. He wiped the remaining blood from his chin with a casual swipe of his thumb. "So you say but you see... The way you talked about your little friend here made my son very mad. You aren't very fond of them, are you?"

"I don't understand," you whispered, looking at Epel. "Why are you doing this? What did Ace do to deserve this?"

Epel's expression softened for a moment, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes before he hardened again. "It's not about what Ace did. It's about what he didn't. He didn't care about you at all, and that much was obvious since he invaded our home. He was joking and telling his friends all your most embarrassing stories to whoever wanted to hear."

He sounded sincere. He sounded sincere and you hated because you believed in him, his breath icy agains your feverish hot skin. "But don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. Or him for that matter, but father will."

The man in the black coat chuckled, his laughter sending a chill through the air. "That I will, for he dare enter in my territory, dirtying our portraits and damaging our coffins. And I suppose, insulting your little friend too, Epel."

You could see how Ace wanted to run, to escape the madness that was about to unfold before you, but his legs, like yours, felt like lead. Instead of running, he found himself rooted to the spot and he was shaking like a leaf about to fall to the ground.

His bravado had disappeared.

"Are you trembling, mortal? Are you afraid?" Epel's father hissed, his voice a chilling whisper that slithered into your ears and sent shivers cascading down your spine. His eyes, cold and piercing, bore into Ace's eyes with an intensity that made your breath caught up on your lungs.

The air around you seemed to grow colder, as if his very presence was siphoning away the warmth. "Good," he continued, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You should be."

At any second now you were about to have a panic attack or faint. Your body was still deciding what to do, really.

Epel's father moved with an elegance that was terrifying in its beauty, each step deliberate, his presence commanding and predatory. Before Ace could even think to react or to run, Vil was on him, faster than a flicker of light. There was no hesitation, no room for escape — the vampire’s hand shot out, slamming Ace against the cold, cracked wall with such force that a strangled gasp tore from his throat.

You froze, helpless, as Vil’s fingers tightened around Ace’s throat, lifting him just high enough that his feet barely scraped the ground. Ace struggled, his nails digging into Vil's hand. It was like watching a wounded animal fight a hawk.

“Is this all?” Vil murmured, his voice as soft and smooth as silk. He had the kind of voice that could calm anyone, his soft german accent coming out. “Is this the best you can do?” He tilted his head regarding Ace with an expression of mock disappointment.

"Indeed, how pitiful." A third voice. You turned around to see Epel’s other dad; another blonde, but this one had savage eyes and a strange smile on his lips.

And he was bloody all over; all over his lips, all over his white shirt. And he didn't care at all about it.

"Tsc, such a messy eater, you are." Vil looked at him with a disgusted stare. The other vampire only smiled.

"Plea-se..." Ace’s breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, but there was no strength left to fight back. The couple turned to face him.

"He is not worthy to be killed by you, mon amour." The smaller blonde said to his lover. The taller one giggled.

You took a step forward, your heart pounding painfully in your chest, but Epel caught your wrist, stopping you. “No,” he whispered, pulling you back gently, his eyes meeting yours with a sorrowful understanding. “It’s already over.”

“But… he’ll die,” you whispered back, tears blurring your vision, your voice barely a choked whimper.

Epel’s grip on you tightened, his expression soft but resolute. “He brought this on himself. Don’t look. You don’t have to see this.”

But you couldn’t tear your gaze away as Vil leaned closer to Ace, his lips brushing against the pulse in his neck.

"Are you hungry?" He asked Rook.

"Je suis satisfait, love." His answer was instantaneous.

Vil nodded. And then, without warning, his fangs sank into Ace’s flesh.

His body jerked violently, his mouth opening in a silent scream as Vil began to drink. The sight was horrifying — watching as Ace's life was drained away, the color fading from his face with each passing second. You felt your knees buckle, but Epel held you steady, his touch the only thing anchoring you as you fought to keep from collapsing.

Vil pulled back after a moment, blood staining his lips, his eyes glowing with an eerie, predatory light. He watched Ace with a detached, almost curious gaze as the boy’s body sagged in his grasp, barely conscious, trembling with the last vestiges of life.

“Such a waste,” Vil murmured, his voice tinged with a faint hint of regret. Then, with a swift, effortless motion, he snapped Ace’s neck.

The sound echoed in the silence, sharp and final, and you flinched, biting back a sob that threatened to escape. Vil released Ace, letting him crumple to the ground in a lifeless heap. He turned back to you and Epel, dabbing at his lips with a handkerchief, his expression once again composed, as if nothing had happened at all.

“There,” He said, his voice calm, almost bored. “One less distraction.”

You trembled, unable to find the words, the sight of Ace’s lifeless body burned into your mind. The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, and you tried to wipe them away, tried to force yourself to breathe. But the weight of what had just happened made it feel impossible.

Epel moved closer, wrapping his arms around you again, his touch gentle as he guided your head to rest against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” He whispered, his voice soft, almost soothing. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

But even with Epel’s arms around you, you felt anything but safe. All you could see was Ace’s pale, lifeless face, the blood staining the ground, and the haunting, satisfied smile that still lingered on Vil’s lips.

“Mon trésor,” Rook murmured, his voice smooth like velvet as he addressed Vil. “You were as breathtaking as ever. Such skill, such grace.” His eyes drifted toward Ace's lifeless form before settling back on Vil with unrestrained admiration. “Tonight we've found so many little treasures. Yet the most interesting is still here.”

Vil sighed softly, shaking his head as he finished wiping the blood from his lips with a cloth. “What is it you want, Rook?” His tone was gentle but tinged with exasperation, as if he were used to indulging Rook's whims.

Rook gestured to you, his eyes alight with excitement. “This one. Look at them. They’ve endured so much yet still remain standing. Such resilience in one so delicate — it is rare, mon amour. I believe they belong with us.”

Vil’s gaze softened as he took in your form - frail, trembling, and clearly unwell, your breath labored. He stepped closer, moving with a kind of grace that seemed almost otherworldly, until he stood directly in front of you.

He reached out, hesitating for just a moment before brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and warm despite the chill of his skin. “You’re burning up,” Vil observed, his voice laced with concern. “How long have you been suffering like this?”

You couldn’t find your voice, throat dry and tight, but you managed a small shake of your head, a weak attempt to dismiss his worry. Epel, who still held onto you, answered in your stead, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’ve been like this for a hour or so, Father. They got caught in the rain.”

Vil frowned, his brows knitting together in a way that seemed almost heartbreaking. “You should have come to me sooner, Epel,” He scolded, though his tone remained soft. “You know I would have helped.” He looked back at you, eyes now filled with a gentle determination. “You poor thing. You must’ve endured so much on your own.”

Rook’s eyes gleamed with something akin to pride as he watched Vil’s interaction with you, his smile growing wider. “See, mon amour? I knew you would understand. They need care, guidance. They need us.”

Vil nodded slowly, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. “Yes… they do.” He turned back to you, his expression softer than you’d ever thought possible, even more because he was the killer of your childhood friend.

“I used to be a doctor once,” He confessed, his voice quiet, as though sharing a secret. “And I have not forgotten the duty I took upon myself to care for those who needed me.”

You felt your eyes welling up with tears, unable to fully comprehend the kindness he was showing you. “You… you don’t have to…” you tried to protest, but the words died in your throat, the exhaustion and fever taking their toll.

“Hush,” Vil murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a gesture that was achingly tender. “You’ve fought enough for one day. Let us take care of you now.” He glanced at Epel, who had been watching everything with wide, hopeful eyes. "Epel, go and prepare some chamomile tea, Rook, you wouldn't have a tonic for the fever, would you?"

Rook beamed, clearly delighted by how things were unfolding. “Ah, how wonderful! Our family grows once more!” He reached out to help steady you, his touch light, as though afraid you might break. “I don't have any remedy with me now, mon roi but I can go and brought more.”

Epel’s face lit up, and he quickly nodded, disappearing among the shadows and leaving you alone with them. These mythological creatures, killers. And also your helpers.

This moment never came.

"Then go, we'll be waiting" Vil said to his lover, depositing a small kiss on his forehead before he disappeared into the shadows and the darkness.

"We'll then, this way, little one." Vil's hand never left your shoulder as he guided you slowly through the corridors - you were skittish, preparing yourself for the moment where he would attack you, that he would kill you.

Vil’s grip remained firm but gentle, his touch more reassuring than restrictive. He led you through the dimly lit corridors of the mansion, his footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor, a stark contrast to the loud, frantic beating of your heart.

You flinched at every shadow that flickered in the candlelight, expecting at any moment for him to bare his fangs, to reveal that this kindness had been nothing more than a cruel joke. But that moment also never came.

Instead, Vil paused at a doorway, pushing it open with a smooth motion and revealing a warmly lit room. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and lavender, and you caught sight of a large, comfortable coffin piled high with soft blankets.

“You’ll rest here,” Vil said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He guided you over to the coffin - his coffin, carefully easing you down onto the mattress. As you sank into the softness, a sigh of relief escaped your lips, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion that had been clawing at you.

“But… why?” The question slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Why are you being so kind to me? Why won't you kill me?”

Vil’s eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a trace of something warmer beneath the icy exterior—a hint of sadness, perhaps even empathy. “Because you deserve it,” He answered simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve suffered enough, haven’t you?”

You blinked up at him, struggling to process his words, to believe that someone like him — a vampire, a predator, a killer— could possess such tenderness. “But I’m just… I’m just a burden,” you murmured, your voice cracking with the weight of your insecurities.

Vil’s expression hardened, and he crouched down in front of you, bringing himself to your eye level. “No one in my care will ever be a burden,” He said firmly, and there was an intensity in his gaze that made you believe him, even if only for a moment. “You have worth, little one. More than you know and more that you're capable to see right now.”

Epel entered the room then, carrying a tray laden with steaming cups and small vials filled with colorful liquids. “Father, I’ve brought some tea.”

Vil stood, taking the tray from his son and placing it on the bedside table. “Drink,” He instructed, holding out one of the cups to you. “It will help.”

Your hands trembled as you reached for it, but Vil’s steadying grip enveloped yours, guiding the cup to your lips. The warmth spread through you, soothing the chill that had taken residence in your bones, and you couldn’t help but sigh as the tension slowly began to melt away.

"Don't make such a long face, darling," Vil reprimanded you, his fingers smoothing down the traces of worry and tiredness.

"I just... You know you are my friend's killer, right? I don't know how to react to that." You were sincere, avoiding his piercing gaze as you observed the porcelain and the drawings from his cup.

"We kill to survive, not for pleasure or entertainment, I can see how things may be from your point of view but you don't have to worry." He sighed, looking back at his son, Vil could see that he had grown quite attached to you. And the sight made him quite warm.

Epel was a terribly lone child in his opinion, and it would do wonders for him if he had a younger sibling.

"What will happen to me?" You dare ask him the question that made you scared. His hand found yours and he squeezed it gently.

"I will take care of you," He told you. Vil’s lips quirked up into the faintest of smiles. “Do you want to lie down now or wait for Rook to return with your medicine?” He turned his attention back to you, his eyes softer than before, and you answered him by letting your body fall into the coffin. “I see, well, rest now. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe those words, to let your guard down, even just a little. As your eyelids grew heavy and sleep began to pull you under, the fever subsiding slowly, you felt Vil's hand slide into yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a comforting gesture.

“You’re safe now,” He whispered, and with that, you let the darkness take you, lulled into a dreamless sleep by the warmth of their kindness.

Things may have not been ideal but they weren't that bad - for you, that is.

[legobiwan]

We need to talk about this. And I'm going to start right off with a contentious claim:

Ford was willing to gamble the fate of his entire dimension to feed his ego and insecurities and Bill had him pegged from Square One.

This sounds like a harsh statement. It kind of is. When we first meet Ford in the show, all we end up learning from him is that restarting the Portal was dangerous and could (and did) create a rift that would open the door for Bill and his gang to end the world. And Ford pins this entirely on Stanley, excoriating him for not listening to his warnings in the journals and doing whatever he wanted, like a set of monkeys flinging shit at walls until he happened to get it correct.

Ford is a highly unreliable narrator. After all, as Stan rightfully said, who built the portal in the first place?

But we need to go deeper.

In Journal 3, Ford speaks to the necessity of hiding his journals, which he - to be quite honest - does a crappy job of. Why keep two out of the three journals in Gravity Falls, a mere hair's breath from the actual Portal, which for some mysterious reason, Ford has declined to - you know - actually destroy? Why bury the Journals near an elementary school with children - children who tend to be curious creatures and can and will find a way to discover what they shouldn't? Why call on your estranged brother who you claim to despise as an absolute last resort? Ford's narrative, if you really start to analyze it, makes zero sense. And it makes zero sense because it's an edifice, a personal mythology meant to be a bulwark against the horrible truth of Ford's motivations.

"I've stared at the fire, journals in hand, for hours. I just can't do it. The knowledge in here could be a gift to mankind, the portal's potential limitless. Am I really going to destroy it all just out of spite? No, I won't give HIM the satisfaction. Instead of destroying my work, I'll find a way to DESTROY BILL INSTEAD. If Cipher has a weakness, I'll find it. I'll outsmart the devil yet! He may be a god, but I am a scientist."

Ford could have ended this thirty years ago if his ego hadn't gotten in the way. All he had to do was burn the journals and destroy the portal, just like every other human Bill tried to con over the years. How much did Ford actually care about the end of the world as much as he cared about Bill's betrayal and losing his earth-shattering (quite literally) research?

He didn't. And given this, is it a surprise that Bill, when he finally was able to breach dimensions and start Weirdmaggedon, still placed bets that Ford would join him in the end? The man who said, "Fuck the universe, I need everyone to know I was right."

This isn't about the possible apocalypse. Ford doesn't make one, single mention of that here, doesn't seem to give one fuck if the world burns, as long as he can prove himself to be better than Bill and better than everyone who doubted him for all his life.

And this is why, I am certain, that when Bill perused Ford's possible futures, a large majority ended up with Ford turning to the dark side, as it were.

There's a reason Ford pulled these journal pages. They don't fit his self-constructed narrative of the heroic martyr who wants to save the world. Ford edits his own story again and again, pushing everyone away so they won't see just how insecure and absolutely desperate for validation he is.

Sound like someone we know? Maybe a yellow triangle who literally outlines the steps to denial in his teenage angst journal?

Bill, in essence, promised Ford the universe. Yes, literally, but also the universe in terms of what Ford always wanted - recognition and revenge. Ford, by not destroying the Portal or his journals, didn't 100% reject this proposal, even if that equivocation was subconscious. It's why - I think - Bill feels Ford's just put him "on read" after he fell through the Portal (according to Alex Hirsch).

Ford's going to have to come to terms with this. Maybe he did during his time in the Portal. We have no idea how much Ford did or didn't mellow while being stuck on the other side of the universe, although we do know a) he still holds a massive grudge against his brother and b) Bill is still able to play him like a lyre when he asks about the equation to pop the bubble around Gravity Falls. (And I do not for one second believe that Ford was trying to buy time when he admits that "Of course, a simple equation could collapse the barrier," when Bill questions him about it. Ford needs to prove that he knows the answer, that he figured it out, that he's a scientist and outsmarted a god. Again, if the kids and Stan hadn't come to Ford's rescue, it's very hard to say where Ford would have landed in the end).

The thing is, there's a part of Ford that realizes he's being an ass, that he needs someone. We see this with Bill, obviously, with Fiddleford in the ways Ford runs so incredibly hot and cold with the man (I need you, no I don't need you) - with Stan, who is a last resort but the only person Ford trusts enough to summon to Oregon. Because Ford didn't need Stan to destroy the journals or the portal - but he needed someone, maybe he needed a dollar-store Bill in his life, maybe he just needed someone to reach out like that. Ford fucks it up, wildly, as he can't let his ego go and allow Stan (who is being extremely practical, if bitter) to burn the journals like Ford should have weeks previous.

And well, we all know how that turned out.

What I'm curious about - and what I think needs to be covered more in fandom - is how Ford deals with all of this post-Weirdmaggedon. He's obviously in contrition mode at this point, swinging wildly to this penitent, self-abusing figure who will claim fault for the tiniest infraction.

That's not going to last him long. The type of change and self-reflection Ford needs is not going to come overnight. At some point, his uglier tendencies are going to rear their head on the Stan O'War and Stan is going to have to weather the blowback (or just throw his brother overboard). One might say Ford himself needs a little time the Theraprism, as he nearly consigned his own reality to damnation just like Bill did.

I love Ford. I adore Ford. He is so, so, so complicated. But ohhh boi, Fordsy, do you have issues with a Capital "I".

[miupow]

i still think about the yandere tyunning asks you posted a while back,, could you elaborate on them more for the kinktober event pls

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 ‘24 ── 𝐓𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 + 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄

𝜗𝜚 ㅤ― 󠀬󠀬[ minors do not interact! ] kang taehyun x fem!reader x huening kai . non-idol au , college au , yandere , dark content warning , stalking , drugging , kidnapping , dollification , dubcon/noncon , mentions of marijuana/alcohol

a/n ⸝⸝ oops went a lil crazy on this one.. no actual smut in this, just more elaboration on the story >< let me know if this is what you wanted!! or if it’s not lol. also let me know if i’m missing any tags.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

taehyun is going crazy.

he can hardly function anymore as a human being, can hardly think of anything at all except about you. where you where, what you were doing, who you were with… taehyun knew it all, because he watched it all. from a safe distance, of course.

it started with watching you in the class you shared together. watching as you raised your hand so politely to answer the professors questions, always getting them right. watching as you applied sticky pink lip gloss onto those pretty plush lips that haunted taehyun in his dreams. watching as you picked up your books and put them away in your cute pink bag, and as you fixed your little skirt and traipsed out of the lecture hall to your next class.

but it wasn’t enough for him. nothing was ever enough, not following you around campus to all of your other classes, not watching from the courtyard as you giggled and gossiped with your friends. not following you as you walked home to your apartment— god, taehyun couldn’t stand how you walked everywhere. didn’t you know how dangerous it was for a little girl to be so vulnerable? you needed someone to watch over you, keep you safe and happy… in taehyuns twisted, sick mind, he was your knight in shining armor.

taehyun’s roommate and childhood best friend, hueningkai, was opposed to his behavior at first. he scolded him for being “a creep”, which just made taehyun scoff and shake his head; doesn’t he understand that taehyun is just trying to protect you? he makes kai come along with him to prove that he’s working in his doll’s best interest, doesn’t kai see how sweet and kind you are, how smart yet so, so dumb? you surround yourself with the worst people, in taehyuns opinion, always trying to get you to do the riskiest things. and you let them boss you around, make bad decisions, because you’re just too sweet to refuse.

just as quickly as taehyun falls, hueningkai falls too. and while taehyun was reluctant to share you initially, he soon realized that protecting you was a lot easier when he had a partner.

taehyun and hueningkai were content with watching over you from a distance, at least at first. but ever since you started hanging around him, the two of them have been following your every move. they just have to know if you’re safe, is all. their perfect, innocent little princess, you need them to protect you— especially from this disgusting pervert who puts his hands all over you and whispers in your ear, who makes you giggle and blush in the ways that no one except taehyun and kai should.

taehyun can’t take it anymore. he can’t just watch from the sidelines anymore, letting you get snatched up like a little lamb in the claws of a big bad wolf. he had to step in.

so he and kai came up with a plan to keep you safe forever.

and it was easier than either of them had ever thought. they should have done this ages ago, really, celebrating amongst themselves as hueningkai carries your sleeping body up to their shared apartment. they followed you to this terrible frat party that your “boyfriend” had invited you to, sneering in disgust as they watched him slide his hands up your little dress as you danced together— not a single person had noticed the two of them had come uninvited, everyone too drunk or stoned or busy to care. getting that nasty boyfriend of yours away from you was the hard bit, but they ultimately didn’t have to do anything at all. a beer pong game was enough for your little boyfriend to disappear into the drunken crowd like a ghost in the night.

you’re too drunk to notice taehyun slip the little pill into your drink, busy with your back turned talking to an equally inebriated friend… you down the rest of your liquor in one swig when you turn back to the table.

you begin to grow woozy as you stumble your way through the crowd. you tell your friends that you’re going outside to get some fresh air, that you don’t feel good— but it’s alright, they don’t have to come with you, you’ll be back in just a second.

hueningkai catches you right before you pass out face-first into the grass.

you wake up with your head pounding, rubbing your eyes as your surroundings begin to register— you’re tucked gently into a small pink bed, your hair still damp from a bath you don’t remember taking… you look down at the little frilly nightgown you wore, girly and skimpy with a big pink bow to complete it. you’re surrounded by countless stuffed animals, their beady little eyes twinkling up at you mockingly. from the four poster bed hung shimmery pink curtains, like a princesses, reminding you of the bed you had as a small child— the curtains just sheer enough for you to see more childish pink decorations throughout the frightfully unfamiliar bedroom. the lights are off, but a window lets the light of the rising sun peek in… just enough to illuminate the giant steel lock on the window frame .

just as you open your mouth to scream, the bedroom door opens, two smiling faces you hardly recognize peeking in to greet you.

welcome to your new home.

[batwynn]

I’ve been awake since five am so take this with a grain of salt but why is there this weird assumption that depressed people want to be depressed? That we’re intentionally staying depressed, or choosing to be, or even sabotaging our mental health by choice?

I’ve tried 20+ antidepressants and 50+ different therapists over the years with varying degrees of success and failure. When something works, I hold on for it as long as I can. It’s never my choice to stop using something that works. It is always a really bad side effect, a therapist leaving the profession, insurance changes, etc. I have never, in my entire life, knowingly, intentionally tried to sabotage my health. I have always tried my best, in spite of everything working against me.

I try to tell every new doctor some version of this when I rate high on the depression test they do at the start of every appointment. I also try to explain that four of the questions are rated the way they are because I have ADHD and chronic illnesses that make eating and having a good attention span difficult. That I have anxiety, and my life is one stressful situation after another. I also lie every single time about being suicidal, because doctors do not understand that it’s a chronic, back-of-the-mind state of being and the fact that I’m Still Here means I know how to fucking manage it. (Hint: that therapy for intrusive thoughts helped!)

And every single time, they treat me like I’m doing it to myself. That I’m not Trying Hard Enough. That I’m making a choice to ‘not get help’. They never, once, consider that the record in front of their faces proves that all I’ve always done is try to get help. Or that I’m still here. Or that I’ve survived every deep depression I’ve been in. Or that I’m still visiting doctors at all after years of medical abuse.

The assumption is and always will be that I am intentionally making myself unhappy and not ‘fixing myself’. That I just don’t want to be happy.

And honestly? Fuck y’all for that. Because that right there is a high-tier reason people who get those suicidal thoughts get one step closer to death. That makes you ten times more dangerous to our health than anything we could fucking do, or not do.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Lucky Me

Requested Here by @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x shy/insecure!fem!reader

Summary: Deacon loves you and he considers himself lucky to have you. Unfortunately, you can't see what he sees, so he takes it upon himself to show you just how lucky he is with you.

Warnings: discussion/depiction of insecurities and feeling unworthy, flirting, fluff, loads of comfort and reassurances

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Your fingers rake over your outfit as your eyes catch on everything you deem an imperfection. As your reflection stares back at you, distorted, shy, unworthy of the man on his way to pick you up for a date, you wonder, what does Deacon see in me?

Deacon Kay is the opposite of what you think you deserve. He’s kind, loving, handsome, and makes you feel seen, even when you don’t want to be. As your mind races and your hands tingle to fix something deep beneath the surface of your skin, someone knocks and harshly pulls you back to reality. You take a deep breath and tug the fabric of your outfit away from your skin once more before you walk out of your room and to the door.

“Hi, Deac,” you greet.

“You look beautiful,” he replies as he steps inside. When his eyes meet yours, he proves to you that no one will ever be able to love you like he does. “Are you okay?”

While you nod, you ask, “Do I look alright?”

“Better than alright,” Deacon assures. “Ready to go?”

“I think so.”

Deacon smiles, and your breath catches as your eyes drop. He takes your hand and leads you to his car. Deacon’s a gentleman, the most handsome guy you’ve ever met, and you can’t help but feel that he could do so much better.

“You’re sure I look alright?” you repeat as you lower into his passenger seat.

“Absolutely.”

As he walks to the driver’s door, Deacon sighs. You can ask him if you look alright a hundred times, but he’s still trying to catch his breath. He knows you won’t believe him if he tells you. Deacon is learning that showing you every single day that you are all he wants is the only way to convince you he’s all in, and if that helps you build some confidence, even better.

Your fingers are twisted in your top when Deacon starts the car. He leaves the car in park to turn toward you. Gently, he pulls your hands away from your stomach and rubs your knuckles. His smile is the perfect reward when your shy gaze finally reaches his eyes.

“Listen, you could honestly show up wearing a beat-up tee, and you’d still be the centerpiece,” Deacon tells you. He shushes you kindly when you shake your head. “If you don’t believe me… There’s nothing I wouldn’t do, okay? The way you look tonight – every night – you’re what I want, but I want you to see what I see.”

“I think-“ You swallow and force your voice to remain steady as you finish, “I think you see something that isn’t there, Deacon.”

Deacon’s big brown eyes harden quickly before his gaze softens. He’s lucky to have you; if you can’t see that, he’ll shout it from the rooftops until you hear him, too.

The day after your date, you don’t hear from Deacon. It’s not unusual; he’s got a busy and dangerous job, but after exposing the extent of your insecurities, it concerns you. If Deacon finally saw what you see in the mirror or realized that other women would be lucky to have him, you may have lost the best thing that ever happened to you.

You’ve been shy your whole life; you are used to that, but the insecurity rooting itself deep in your identity gets stronger daily. A relationship with a man like Deacon shouldn’t be marked by how often he reassures you that he wants you. For now, that voice deep down ridicules. As you drop your head into your hands, you ask yourself if there’s any chance that Deacon meant what he said last night and the other times he’s told you he’s lucky to have you.

“Deac, you got anything to get off your chest?” Luca asks.

Deacon shakes his head and throws another punch. Luca staggers backward at the force behind Deacon’s hit. He’s strong, his teammates know that, but this is different.

“How’d the date go last night?” Luca adds.

“I wish I knew,” Deacon replies.

“What does that mean, man?”

Deacon drops his arms and steps out of his fighting stance. “She’s…” Deacon takes a deep breath to order his thoughts. “I’m so lucky to have her, but I feel like she’s slipping out of my hands and doesn’t believe me when I try to bring her back in.”

Luca nods. Other men might poke fun at Deacon’s romantic analogy or that he’s willing to fight for a woman, but Luca knows Deacon means every word he says.

“What does she need?”

“Something that I can’t order from a florist.”

“You’ll figure it out, Deacon. If she’s still around, sounds to me like she’s fighting to stay close, too.”

“I just… I hate that I can’t help her in that fight.”

“It’s not what you want to hear, but fight your battle, Deac. You love her, that’ll be enough.”

“I hope so.”

Deacon waves his hand up, and Luca raises the punching pad again. If Deacon stops pulling his punches again, Luca won’t complain.

“Hey,” you say softly as the call connects. “Sorry for calling in the middle of the day, but I was just-“

“No, it’s my fault,” Deacon interrupts. “I should’ve called. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You pick at the pillow in your lap, waiting for Deacon to say something else.

“Are you busy?”

“Right now? No.”

“Good. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Why?” The question slips out before you consider how it sounds. “I mean-“

“I know,” Deacon says, and you can hear his smile in his tone. “Get ready, do whatever you need, and I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay. See you then.”

“Perfect.”

The line beeps as Deacon ends the call, and you look at the dark screen. Twenty minutes isn’t much time, so you stand and pull your favorite outfit from the closet. You ignore the mirror as you walk past it. Deacon didn’t say what he was planning to do with you, so you dressed for casual comfort. Luckily, some of your insecurities have been silenced since the last time you saw Deacon. You know all too well that they’re waiting for the perfect opportunity to rear their ugly heads again.

You wait at the door for Deacon’s knock and smile as he offers his hand. He compliments your beauty – not your hair or your outfit specifically, but you as a whole person – and you don’t question it this time. It’s a small change, but one that you owe to Deacon.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“I was going to take you to lunch, but Luca’s food truck is stopping by HQ in about an hour. I thought we'd just stay there. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” you agree. “Is your squad still there?”

“Yep. You can finally meet all the people who listen to me talk about how lucky I am to have you.”

You smile at your lap, and Deacon moves his hand into your line of sight. He sighs as you take his hand and squeezes your fingers.

“Thanks,” he says.

“For?”

I know you won’t believe me, Deacon thinks. “You’re all I want. Thanks for giving me the chance to be with you, look a fool, count my blessings, all of it.”

“You’re welcome… I think.”

Deacon laughs at your questioning tone, and the smile on his face makes the wall of doubts about yourself crack. But it shouldn’t be his job to fight your insecurities. That’s not a relationship.

“Your friends sound nice,” you tell Deacon. “I didn’t think you’d introduce me to them so soon.”

“They practically know you already. I make them look at what I’ve got, and it’s you.”

You move your free hand over Deacon’s and run your finger across his wrist. Deacon pulls into the parking lot outside HQ, and you take a deep breath. He releases your hand slowly, then helps you out of the car.

“They’re a lot,” he warns. “Mostly Street.”

“They’re your family,” you counter. “I’ll be fine.”

Deacon’s lips pick up at the corners. You want to ask what that’s about, but he leads you around a corner before you can. Several men are standing beside the boxing ring, and when one of them sees Deacon, everything changes. He slaps the arm of the man closest to him, but his eyes never leave you.

Four men turn at his reaction, and all of their jaws drop. You smile shyly as Deacon leads you toward them. After a moment that stretches into an hour, the man closest to Deacon snaps out of his stupor.

“Hey!” he greets. “I’m Luca. I’ve heard a lot about you, but Deacon clearly undersold your beauty.”

You say your name quietly, then welcome Luca’s hug. It’s a friendly one, but it breaks the tension and alleviates some of the awkwardness hanging over you.

“Any girlfriend of Deacon’s is a part of the family, so welcome,” Luca adds as he steps back.

“Family, yeah,” the younger man agrees quickly. “We put the fun in dysfunctional.”

“Street,” Deacon sighs, raising his hands in question.

“What? I’m nervous,” Street replies.

“Me too,” you agree with a smile.

“No need to be. We’re harmless, except for Street’s terrible fashion sense. I’m Victor Tan, nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

You shake his hand before you notice Deacon has taken a step to the side and is talking to the leader of his team, Hondo. You’ve heard about him, but if he took Deacon aside to talk about you, maybe your insecurities about being with Deacon weren’t unfounded or invisible.

Deacon turns back toward you, and when his eyes meet yours, he gets lost in them. Your beauty knocks him off his feet sometimes and makes him forget to speak and breathe, yet he never forgets to tell you or show you that he loves you after that initial moment of losing himself in you, the woman who makes him the luckiest man in the world.

“You could’ve warned us, Deac,” Hondo says.

“About what?” Deacon replies, looking away from you slowly.

“She’s stunning! I don’t remember the last time a woman made me speechless, let alone Street.”

“Make a move on her and I’ll kill you Hondo,” Deacon jokes.

Hondo laughs with Deacon before he says, “I’m glad to see you happy again, brother. It’s been too long.”

“Happy,” Deacon repeats. “Look at her, I’m lucky.”

Hondo taps Deacon’s shoulder and steps past him to greet you. You introduce yourself with a smile that isn’t quite so shy now, and it makes Deacon’s heart pound in his chest. If you’re in the family now, maybe Deacon can finally convince you to see what he sees.

He walks to your side, and when he realizes you’re talking to Luca and Street about your favorite dessert, he smiles and wraps his arm around your waist. You mention that Deacon gets it for you often, and he can only think, look at you. Lucky me.

“Do you want to dance?” Deacon asks.

The music changes, and you hesitate but lay your hand in his. He leads you to the dance floor and spins you to pull you closer. You laugh in his arms, and it shines brighter than all of the lights above you.

“You’re perfect,” Deacon whispers. You don’t hear him, but he doubts you would have listened anyway.

“Of course you can dance,” you muse, rolling your eyes despite your smile. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Make you listen when I say you are perfect. “Plenty,” Deacon says.

“Do you think you could dip me?” you ask.

Deacon smiles. Every time he sees you, you seem a bit more confident than before. It’s slow, but as you gain confidence without sacrificing your shy and loveable personality, Deacon reminds you that he’s lucky and that you’re all he will ever want. As you stop arguing, Deacon prays you’re beginning to accept and believe it.

“Oh, I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” Deacon murmurs. “One dip coming up.”

“And if I want to keep dancing?”

“There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do. Don’t care if I look like a fool.”

You smile as Deacon pulls you closer to keep dancing, and for a moment, you believe that Deacon really would do anything. But you still can’t see what about you makes him think he’s lucky to be here with you.

Back at the table, you sit back in your seat and exhale. Time passed quickly with Deacon, and you danced with him until you physically couldn’t spin another time.

“You’re amazing!” you tell Deacon.

“You’re beautiful,” Deacon replies. “But don’t take that, any of what I say, as surface things. It goes miles deeper.”

Your post-dance excitement lowers when you see the seriousness in Deacon’s eyes. You nod, believing him more than ever. He loves you and thinks that he’s lucky to have you. Deacon thinks you are all he has ever wanted. When your smile returns and you whisper thank you, Deacon knows you’re finally seeing it.

You wake to a voicemail from Deacon. It’s over a minute long, and he left it around 2 a.m. With your lips pressed together and your nerves coming to life in the early morning sunlight, you press play.

“Hey, I know you’re still asleep and I’m sorry to do it like this,” Deacon says. His voice sounds strained, and you close your eyes. “There was a big raid last night. It went downhill and we got called in to assist. Now that we’re here and we’ve got our guy, we’re dealing with the fallout, too. I… I’m leaving for a few days. 20 Squad is assisting the Marshals. I can’t tell you where we’re going or talk to you while I’m gone. But the moment I get back- when I get back, I’m coming to see you. I love you.”

Hondo calls for Deacon in the background of the voicemail before it ends. You release a breath; days without Deacon aren’t what you want, but it’s better than the alternative you considered. There’s no chance that you can go back to sleep now, so you set your phone aside and get out of bed.

You walk past the mirror in your room, then stop. Taking a few steps backward, you turn toward the mirror. The eyes looking back at you aren’t the same ones you saw a few weeks ago. The woman you see now is loved, wanted, and appreciated; she’s beautiful, and the man that she loves feels the same about her. Everything that Deacon has told you – "the way you look tonight has got me thinking I wanna shout it from the rooftops." "I got somebody who’s all that I want, and it’s you." I want you to see what I see" – is in front of the mirror. It’s all in you.

The second realization you make as you meet your own eyes in the mirror is far more impactful. It makes you run into the kitchen to read the card from the first bouquet Deacon sent you, then call his boss. You'll need his help to show Deacon how much he means to you the moment he returns.

When the team returns from their trip with the Marshals, Hondo walks into HQ first. He looks tired, but he smiles when he sees you. You wave, and he raises a finger. You take that to mean Deacon will be right in.

When Deacon does walk in, he sees you, and his eyes light up. It makes sense now. What does Deacon see in me? What he sees in you is precisely what you see in Deacon.

Deacon drops his bag and speeds up to meet you. He doesn’t ask how you found out when he’d be back; that will come later. For now, he needs you.

“Look at you,” you murmur as he approaches. “Lucky me.”

Deacon smiles, and his eyes are as bright and loving as always. He places his left hand gently on the back of your head and pulls you forward. You smile into the kiss as Deacon relaxes against you. His right hand raises to your jaw as he tilts your chin up, and you loop your arms under his to pull yourself impossibly closer to the man that made you the luckiest woman in the world.

“Woo, Deac!” Hondo exclaims as you pull back.

Deacon presses his forehead to yours and smiles.

“Put a ring on her or I will!” Hondo adds.

“What changed?” Deacon whispers.

“I finally saw what you saw. Everything you said you saw in me – all that you want – is what I see in you, too. Sorry it took me a while to realize,” you answer.

“Lucky me.”

[shizuturnspages]

okay, consider... yandere childe with a strong s/o. absolutely strong enough to snap him like a twig. i wanted to ask for hcs about what it'd be like bc i feel childe's one of the few who would actually be super into a strong s/o y'know???

Oh, you want Childe—a man who practically lives for the thrill of combat and danger—to fall for someone who could snap his neck like a toothpick? Say less.

Yandere Childe With A Strong S/o

Strength Is His Ultimate Turn-On

❥ The first time Childe saw you in action, it was like love at first bloodbath. Watching you handle yourself in a fight with such raw power left him completely smitten. He was practically swooning, though he’d never admit it outright.

❥ He views your strength as both a challenge and a blessing. He wants to test himself against you, to spar with you, to feel your raw power first-hand. But more than that, he’s obsessed with the idea of having someone so capable at his side.

Overprotective Despite Your Strength

❥ Rationally, Childe knows you don’t need his protection—you could probably take down an entire Fatui squad without breaking a sweat. But that doesn’t stop him from stepping in whenever he thinks you might be in danger.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t keep an eye out for you? Besides, it’s not about whether you can handle it—it’s about whether I let you.”

His Obsession Is Fuelled by Insecurity

❥ As much as Childe admires your strength, it also makes him feel insecure. He’s used to being the strongest in the room, the one others fear or admire. With you, he’s suddenly faced with someone who doesn’t need him in the same way others do.

❥ This insecurity feeds his yandere tendencies, making him more possessive and controlling. He’s constantly trying to prove his worth to you, even if it means eliminating anyone he sees as a threat.

You’re His Weakness, and He Loves It

❥ Childe’s always been drawn to danger, and you’re no exception. The idea that you could destroy him with a single move only makes him love you more. He thrives on the thrill of being with someone who’s not just his equal but possibly his superior.

❥ “You could kill me if you wanted to, couldn’t you? Good thing you don’t. Or maybe you’re just waiting for the right moment, hmm?” He says it with a smirk, but there’s an undercurrent of genuine awe in his voice.

Unapologetically Possessive

❥ Childe’s yandere tendencies shine brightest when he feels like someone else is trying to get close to you. He’s not above “removing” the competition, whether it’s through intimidation, sabotage, or outright violence.

“You’re mine. It’s not up for debate. If anyone tries to take you from me, they’ll regret it—assuming they live long enough to.”

Constantly Testing Boundaries

❥ Childe loves pushing your buttons, whether it’s by teasing you relentlessly, challenging you to spar, or intentionally getting himself into trouble just to see how you’ll react.

❥ He’s always toeing the line between playful and dangerous, but he knows better than to push you too far. After all, he’s not looking to get himself actually broken—just enough to feel the thrill of your strength.

Scenario: A Fight Turned Love Confession

The battlefield was chaos—shouts, clashing weapons, and the unmistakable scent of blood hanging heavy in the air. You didn’t know how you’d ended up fighting side by side with Childe, but you had to admit, he was a force to be reckoned with.

“Not bad!” he called over his shoulder, slicing through an enemy with a practised ease that bordered on graceful. “But you’re gonna have to try harder if you want to keep up with me!”

You rolled your eyes, dispatching three opponents in quick succession. “I think I’m doing just fine, thanks.”

He laughed, a wild, reckless sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Fine? Sweetheart, you’re incredible! It’s almost enough to make me fall for you.”

“Almost?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow as you wiped the blood from your blade.

“Fine,” he admitted, grinning. “You got me. I’m already head over heels.”

The fight ended as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the two of you standing amidst the carnage. Childe turned to you, his expression unusually serious. “You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I wasn’t joking. I meant what I said back there.”

You frowned, confused. “About what?”

“About falling for you.” He stepped closer, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted—strong, fearless, and absolutely stunning. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Childe…”

“But it’s not just admiration,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, almost dangerous whisper. “It’s more than that. I don’t just want to be near you—I want to be yours. Completely, utterly yours. And I want you to be mine, too.”

There was a possessive edge to his words that should have been unsettling, but instead, it sent a thrill through you. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the fact that Childe’s intensity was oddly compelling.

“What if I say no?” you asked, half-teasing, half-testing him.

His smile didn’t falter, but there was a glint in his eyes that made your pulse race. “Then I’ll just have to change your mind.”

It wasn’t a threat—it was a promise. And somehow, you knew that Childe would stop at nothing to keep it.

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— DEVILISH

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!reader

warnings: smut, lesbian sex, edging, dacryphilia, slight degradation, wednesday is a sadist (as always), all characters are aged-up

summary: you make a grave mistake of teasing wednesday — paying the price is much more painfully pleasant than you think

word count: 1.4k

“Did you really think you’d get away with this?”

You look up to meet her gaze — Wednesday is still dressed in her uniform, but her blazer has been discarded, and the sleeves of her blouse are unbuttoned, the fabric hanging loose around her arms.

She seems calm, collected. Not a hair out of place. But you know better.

Her eyes are fixed on yours, and, despite the whooping difference in height, you feel like she’s looking down at you. The dark pools under her thick lashes are filled with something dangerous.

You squint — and you genuinely have no idea what she’s talking about at first.

“What?”

Her nostrils flare just a tiny barely noticeable bit — a subtle sign of annoyance you’re very much familiar with, and you’re pretty sure things will turn dire if you don’t deescalate the situation.

But you don’t get a chance to. Wednesday is in front of you before you can utter a single word in your defense.

“It’s endearing how you think you can play dumb, (Y/n).”

Her hands grip your hips, fingers digging into the flesh, and she takes a single step around you before tugging you down on the bed with her, and you squeal as you lose your footing and land on the mattress, back pressed into her front.

“You thought you were being sly, didn’t you? Brushing against me in class,” the girl huffs into your neck angrily, and her breath against your skin makes goosebumps raise up your arms, “Whispering those taunting things to me… Then dismissing me to divert all your attention to someone else instead.”

Oh… that. Yeah. That was exactly what you were doing, and the consequences are seemingly catching up to you now. You knew it was a dangerous game to play, too — Wednesday has made it clear who every inch of you belongs to, and she was never hesitant to prove it. To everyone. To you especially.

You can barely wait.

It’s a rather rare sight — Wednesday’s legs clad in smooth dress pants rather than her usual skirt, but you would lie if you said it wasn’t very much welcome as she presses her knees into your thighs to spread them, letting you rest against her, caging almost. You feel the soft fabric with your naked skin, and the contrast has you weak.

The ravenette sighs softly — it sounds like she’s melting from inside, and she wraps her arms a little more firmly around your waist. She leans back onto the pillows, and her hands don’t waste any more time to roam your body.

Your (f/c) mélange shirt bunches up at your waist — you were planning on sleeping in it, not having its hem raised by a certain furious ravenette. Her palm is cold against your warm stomach, and you shudder as she trails her hand lower, fingertips drumming and caressing your skin the way she would play her cello, teasing and calculated.

Her hand moves down to your inner thigh, pressing gently but with more force than before.

You whine — the fact that you’re still in your panties a frustration beyond any means of dignity.

“Take them off already,” you say with a small huff.

Black nails scratch at the soft skin of your thigh the second the words escape your lips.

“I don’t know what you think I owe you,” her voice is as firm as her hand, and she brushes her fingers upwards before coming down a little more softly, “But I assure you — I owe you nothing.”

She keeps caressing the inside of your thigh, slow but with purpose.

“Especially since you’ve been so very, very bad. So I will stay like this, and you can get as frustrated as you like.”

Your brows knit when her fingers trace the outline of your panties — you twitch under her touch. She’s barely there, but it’s enough for you to whine again. You’re warm under her cold fingertips.

“Fuck, Wednesday…”

Her digits slip under the fabric, and she moves your panties slightly to the side so she can press into where you need her the most — her fingers make contact with your pussy, and she breathes at how wet you are.

“Oh, would you look at that… Povera cara mia is drenched.”

Her hand moves in a small, tight circle, and your hips buckle to meet her.

She stops.

Her mouth is against your earlobe — she is breathing deeply when she speaks.

“No. You’re not getting anything until I hear you beg for it,” the ravenette’s pace is unchanging, slow and capable of driving you mad as her fingers circle your puffy folds, “I know you want it. And I’m not giving you anything until I see tears in those pretty eyes of yours.”

Fighting is no use anymore. Her thumb brushes your clit ever so slightly as if to encourage you, and you twitch.

“I have nothing against having you like this all night,” she says, “But I think you’ll regret it.”

You whine, arching your back into her body — the prospect of being teased like this not pleasurable at all.

“Wednesday, please…” you gasp out hotly, your gaze unfixed, “Please, please… It’s fucking unbearable.”

You feel her chuckle against your ear.

“This is unbearable? I can do so much more,” her voice is low, amused, and you think she might just act on her threat with how tight she grips your thigh with her free hand, “But you’ve listened, finally. I thought that empty head of yours would never be capable of learning to behave.

Her fingers speed up, but the change is barely noticeable. She doesn’t press too hard, too tight to actually let you feel her, and then two of her fingers sink in, making a moan tumble out of your mouth at the suddenness of the movement.

“Nevertheless, you have a long way to go. And we’re going to continue until you cry.”

Your stomach flips at her words, but you don’t get to mull them over. She pulls her digits out before she sinks them right back in, and this time the sound you let out is of pure pleasure.

Your mouth hangs open with the way you breathe so hard as Wednesday finds her perfect rhythm, hard but so, so damn slow, her slim but precise fingers filling you up completely.

The digits are cold as you smoothly take them in with soft wet sounds of your walls wrapping around her, and when you try to move your hips, try to take Wednesday deeper, she lifts her free palm from the supple flesh of your thigh to wrap it around your throat.

It’s not enough to choke, but it’s there. Cold, stern — a warning.

“You’re not allowed to cum from this. Only tears.”

Her hand slides down your body and slips under your shirt, up your ribs and finds leisure at one of your breasts, kneading firmly, pinching a nipple between her fingers. You watch her fuck you through half-lidded eyes, a coil tugging at your stomach, but she knows you so well — the pleasure she is giving is barely enough to sate.

“You’d better start crying soon. I’m almost done being merciful with you.”

You look up at Wednesday, rest your head back against her shoulder which she kindly allows, and there are wet drops forming on your lids from the painful pleasure, but they are yet to spill.

“Wednesday…”

She meets your gaze. A devilish spark in her dark eyes betrays how much she enjoys seeing you like this.

Her voice leaves no room for arguments. Wednesday slows her pace, the deprivation almost painful.

“Cry for me.”

Your chest heaves slightly, as if the air is being sucked out of your lungs, and warm tears finally start to slide down your cheeks.

“There we go,” she breathes, “Such a good girl.”

The ravenette presses her lips to your neck affectionately, feels your rushing pulse on your jugular, almost loosing herself in the moment.

“‘Nes, p-please…”

“I know, I know…” she coos at you gently, “My good girl, you did so well.”

Her thrusts speed up finally, and you wail when her fingers curl in a way that she knows makes you go delusional, the wet squelches of your cunt tightening around her mixing with your blabbering gasps.

“Come on now. Cry some more for me. We’ve got a whole night ahead of us.”

[pastel0rchid]

A Gift from the Gods (5)

Hiccup x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: None that I can think of

Previous Chapter .~.~. Next Chapter

“Can you stretch your left wing a bit more?”

The voice belonged to Hiccup, who stood behind you while drawing in a sketchbook. Following his directions silently, you lift your left wing as prompted while your gaze remains on the wall ahead of you. It had been four days since you’d been taken to Dragon’s Edge and decided to stay as long as the dragon riders would let you.

The first two days were rough in terms of getting accustomed to being around other people after years of being surrounded only by dragons. You mainly stuck by Hiccup’s side, finding his presence the most comforting of the dragon riders. It also helped that Toothless seemed to be growing fond of you.

The others were still curious about you and your existence, except for Astrid, who remained cautious since your arrival. She never talked to you besides a few words here and there, sticking to watching you from the sidelines as if expecting an attack from you at any second.

You understood where her feelings were coming from. This group was her pack. You’ve seen dragons kill others to protect their pack when they felt it was being threatened.

Snotlout and the twins were still an enigma to you, especially the twins. Snotlout was loud and crass, saying words that made your stomach churn uncomfortably and your heckles rise. The twins were a mystery, always showing up when you least expected them and causing your fight or flight to kick in. You’ve accidentally hit Tuffnut with your wings a few times out of shock. He seemed to weirdly like the pain.

Besides Hiccup, Fishlegs was one that you were slowly growing accustomed to. While touring the island, he realized you didn’t know the names of dragon species when he heard you call a wild monstrous nightmare a ‘Flame.’ He decided then and there that he would teach you these things from something called “The Book of Dragons.” His teachings started a day ago.

Now, here you stood outside Hiccup’s hut, wings spread and standing still as Hiccup drew you in his sketchbook with surprising accuracy. Toothless lay off to the side, beginning to doze off as he watched the movements of his rider.

He circles around you, getting a viewpoint of your wings from all angles, soon stopping behind you. While keeping your gaze on the wall, the silence of the room is occasionally interrupted by Hiccup’s muttering or the sound of charcoal against the paper.

Your heart thunders in your chest as you can feel Hiccup’s presence behind you, his eyes observing every detail of your wings as if he didn’t want to miss a single one. Your body tenses when Hiccup suddenly steps closer to you from behind, mumbling even more to himself as if he didn’t realize what he had done.

The skin on the back of your neck raises in goosebumps as you feel his breath dance across it.

“Incredible.” Hiccup mutters to himself as he observes your wings, and your stomach can’t help but flutter with pride at his words. He thought your wings were incredible. Hiccup sketches silently for a few more minutes, focused so intently on getting every detail right that he didn’t notice how he was leaning ever so closer.

An unknown feeling blooms in your chest as you can feel him get closer, but your gaze stays directed to the wall, afraid that even moving an inch would pop the atmospheric bubble you had found yourself in.

You were always told to protect yourself from people who weren’t in your clan. You were told they saw your people as monsters, demons that needed to be slain. This was proved by the slaughtering of your family. So much bloodshed and loss because of the wings bestowed upon them by the Gods themselves.

You knew the dangers of people. That’s why you lived in a secluded forest surrounded only by dragons for years upon years.

Hiccup shattered that belief in only a few days… and you let him.

Your muddled thoughts were sharply interrupted by the feeling of fingers grazing softly over your wings. The touch is so featherlight that you wouldn’t have felt it without the years of learning to hone in on your senses during your time in the forest. Your body reacts before you can even think, turning quickly to face Hiccup and barely managing to fold your wings back so they wouldn’t smack him.

The pink welt on his cheek that you gave him was just starting to heal. It would’ve been a shame to give him another one.

Toothless perks his head up, torn out of his dazed state into an alert one at how swiftly you had moved.

Hiccup’s green eyes were wide with shock as he stared down at you, his hand still slightly outstretched to where your wing previously was. Your eyes stare back, torn between a harsh glare for suddenly touching you and a silent plea for more. That last part scared you more than anything. Your senses were becoming overwhelmed too quickly once again, and you wanted nothing more than to flee.

Noticing this, Hiccup scrambles to find a way to fix his mistake and hopefully calm your nerves.

“Flight!”

His sudden shout causes your body to flinch, but you do freeze, his loud voice stunning you into place. Hiccup quickly clears his throat, having not expected his voice to come out that loud in his desperate search for a way to shift the tension. His hand gestures to Toothless, who stares at Hiccup with a confused look from his shouting.

“Let’s… Let’s go for a flight.”

The words come out quickly but are in a softer tone than the one before. You gaze between Hiccup and Toothless, the dragon just as confused as you were, but his words do calm your nerves. Even just a little bit.

It had been a while since you’d been flying, sticking mainly to the ground while taking in your new surroundings. Looking back at Hiccup, you give him a slight nod in response to his suggestion. It was about time you spread your wings anyway.

—

The wind surrounds your body as you soar through the sky, your wings spread behind you and occasionally flapping to keep you upright. To your left, Toothless does the same with Hiccup perched upon his back.

The flight was silent between the two of you. Your gaze mainly focused ahead, and you managed to miss Hiccup stealing glances your way. Your eyes slowly close at the feeling of the wind on your face, a relaxed look overcoming your features as you fly beside Toothless.

This was where you belonged. High above the clouds without a care in the world.

Hiccup watches you as you fly with your eyes closed, observing how tranquil you look. A sudden smack from Toothless’ ear fin brings the teen back to his senses, glaring down silently towards the dragon, who looks back at him with a smug look.

“Not a word.” He mumbles to Toothless before looking back toward you, freezing when you are nowhere in sight. His head whips around, his eyes looking over the tops of the clouds as he tries to find where you have gone. A shout of excitement cuts through the air, causing him to look up towards the source of the sound, and a small smile invades his lips at what he finds.

You had flown a bit higher before outstretching your arms and letting your body freefall. Your body whizzes past Toothless, who watches you curiously as you soon disappear back under the clouds.

Without much thinking, Hiccup gently pats the side of Toothless’ neck, the dragon giving a confused sound at his action, which quickly turns into a roar when Hiccup jumps off of Toothless’ back towards you.

Your eyes had barely fluttered open before they widened in shock at Hiccup freefalling beside you. Fear courses through your veins at the sight, but Hiccup gives you an ever-widening grin. Before you can process it, Hiccup shoves his hands into something attached to his legs and spreads his arms.

A laugh of shock leaves your lips at the sight as you spread your wings to slow your falling into a glide. Hiccup had some type of fabric attached from his wrists to his legs, and his own body had lurched to a glide beside your own. Remaining with your back to the ground, Hiccup maneuvered his body to glide above you, his eyes sparkling in excitement as your smile slowly began to match his own.

With seconds feeling like hours, your eyes remain locked as you both glide together below the clouds.

Taglist: @spiderlily-w1tch-blog @millie--billie @persipeoni

[zombieunicorngamerzu]

(Astarion x fem reader)

[Warnings - love confession, P-N-V, cream pie, lovemaking, marking, claiming, soft dom Astarion, sub reader ]

“How many times do I have to tell you Astarion, no!” You snapped for the upteenth time at Astarion’s desperate attempts to accept his advances, but not because you didn’t like him, it was actually the opposite… you loved him. That’s why you were trying so hard to keep him away, you were growing dangerous and unpredictable with the tadpole in your brain, it manipulated you into doing dangerous, evil things, and you were terrified of your impulses that you were getting weaker and weaker to control by the day. You were turning into a monster.

“Why not?!” He cried out with a usual fit, “Is it me? Because I really need to know if this is you just trying to play hard to get or if you genuinely hate me, it’s getting hard to tell, dear!” He waved his hands in the air in a defeated gesture, his expression softening slightly as he stepped closer, his tone softer, “Is it me?”

You looked at him with such a pained expression, you were so conflicted, so scared, you knew he wouldn’t give up unless you blatantly rejected him and even then he still might keep trying, but that wasn’t even it! You loved him… but you couldn’t risk hurting him, even if that meant loosing him In a way, and you knew if you told him what you actually thought he would never give up, but hearing him voice his insecurities of himself… thinking he’s the problem… when he’s not, nor could he ever, it broke your heart to see the look on his face as he awaited your answer. “No Astarion, it could never be you, there’s not a thing wrong with you that i dislike…”

“Oh don’t go and do the whole “it’s not you it’s me” phrase, don’t make ME feel guilty just because you don’t like the man I am, or what I am… just be honest if your disgusted by me, if you don’t trust me, if you fear me, but DO NOT LIE TO ME!” He cried out in a rare moment of vulnerability, he’s had this built up for as long as he could, but now he’s finally broke, “I’ve had enough of that in my life…” he spoke out so softly, his head drooping down as he frowned, trying not to tear up or let his voice crack. Gods… he loved you so much he would tear out his own heart right now if that’s what he needed to prove it. “Please Y/N… just give me a chance, I swear… i-i can change, I can be a better man, I-“ you had to cut him off.

“Astarion, enough!” You couldn’t bear to hear him speak like this, you didn’t want him to change, he was perfect. “I don’t want you to change a single thing about yourself…” Those words themselves seemed to shock him, his head leaning back just a little with a stunned, puppy dog-like look before he spoke, “Well then what is it?! Here I am bearing my heart and soul out to you and you just say, no? Without an explanation, I-I need more than that!” You were staring to tear up at this point, just dropping your head with a heartbreaking sigh that he caught, stepping closer as he took your hand, “Darling please… speak to me, whatever it is… just tell me and we’ll deal with it, together. I can handle whatever daddy issues or baggage you may have so just blurt it out!” He chuckled wearily, but he was concerned overall for you seeing how much you were struggling, he realized this was something more.

“I-I’m changing Astarion…” you spoke out with a shaky tone, your lip quivering as tears started to fall down your cheeks, “And I’m scared, I’m turning into something… dark, I can feel it growing every day, and I’m terrified I’m going to just- loose control, I-I feel like a monster, I don’t even think I’d realize if I was already one, but I can’t risk hurting you, killing you…” you spoke out your fears with such honesty, such vulnerability, you just decided to be honest, maybe you could console him and convince him to leave you after you voice your concerns. “Darling, you are far from a monster.” Astarion scoffed, chuckling as he leaned his head back, motioning his hand towards himself, “Y/N, if you are a monster… I-I must be… Lucifer reincarnated, the embodiment of evil! And even if you were a monster I would still love you, hell- if you start to get all growly and nippy, I-I’ll tie you up and feed you squirrels to sate your bloodthirsty hunger!” He blurted out making you burst out a few giggles through your tears, making him smile with pride at making you laugh.

He stepped closer again, inches from you as he rested his hands on your shoulders to rub soothingly, “Was this really all it was, just you scared to… hurt me?” He scoffed with a gentle tone, he was surprised and just dumbfounded. You just sighed and looked up into his eyes, such a beautiful brown, and the gentle expression on his face, the slight head tilt as he awaited your answer, it made your heart flutter at how gentle he was being. “Astarion, what if I-“ he put a finger to your lips, cutting you off, “No more what ifs. Do you love me?” He asked bluntly, staring into your soul with such a look of determination, he would not give up on you, no matter what. You lifted your eyes to meet his with a pained expression, quiet because you knew you did, you knew if you said yes, he wouldn’t never let you go, but if you said no, you know he would know you were lying, you both could see how much each other cared for one another, the amount of times you’ve come close to death just to have the other race to each others side with such fear in their eyes that the other would die before either of you got the chance to just confess your undying love.

“You know I do…” you nodded with your honest confession, making him smile with satisfaction, cupping your chin in his hand before he pulled you closer, “Then that is all I need to know, I get to choose how I live my life… not you, I get to make the decision to stay, to love you, I’ll deal with the consequences myself.” He spoke with such passion before tilting your face up, his face inches from yours with his eyes locked on yours, “Now may we stop this torturous foreplay and make love already?” He smiled so adorably, tilting his head, “May I kiss you and make you mine, love?” Those words made your heart beat alive you swore and all you could do in that moment was nod as the last few tears fell down your face, meeting him in a passionate love-felt kiss.

Astarion’s arms wrapping around you protectively to cradle your body closer as he deepened the kiss, his hand cupping the back of your head and only pulling back when you needed air only to pick you up with a smile, your legs wrapping around his waist as he spoke, “Now, my love, I’m going to take you back to my tent, no- OUR tent now and make bedbreaking love to you until the entire camp knows your… mine…” he growled out those last few words possessively before carrying you back to his tent, it was daybreak, making his skin have a golden glow, his silver hair looking lightened by the dying sun, you were relieved, scared, anxious, but surprisingly, you just knew it would all be okay.

As he laid you down on his bedroll, Astarion did his very best to be caring, gentle, kind, and most of all respectful as he carefully stripped you bare of your armor, kissing every inch of bare skin he revealed, starting with your neck, then your shoulder, then down your arm, the back of your neck, down your spine… until every article of your clothing was off so he could admire every inch of your body, his voice husky as his eyes grazed over you with adoration and affection, “My love, your… gorgeous, ethereal, breathtaking…” he moaned out huskily with a whine as he helped you to lay down, tilting his head as he gazed down at you, knelt between your thighs still fully dressed in his white tunic shirt and black leather pants that were now a little strained around the nether regions due to you did he start to strip for you, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his pale skin and rippling abs, his chest rising and falling quicker with his excitement that was also shown between his thighs, straining through his pants he wanted to rip off for being in the way of him and you.

But he couldn’t wait, having to lean down in just his pants to kiss you tenderly, now that he had you, he just didn’t want to part from cherishing you even for the little time it took to undress himself, he just needed to feel your love, your touch, he waited long enough, “Help me, my love, please…” he whimpered out against your lips with a desperation, making you nod through breathy moans and breathes as you slid your hands down to unbutton his pants, shoving them down so he could kick them off, revealing his generous length, he was perfect, not too girthy or large, but just right, and so so pretty, his tip a angry pink and already dripping pre-cum for you, he was throbbing and impatient, but he was restraining himself. Astarion wanted this night to be perfect, not just lust. Love. He wanted to love you. To make slow and passionate love while worshipping your body to greater lengths then you’ve ever had, he swore in that moment to protect and cherish you for all off eternity, Gods be damned.

“I love you, Y/N, monster or not.” Astarion whispered out as he hovered over you, his arm holding him up as he guided his other down to his length to press his tip at your soaked entrance with a pleasured growl, gently pressing in until you gasped from the intrusion, making him still so you could adjust. He brought his hand up next to caress your cheek, leaning down for another deep kiss to distract you as he pushed in deeper slowly, making you arch with a whine against his lips at being filled, the stretch felt so good, and due to just how gentle he was being with you, it only made you wetter, you’ve never seen Astarion like this, so serious, so passionate and caring, so sincere… but as he started to slowly move, gentle thrusts accompanied with his deep breathy moans and various kisses littered across your collarbones before he dipped down more to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, making you gasp and arch, threading your fingers in his hair to tug which only made him groan with pleasure and nip at your nipple before thrusting a little harder in return, making you moan out loud.

The pleasure and passion only burned brighter as the time went on, Astarion focused on littering your skin with Marla of his claim as he pumped his cock inside you with a mission to claim you as his own, his eternal love… you both were matching each others moans, your thighs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you, getting you closer and closer to your release which he could feel building with how your walls were pulsing around his cock, it made him gasp and moan, his hands pushing your knees up to your chest before he started to thrust more intensely, his focus on making you cum, getting his pleasure from your whines and cries as you sung such a pretty song for him. He could feel your slick coating his cock, watching his cock as is disappeared inside your tight wet heat repeatedly, it was enough for him to shutter and tense, moaning out loud, “L-Love, I’m close, please… ugh… cum with me, my love!” There was no way you could have held back with Astarion begging you with that breathless tone and stuttering thrusts, you felt his cock throb inside you which only made you shutter and moan with a nod as you placed your hand on his chest, gasping and arching as your eyes squeezed shut, crying out as your walls clamped down on his cock, covering his length with cum which only made him moan so passionate and loud with no shame, “Yes, darling, good girl! Cum for me, cum all over my cock, god! I love you!” He cried out, falling over you before wrapping his arms around your waist, thrusting sloppily before moaning into your ear as his orgasm hit him, his cock throbbing before his cum spurt deep inside you, filling you with his seed as he panted and groaned, his hands lazily stroking your lower back, his voice softer as he came down from his high, “Your mine…”

(Now I’m a lesbian… but this man makes me question myself…)

[arthurbristow]

The night air was cold and thick, heavy with the stench of sweat, dirt, and failure. The rain had long stopped, but the dampness still clung to the streets, making everything feel oppressive. 

The rest of the League had gone out on various errands — Twice had muttered something about scouting locations, Toga was off on her own twisted business, and Dabi had left without a word, his typical indifference hanging in the air. 

It was just you and Shigaraki now, and the atmosphere in the hideout was heavy, oppressive.

You sat on the edge of a broken-down couch in the dim, crumbling warehouse that served as the League of Villains’ temporary hideout, your heart racing with a mixture of fear and exhaustion. 

The aftermath of the botched mission hung in the air like a noxious cloud, and you could feel the tension simmering, thickening with each passing second.

Across the room, Shigaraki Tomura paced back and forth like a caged animal, his movements jerky and erratic, every step an explosion of pent-up anger. His red eyes glowed with a fury that hadn’t subsided since the mission went south. His fingers twitched, clawing at the air, brushing dangerously close to his neck as if he was barely containing the urge to grab at the skin beneath his collar and tear it apart.

They had failed. He had failed. The kidnapping of Bakugo had gone sideways — again — and now Shigaraki was teetering on the edge of a meltdown.

“I had him!” he snarled suddenly, his voice echoing off the walls of the dilapidated room. His boots scraped against the floor, the sound as harsh as his breathing. “We had that damn brat right in our hands, and they — those fucking heroes — had to ruin it!”

You flinched at the sharpness of his words but stayed silent. His fury was like a storm, wild and untamed, and you knew better than to step into its path without caution. Still, watching him unravel like this — it sent a chill down your spine. 

He stopped pacing for a moment, one hand coming up to claw at his white hair. “Every damn time… every single time we get close, it falls apart!” His voice was growing louder, more frantic. “Those damn heroes, they think they can just—”

“Tomura…” you said quietly, trying to find a way to ground him, to pull him out of this spiral.

His head snapped toward you, eyes blazing. “What?” he spat, his voice venomous. “What the hell do you want?”

You froze under his gaze. You’d seen him angry before, but there was something different this time — something more unstable. His frustration with Bakugo’s escape had compounded, twisting into a deep, festering rage that seemed ready to consume him. 

“I—I just wanted to help,” you stammered, your voice weak, the words clumsy in your throat. 

“Help?” he repeated, a mocking edge to his tone as he stalked closer, each step filled with barely contained violence. “You think you can help? You think anyone can help when I can’t even—” His voice broke off, his breath hitching in a ragged gasp. “This was my chance to prove it. To show the master that I’m more than just some kid with a quirk that destroys everything he touches. But of course fucking All Might had to intervene!” 

His face twisted in frustration as he dragged a hand through his hair again, fingers shaking. The movement was erratic, desperate, as if he could somehow pull the failure out of his mind if he could just grip hard enough.

The sight of him like this — so raw, so vulnerable under all that fury — made your chest ache. You wanted to reach out, to offer something — anything — to ease the madness burning in his gaze, but how could you? You weren’t sure he’d even listen.

“Tomura-kun,” you tried again, softer this time, more careful. “It wasn’t your fault. We’ll get another chance. We can—”

“Shut up.” His voice was low, but it cut through the air like a knife. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing beneath the curtain of his hair. “I said shut up.”

“I just… I just don’t want you to blame yourself.”

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Blame myself? Oh, I’m very aware of whose fault this is. It’s mine. It’s always mine.”

You stood from the couch, your pulse quickening, but you couldn’t just sit there and watch him tear himself apart. Still, against your better judgment, you stood and crossed the small space between you. He didn’t stop you, didn’t even look up as you approached, his eyes fixed somewhere on the far wall, lost in whatever thoughts he was keeping locked away. His hair was an unruly mess, strands sticking to his forehead, clinging to his cheeks. “Tomura, stop. You don’t have to carry this—”

His hand shot out before you could finish, fingers wrapping around your wrist in a vice-like grip. His touch was cold, painful.

Instinctively, your gaze darted to where his thumb and four fingers gripped your arm — but his fifth finger hovered, suspended just above your skin. So close. Just millimeters away. The threat was immediate, palpable. One flick, one slip, and you would decay into nothingness. Your flesh would turn to ash in an instant, just like everything else he touched.

“Boss…” you whispered, your voice trembling, but you didn’t pull away. Fear churned in your stomach, cold and sharp. “Please. Let me help.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly, his face inches from yours. “You think I care about your hollow words? You think your comfort means anything to me? And you want to help?” he spat, his grip tightening, though his fifth finger remained just shy of contact. His red eyes bore into yours, filled with rage and something darker, something more desperate. “You can’t help me. You can’t fix this. You think you’re different, but you’re not. You’re nothing, just like the rest of these morons are!”

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. Without thinking, you moved even closer. 

His eyes followed you warily, but he didn’t pull away, not yet. 

Slowly, you reached up, brushing the strands of his white hair out of his face. The touch was gentle, and for a moment, he let you do it, his breath hitching slightly as your fingers grazed his skin. You tucked the loose strands behind his ear, your hand lingering for just a second too long.

His body went rigid under your touch. The air between you stilled, his crimson eyes widening ever so slightly in shock. His breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, the rage in his expression faltered, giving way to confusion. He stared at you, as though he couldn’t understand what you had just done, as though your gentle touch had cut through the chaos swirling in his mind. 

“What are you trying to do?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You think you can fix me? That this—” He gestured to your hand. “—is going to make a difference?”

“I don’t want to fix you,” you whispered. “I just don’t want you to feel so alone, boss.”

Shigaraki didn’t move. He didn’t let go, either. His fingers trembled against your skin, the tension in his grip a constant reminder of the fragility of the situation. “Why?” he rasped, his voice hoarse, broken.

You swallowed, heart still pounding, but your voice remained steady. “Because I care. I’m here, boss. And I’m not leaving.”

His grip loosened, just enough for you to breathe again. “I’ve killed people, you know,” he claimed suddenly, his voice cold, detached. “I’ve wiped them out without a second thought. Innocents. Villains. Heroes. It doesn’t matter to me. Everything I touch turns to dust. I don’t deserve kindness of any kind.”

You stood your ground, even as the danger of his quirk lingered so close. “Maybe you don’t think you deserve it,” you said quietly, “but you do.”

With a shuddering breath, he let go. His hand fell to his side, his entire body sagging as though the weight of his anger and frustration had drained him. He looked away from you, his expression hardening once more, but there was a crack in the armor — a crack that hadn’t been there before.

“No matter how much you push me away, boss, I am not leaving. I believe in your cause.”

But Shigaraki didn’t respond. He turned away, retreating into the shadows, his shoulders hunched, his hands trembling at his sides as he mumbled something under his breath.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the tears burning at the corners of your eyes. But you didn’t let them fall. Not in front of him. 

And as you watched him retreat into the shadows, you knew that no matter how close you got, no matter how much you tried, the chasm between you would always remain. He was right. You couldn’t fix him.

Shigaraki was alone.

And deep down, you knew he always would be.

[darkestspring]

Okay, okay, Brainrot idea for your Aegon II and Bby Visenya AU.

In this universe, after Visenya was born, Aegon went 'alright, well, I've done my duty' and never had any more children with Helaena. If you want to go a step further, you could say Aegon ─ at the time ─ was trying to prove to Rhaenyra & the Black supporters that he wasn't a threat by not having a son...

So when the war happens, there are no twins (or Maelor), and Visenya is Helaena and Aegon's ONLY child. Demon tells B&C that if they can not find Aemond, that 'any Green would do'. I know this is a lot of rehashed material but I was just thinking about how even MORE fucked up it would be if Visenya was an only child.

Or maybe we can get a happy(?) Ending where Aegon runs away with Visenya to Essos (although I would call this a happy ending since its only Aegon and Visenya and poor Helaena is left behind wondering where tf is her child is)

alternate ending!

Aegon gets there with like ten guards just in time and Senya is only vaguely injured. She's bleeding from several cuts and wailing but otherwise still alive, she refuses to be away from her mom and dad, aegon effectively fires Criston, imprisons his mother in her chambers out of anger when he finds out what they were doing while his daughter was in danger.

Senya is aegon's pride and joy, his entire happiness. She's the reason he lives and breaths. he doesn't want to have another child because no child could compare to his senya, his lovely daughter.

Aegon's rage increases tenfold when he realizes what's going on. He blames all of them. he doesn't care if this was daemon's doing, he blames rhaenyra, he blames everyone on dragonstone, every single one and he wants blood. he wants a pound of flesh in return for what they've done to his baby.