#i just have to its so difficult always having this fog

[peajack]

Shit I gotta stop smoking weed. I think I'll take up drinking instead

[toastsnaffler]

I love valentines day theoretically like I love what it's abt + the aesthetic is gorg + the buildup where I get to make cards is so fun + yummy sweets + also valentine is a sick ass name it's all round a pretty awesome holiday even if the commercialisation is annoying..... but also the day itself is nailbitingly stressful for me bc im so wildly insecure and rejection sensitive I find it really really hard to accept cards or even nice sentiment from other ppl. sorry im such a broken ass person that being told im loved makes me want to bash my fucking head in with a steel beam 🙂

[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.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Rejected soulmate au but I made it worse instead of better

Danny, instead of just leaving, instead snaps and commits a series of murders as Phantom, rampaging across the city. His first victims were his parents who he mauled to death, then Vlad, then his so called "friends". Once he came out of the green rage induced fog he realized what he had done and sobbed somewhere in the woods around Amity.

He knew that the GIW would arrive soon, and well, he's already in this deep and he can't just let a government agency that hell bent on genocide and conquering/expirementing on the entities of an entire dimension do as they please so he takes his hanger out on them as he's always wanted.

Hes so glad Jazz is away for collage. She's safe from them. Safe from him.

Its a wonder Clockwork didn't try to talk to him. He probably knew it wouldn't do any good, and Danny is technically of the living and Clockwork isn't allowed to harm the living or control them, only influence them into taking different paths. Hence why he did the time freeze/rewind fiasco when Danny attacked him at the clock tower when he was 14. He wasn't allowed to actually fight him and honestly at that point Clockwork didn't need to. But now Danny had that time medallion in his chest courtesy of his alternate evil future self and Clockwork couldn't do anything.

Danny was 16 and far too powerful for the master of time to take on.

Danny demolishes the GIW like he was playing Doomed on the easiest setting. It was laughable how quickly they went down and Danny found himself enjoying it.

He always had to tamp down that feeling. That vicious glee he got whenever he took vengeance on someone who wronged him. It had always been a thought in the back of his mind that he may have been inherently evil at heart and that he would turn to the dark side eventually.

He wouldn't be like the fusion of himself and Vlad though. That was just a mildless monster destroying everything in its path. What was even the point of that? For all the darkness in his heart, he couldn't see that as anything other that sheer stupidity. He assumed it was Vlads half. The only thing the creep was ever good at was dragging everyone around him down.

Danny packs up and activates the Fenton houses Baba Yaga Protocal, causing his childhood home to grow legs and literally walk away. He eventually managed to find all of Vlads secret labs and treasure stashes, raiding all of them and stripping them of everything they had to offer.

Then he went to find his soulmates dimension in the comfort and convenience of a newer and crazier version of howls moving castle. He had no plans on harming them per say, but he wanted to know why. Why reject a soulmate you hadn't even met before? A person who either platonically or romantically is your perfect match and can understand you better than anyone.

Danny himself suffered immensely throughout his childhood. His parents mental and emotion manipulation and neglect had left Danny longing for thier praise and attention but also left him feeling hollow and confused. Being the children of Evil mad scientists made it difficult to be friends with anyone. Even if the kids weren't weirded out by them, the parents of those kids would tell them that they weren't allowed to play with him or Jazz in fear for thier safety.

Rumors about the Fenton parents experimenting on thier children eventually reached thier ears. That was when he realized that other parents didn't give them twice daily injections of ectoplasm into thier bloodstream.

Im lazy but heres more:

1. Danny as a kid 9-12 realized that Sam and Tucker were crappy friends. Sam often tried to chase away any other girls that tried to talk to Danny for any reason (she was getting better) and often was controlling or patronizing to him while using her parents wealth to get what she wanted. Whether she realized it or not, she was actually a lot like them.

Tucker, Danny decided, secretly hated him and had straight up admitted before that he only became friends with Danny to steal the cool tech from his parents lab, which Danny had allowed and risked getting hurt by his parents to make his friend happy. Tucker was always jealous of Danny, stating that Tuckers own life was plain and boring while Dannys was like the protagonist of an anime. Tucker was quiet about it, but Danny saw how much the other boy enjoyed seeing him fail.

He tried to hang out with his big sister more, cause she could understand and she loved him, right? He was standing outside her door again with his favorite ball (it had the constellation Pegasus on it!) and raised his hand to knock on her door when he heard her groan loudly.

He knew he wasn't supposed to eavesdrop but he put his ear to the door anyway. Curiosity had always been his greatest weakness. On the other side she was talking on the phone. To who he had no idea cause Jazz didn't have friends, but she was complaining about mom and dad and...him. she told her phone friend that she loved him, but only out of obligation. She was his sister and she had to care about him, even if she didn't want to.

Danny didn't understand. She had just said she loved him so why did his heart hurt so much?

He went back to playing with Sam and Tucker. They were what he had, even if he didn't like them, he could lie to himself and tell himself that he did. Just like with mommy and daddy.

If he keeps telling himself that he loves them than he will. If he keeps telling himself that they love him then they will.

Dannys always been good at lying to himself.

Still, the soulmark on his arm remained. It was a vague promise of a light at the end of the tunnel. A dream that someone would show him what real love was like and they would sweep him off his feet and take him far far away from this place.

So why...

2. Phantom doesn't make a name for himself in this new dimension right away. Yeah he had all this treasure he stole from Vlad but treasure isn't money and he had no idea if money from his dimension would even be valid what with all the protections the us had on thier bills to make it difficult for people to make fakes.

Selling gold bars and the like was easier said than done, especially if you actually wanted a fair price for it, and he'd rather have a hoard stashed away for his later plans to more easily take shape.

3. Phantom was an excellent thief, even without his powers, but hes in too early to be arrogant and this world was filled with super-powered villians and heros alike, all trying to make a name for themselves.

He refused to be anyones stepping stool to something greater. Not anymore.

Danny was as cunning as he was skilled. He disguised himself in seedy bars, talking up whatever heist he had made recently, saying whatever thief had pulled that off must have been the greatest, sometimes he ever went dressed as a swooning girl for the extra oomph.

It usually worked and some meat head would take credit for his crimes. Word would sometimes conveniently make its way to the cops and if Danny was really lucky the poor sucker would actually go down for his crimes.

All to muddy the waters. Its harder to connect all these crimes to him when half of them have convictions and the other half have nothing linking them together <3

4. Danny needed minions but he didn't want to tell them anything. He wasn't in the position to start recruiting younger supervillians into his army yet. That was much later in the plan.

No, he needed a mercenary. One who didn't ask questions.

Mr. Deathstroke came with great recommendations and had a great track record for getting whatever contract he had completed and he had a vendetta of some sort against the Teen Titans and Young Justice.

Yeah, he was a bit fruitloopy but he seemed perfect for the job he had in mind.

Danny would keep Deathstroke at a distance of course. He was a mercenary, a hired gun, not his friend. Some one else could easily hire him to get information about Phantom or worse, hire him to attack or capture Phantom.

No the only thing tall, dark and scary was getting from him was the money owed to him in the contract. Money he now had plenty of.

5. Danny never really considered that he would have to compete with other thieves.

He had made sure to steer clear of places like Gotham and Metropolis because of the heros there who always stopped thieves and revealed their identities. Danny didn't need that, no thank you.

But as he was doing one of his heists, the third one this month and the one he planned on sticking the blame onto another poor sap-freaking Catwoman ran into the room with a sphinx carved of some precious stone and Batman not far behind.

Batman locked eyes with him for only a moment, cowl meeting domino for a split second, and Phantom knew he had been found out. This wasn't Gotham. He had no idea how they had gotten here or when but Danny wasn't naive enough to think the worlds greatest detective wouldn't be on his tail after he saw Phantoms arms drapped in the "priceless artifacts" from the India section.

They very much had a price. His buyer had paid a hefty chunk in advance.

Catwoman, who Danny had silently sworn vengeance against, kicked Batman away from her mid brawl and launching him in the direction Phanton was escaping.

Crud. It was time to fight and he was so not happy about it. Danny did manage to get away with the use of his electric powers. Turns out leaving the lower half of your face exposed is a bad idea, especially if your opponent knows Thunder Punch.

He used an EMP pulse as he ran to fry any cameras and Batmans equipment before heading down the hallway and through a few walls. He turned invisible once he was far enough away and flew off into the night with his prize.

This buyer better not backstabbing him. He's in no mood to play nice tonight.

[radiance1]

A castle mysteriously appears in Gotham one night.

Nobody who noticed it knows where it came from, nor how it got there as it seemingly appeared overnight. It wasn't anything big, as far as castle's were concerned, it seemed to be on the smaller side of things.

However, no one could truly estimate it's actual size. For there seemed to be an ever-present fog that never seemed to stray past the castle's gates.

Just like the fog, you always seemed to hear the cawing of crows and the flapping of bats whenever you step close enough. Yet their visibility was kept hidden in the fog.

Appearances aside, there did seem to be something... off, about the castle and not just because it appeared from thin air, no. It seemed to have a distinct aura of something... other.

No one knew how to explain it, but they could tell there was nothing natural about it. There was something fundamentally wrong with the castle, it wasn't the way it appeared out of nowhere, nor it's appearance.

===

When Sam finally became an adult, she didn't have to think twice about moving out. It was a bit difficult, with her parents not wanting to let her go just yet, but her grandmother managed to persuade them, thankfully.

When she was younger, Sam had always dreamed of owning a castle. Though its appearance did change in her mind when she grew older, from pretty and pink to one of darker colors and crows, which is why she never got one when she was younger, she realized.

But now that she was an adult, what was stopping her?

Nothing, that's what.

So, Sam buys one that matches her tastes and moves in. There was a lot of space, far more than she really ever thought about and now had to find a use for.

Magic.

Was something that enthralled Sam ever since she was young, that and the occult as a whole. So, for a few months after moving did she try and get her hands on things like magical tomes, items, scripts and learn it.

Surprisingly, she was strongly successful in her attempts of learning magic. It was surprising to be sure, but now that she compares it to the portal to the afterlife, having a half dead friend and having hunted down ghosts, she realizes that magic wouldn't be that much farfetched in the equation.

A fair bit of her time now was spent covering her castle in wards, sigils, and runes, ones that would strengthen themselves over time, various protection wards and multiple others that she found useful. Most of them were ones that she found through text, though others were ones she personally made.

After she finished the entirety of the castle, she studied thoroughly to gain more knowledge and power for herself, she even made a few spells of her own along with various potions. Unfortunately, she was interrupted in her studies by various other witches, because apparently having such a powerful fledgling witch on her lonesome was too tempting of an offer to pass up for the nearby covens.

So she had to... move, before they tried to force her to join them. As for how, well, she moved her entire castle! What better way to refuse, really?

Unfortunately, it was her first time using such large-scale teleportation magic and she messed it up. Not that her calculations on where the castle was supposed to be were wrong, but while in the midst of moving through space she was... thrown off kilter.

She didn't even know how or what caused her to mess up. But her castle both was and wasn't where she wanted it to be. Her original destination was coordinates near Amity Park, and while they were on said coordinates.

This wasn't Amity Park.

To say she worried was an understatement. She scrambled to find something about where she ended up, and realized not only was she thrown off kilter, but she was also thrown off so badly that she ended up in an entirely different dimension. Luckily, she managed to make the philosopher's stone.

To say making it was easy would be wrong, for even she didn't know how she created it. It was by accident and for a while she didn't even know she had made it, when she had and tried to do something with it the stone had, uh, well.

It fused into her skin.

It had placed itself right over her face, on her chest, and it granted her immortality it seemed. Though that wasn't the effect she was currently thankful for no, the effect of making gold would be valuable to her, she wouldn't have the Manson wealth, but she could at the very least sustain herself.

For now, though, she did have her studies to get back to.

[xtra7s]

𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙨

𝚁𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚎 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚙 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Synopsis: Renee realizes her girlfriend is struggling and comes back from her tour.

Content: depression warning, fluff, deep talks/discussions, just tw

Word Count: 1.800+

a/n: I havent been writing lately, but I was listening to my shitty ass sad playlist after I hit my bong n wanted to write based on how I felt. Srry it's sad lol.

Masterlist |

As Y/N lay in bed, surrounded by the suffocating weight of her thoughts, she felt as if she were trapped. Depression wasn't just a feeling; it was a state of being, an all-encompassing darkness that clouded her mind and consumed her soul.

The disassociation was perhaps the most insidious aspect of it all. It was like watching her life unfold from behind a thick pane of glass, disconnected from the world around her. She went through the motions of her daily routine, but it felt hollow, as if she were merely a spectator in her own life like she was sleeping.

Numbness was her constant companion, a thick fog that dulled her senses and dulled the vibrant colors of the world around her. It was difficult to muster up any enthusiasm or joy when every emotion seemed to be buried beneath layers of apathy, she just felt lost, like she was suffocating.

Boredom was another relentless adversary, gnawing at her from the inside out. No matter what she did, nothing seemed to hold her interest for long. Hobbies that once brought her joy now felt like meaningless distractions, and even the simplest tasks felt like Herculean feats.

But perhaps the cruelest aspect of it all was the overwhelming loneliness that seemed to suffocate her at every turn. It wasn't just a lack of companionship; it was a profound sense of isolation, a feeling of being utterly and completely alone in the world.

Even when surrounded by friends and loved ones, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that she was nobody's person. It was as if she were standing on the outside looking in, watching as everyone else lived their lives while she remained stuck in place, unable to move forward.

And so, as she lay in bed, tears streaming down her cheeks, Y/N couldn't help but feel as if she were buried alive and clawing at the wood til her fingers bled.

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the sun that shined through the curtains, much to Y/N's discomfort. It was a familiar scene, one that had become all too common in recent months, she didn't have the energy to shut the blinds.

Depression had become Y/N's unwanted companion, a shadow that followed her every step, always coming back even after she thought she got rid of it. Loneliness was its cruelest weapon, wrapping around her like a suffocating blanket, isolating her from the world.

She had tried to fight it, tried to push through the fog that clouded her mind, but tonight, it felt like an impossible task. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling utterly lost and alone.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, her girlfriend Renee had sensed the shift in her demeanor. Renee had been on tour for the past few weeks, but even from miles away, she could feel when something was amiss with Y/N.

Tonight, as Renee finished her performance on stage, her thoughts were consumed by Y/N. Something didn't feel right, a nagging sense of worry gnawing at her heart. Ignoring the cheers of the crowd, Renee hurried back to her dressing room, her mind racing with concern.

Once backstage, Renee grabbed her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed Y/N's number. It rang once, twice, before Y/N's voice echoed through the receiver, thick with emotion.

"Hey," Y/N murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey, love," Renee replied, her heart aching at the sound of Y/N's voice. "Is everything okay?"

Y/N hesitated, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak. But Renee's presence, even over the phone, was a balm to her weary soul.

"I… I don't know," Y/N confessed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I just… I feel so lost, Renee. Like I'm drowning in my own thoughts."

Renee's heart shattered at Y/N's words, the pain in her voice cutting through her like a knife. Without a second thought, she made a decision.

"Y/N, I'm coming home," Renee declared, her voice filled with determination. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat at the sincerity in Renee's words. Despite the distance between them, Renee's love was a beacon of light in the darkness.

"Please hurry," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

"I will," Renee promised, her own tears mingling with Y/N's across the miles. "I love you, Y/N. Just hold on a little longer, okay?"

As they hung up, a spark of hope ignited within her chest. Even in her darkest moments, Renee was her guiding star, leading her back to the light.

The moment Renee stepped through the door, she could feel the heavy atmosphere weighing down the air. The dimly lit apartment seemed to echo with Y/N's silent struggle, and Renee's heart clenched at the sight.

Renee quickly made her way to the bedroom, where she found Y/N curled up under the blankets, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Without a word, Renee slipped into bed beside her, wrapping her arms around Y/N and pulling her close.

Y/N melted into Renee's embrace, her body trembling with the weight of her emotions. Renee held her tightly, offering silent comfort as Y/N buried her face in Renee's chest, seeking solace in her warmth.

For a long moment, they lay there in silence, the only sound the steady rhythm of their breathing. But eventually, Y/N found the courage to speak, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Renee," Y/N murmured, her words muffled against Renee's shirt. "I hate that you have to see me like this."

Renee brushed a gentle kiss against Y/N's forehead, her heart aching at the pain in her eyes.

"Don't apologize, love," Renee murmured, her voice tender. "You never have to apologize for how you feel. I'm here for you, always."

Y/N's breath hitched at Renee's words, the love and acceptance in her voice a balm to her wounded soul.

"I just… I don't know how to cope anymore," Y/N confessed, her voice breaking with emotion. "It feels like I'm drowning.."

Renee's heart clenched at the despair in Y/N's voice, but she refused to let it consume them. With a gentle hand, she tilted Y/N's chin up, meeting her gaze with unwavering determination.

"You're not alone in this, Y/N," Renee said firmly, her eyes brimming with love. "We'll get through this together, okay? I'll be right here by your side every step of the way."

Y/N nodded, a glimmer of hope sparking in her eyes as Renee's words washed over her like a lifeline.

"What if I never get better?" Y/N whispered, her voice laced with fear.

Renee's heart broke at the vulnerability in Y/N's words, shaking her head.

"We'll figure it out together," Renee promised, her voice shaky. "There are so many ways we can tackle this, whether it's therapy, medication, or finding what works for you. We'll take it one day at a time."

Y/N's shoulders sagged with relief at Renee's unwavering support, the weight of her burden suddenly feeling a little lighter.

"Thank you, Renee," Y/N whispered, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Renee brushed a tender kiss against Y/N's lips, pouring all of her love and devotion into the gentle caress.

"You'll never have to find out," Renee promised, her voice filled with conviction. "I love you, Y/N. And I'm not going anywhere."

As Y/N lay in Renee's arms, her thoughts churned with a whirlwind of emotions. The weight of her depression bore down on her like a heavy anchor, dragging her deeper into the abyss of her own mind.

"Renee," Y/N's voice wavered, breaking the heavy silence that enveloped them. "I feel like I'm stuck. Like I'm trapped in this endless cycle of figuring it all out then knowing nothing again."

Renee's heart ached at the tremble in Y/N's voice, her grip tightening around Y/N's trembling form.

"I know, love," Renee murmured, her voice soft with understanding. "I'm here.."

Y/N's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she gazed up at Renee, her vulnerability laid bare for the world to see.

"But what if it's not enough?" Y/N whispered, her cracking ever so slightly as she spoke. "I feel like I'll always be this way. I never seem to get better, Renee."

Renee's heart shattered at the despair in Y/N's words, the fear of losing her consuming her from the inside out.

"You're not broken, Y/N," Renee insisted, her voice firm with conviction. "You're human. And humans are allowed to feel lost sometimes. But that doesn't mean you can't find your way back."

Y/N smiled sadly at Renee, trying to believe her words.

"I just… I feel like I'm losing everyone," Y/N confessed, her voice trembling with emotion. "And I'm so scared of being alone."

Renee's heart constricted at the raw honesty in Y/N's words, the pain of her loneliness echoing in her own soul.

"You're not alone, Y/N," Renee whispered, her voice laced with tenderness. "You're my person, and I'm yours. We'll navigate your darkness together, hand in hand, until we find our way back to the light."

Y/N's tears flowed freely now, cascading down her cheeks like a waterfall of emotion. But with Renee's unwavering love to anchor her, she felt a glimmer of hope amidst the storm.

"Thank you, Renee," Y/N murmured, her voice choked with gratitude. "For being my light in the darkness."

Renee pressed a gentle kiss against Y/N's forehead, pouring all of her love and devotion into the tender gesture.

"Always, love," Renee promised, her voice a whispered vow. "I'll always be here for you. No matter what."

As the weight of their shared emotions began to ease, exhaustion swept over Y/N like a gentle tide, pulling her into the embrace of sleep. Renee held her close, their bodies entwined in a comforting embrace.

In the quiet of the night, as the world outside fell into a hushed slumber, Renee pressed a tender kiss to Y/N's temple, her lips lingering against the warmth of her skin.

"Sleep now, my love," Renee whispered, her voice a soft murmur in the darkness. "And remember, don't kill the flowers."

Y/N watched Renee sleepily, hooded eyes silently agreeing with her words. Sleep soon claimed her, pulling her into its gentle embrace.

And as they drifted into dreams, the promise of a new day.

𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴.

[jasmines-library]

Hello sugar <3! (im very sorry if theres any spelling errors, english isnt my first language <3)

I would love to request some angst/comfort with the batfam? Maybe with the reader (tw: sa, rape) struggling with some sexual assault/rape issues, something they haven't told the family yet? The reader acting different for weeks, months even, and the whole family being suspicious and noticing their sudden fear of being cornered, touches and certain smells maybe?

its totally fair if you don't feel like it, I just really really love your way of writing the characters, and your writing over all. I swear, i swallowed your whole page in the matter of a few hours, I loved every second!

Kristy, Are You Doing Okay?

Note: My gosh im so sorry this literally took me over a month to get to, but it's here. I'm so glad you like my page and thank you for requesting! (Title name from song)

Warnings: SA, r*pe (non explicit but this fic deals with the aftermath. Please read with caution.), Panic attack of sorts.

Word count: 2.1K

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

Please remember, if you are ever struggling you are not alone. It may be difficult at first but there are many places for you to reach out to, many of which are anonymous and do not need the involement of of name, if you are just needing for someone to talk to. There will always be someone out there to help you. As an alternative, my DM’s are always open for a chat! Remember: You are loved and you are so much stronger than you realise.

⛤

You hadn’t meant to drift away. It sort of just…happened. And it wasn’t even something you were conscious of really. The thoughts were just constantly there and you couldn’t shake the feeling of his hands roaming all over his body; the ghostly touch of his fingers lingering flush against your skin, burning an invisible bruise into your flesh. You tried to shy away from it but it was always there, buried into the front of your mind festering away like an old, unforgotten wound oozing with pus and blood that would only create more problems the longer it was left. 

The night it happened was cold and bitter. A shallow fog had cast itself over the city as you staggered back to the manor with makeup running carelessly down your face. You shut yourself away, turning the lock on your door and burying yourself under the covers to try and  shy away from the situation. But it never left. It just kept growing, weeding its way back through the open cracks like a stubborn plant that refused to leave no matter how many times you doused it with poison. You didn’t sleep that night. And you didn’t leave your room the day after. In fact the only time anyone saw you that day was when you slunk downstairs in the middle of the night to try and revive the growling of your stomach without having to see anyone when you bumped into Tim who was finally dragging himself up to bed. The interaction was odd. At first he thought that you had just been busy all day and that was why no one had seen you: It wasn't uncommon for one of you to disappear into your room for a few days to catch up on school work or to finally get more than 4 hours of sleep. But something about you was off. You were quiet and lacking that charisma that usually shone from you. You were jumpy too, recoiling as soon as Tim rounded the corner unexpectedly. 

When you finally managed to bring yourself out of your room, you were still withdrawn. Instead of donning your normal seat next to Jason at the table, you sat at the end alone pushing your food aimlessly around the plate until someone had finished eating and you took that as a cue to leave. You didn’t mean to leave them in the dark. Really, you didn’t but the thoughts crept into your mind every time they got near. Every hand outstretched sent a shiver crawling down the nape of your neck as if someone was running an ice cold digit along your spine. The thoughts were worse. Intruding. Obnoxious. You felt so…dirty. And your mind seemed to like to make sure you remembered that. You couldn’t help but feel like somehow the whole situation was your fault, which of course it wasn’t, but you were stuck with being guilt ridden; trapped within your walls. 

Your skittishness didn’t go unnoticed. The boys tried many times to talk to you or to get you alone, but each time one of them hastily trailed after you as you slunk out of a room you would pick up your pace until they got the hint and stopped dejectedly in the halls. You had just skittered off into another part of the manor when Damian decided he had finally had enough. 

He pushed his way back into the library rather frustratedly, stomping his feet so hard against the floor that they continued to pound through the room even as he moved from the polished wood to the carpet amongst the centre of the room. His brothers were still lounging around the room, their legs slung carelessly over the arms of the chairs or folded beneath them as they engrossed themselves in their phones or an ever growing pile of books. They barely even acknowledged that Damian had even returned from his pursuit of use, besides lifting their gaze as he huffed his way back into the room. 

“Something is wrong with Y/N.” Damian declared, planting his feet into the carpet in the centre of the room and placing his hands on his hips. 

Dick felt as though he could laugh. Damian’s statement was so obvious that you may as well have had a huge, yellow sign above your head that screamed ‘i’m not okay.’ It didn't matter how much effort you put into trying to hide the bags that dropped across your skin, or the way that you couldn’t stand to be in the same room with any of them for too long without your skin crawling, they were prominent amongst your saddened features. “Yeah, No shit.”he said, looking up from his phone that he had been mindlessly scrolling on to distract himself from the feeling that gnawed at his gut.

The room fell into a pregnant silence before Damians angry scoff broke the silence. 

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” He spat. “You’re not worried?”

Jason pushed himself up onto his forearms and spoke out defensively. “Of course we’re worried… It’s just…”

“What?”

“She won’t let us help her, Dami.” Tim said. “We’ve tried, but each time she’s run.”

“Well then try harder!” He said. It was unusual for the youngest Wayne to react this way when it came to his siblings. But, then again it was unusual for you to shy away like this and although Damian would never admit it, he had a soft spot for you and seeing you hurting like this killed him a little inside. 

“Damian.” Dick reprimanded sternly. 

He sighed and swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry. I just can’t see them suffering like this anymore.”

There was a general agreement between the four of them. Tim chewed away at his bottom lip as he thought for a moment. “What do you propose we do?”

The whole room seemed to think together as one for a moment. 

“We corner them.” Damian said. It might have seemed cruel, but it was the only thing he could think of that would stop you from slipping away again. “If they keep running there’s no way we’re going to be able to help, so we just have to compromise.”

~

You knew that Jason was behind you. You could hear his careful footsteps, evenly spaced by his long strides as he tried to catch your attention. He was loitering outside of your room, trying to catch you as you left. It surprised you to see him as you peeled open the door. You had flashed him as much of a grin as you could muster up as he greeted you, trying to draw you into a one sided conversation that you were itching to get away from the moment it started. You tried to remind yourself that it was just Jason. That he wasn’t going to hurt you. But your mind still thought it was funny to play cruel tricks on you and soon you were making up a poor excuse and fleeing down the halls. 

You didn’t make it far though before you collided with a tall figure marching down the other end of the corridor, who braced his hands on your shoulders. Yelping at the unexpected contact you spun on your heel to turn back the way you came only for your breath to get stuck in your throat when you were met with the red of Jason’s shirt. When you backed up, you collided with the eldest vigilante again. Spinning around frantically, you searched for a way out. There was none. 

You were trapped. 

The thought consumed you quickly, dragging you down like a ton of bricks tied to your ankles until you were drowning in the thought of being imprisoned again. It was all you could think of. It screamed throughout your mind, pumped in your blood. It was nauseating. You could see the other two approaching and panic set into your already scrambled mind. You weaved, trying desperately to spot an exit but the two vigilantes were much bigger than you and their hefty frames took up most of the corridor. 

“No. No no no.” You rambled as your heart rate skyrocketed and your breathing came in sporadic, panicked gasps. 

Tim furrowed his brow. He didn’t think you would react like this. He reached out to grasp your forearms to ease your shaking body, but you nearly screamed, yanking your arms away from him and backing up against the wall. 

“Don’t touch me!” You stuttered, barely audible between your spiralling state. Fat, hot tears tracked along your face as you sunk to the ground to bury your face within your knees which you clutched to your chest. 

The four boys exchanged an anxious glance. 

“Y/N…”

“Please…” You gasped. “Stay away from me. I-I can’t anymore… no more. Please.”

“Y/N? What's wrong?” Dick queried. “Talk to us, please. We want to help.”

“No…” You whimpered. 

Damian squatted down beside you resting on the balls of his feet before reaching out slowly towards you, ignoring the warning glance that Jason sent his way, and placing it gently on your shoulder. 

Flinching, you squeezed your eyes shut. He could feel the way you trembled like a leaf under his touch but he didn’t let go.

“It’s just me Y/N. It’s Dami.”

You registered his words, but you still felt like you were back in that room. You allowed your body to relax just the smallest amount.

“It’s just us, kid. You’re okay.” Dick cooed. 

You sniffled. The four of them were crouched around you now.

“You can trust us.”

Your body tensed as you were hit with reminders of that night. The way he had led you away to commit his act of betrayal that would cut deeper than a thousand knives. 

“That’s what he said.” You hiccuped. 

“Who?” Tim asked tenderly. “Talk to us Y/N.”

You shook your head, biting down on your lip. You didn’t want to bring up the memory stuck in your mind. 

“Kid… we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s happening.”

“He- he… took me away from the crowds… He said to trust him- and I thought I could. B-but then he-” Your voice split into an unholy sob. 

“Oh..Y/N/N…” Dick said, suddenly understanding. 

“I can’t stop thinking about it. I can still feel him. Hear him. Just make it stop please!.” You begged, sobbing into your hands.”

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” He told you, reaching out gently to place a hand on your forearm, you tensed slightly but didn’t pull away. “We’re not going to let anyone hurt you. Ever.”

“We promise.”

You peeled your head away from your arms to reveal your bloodshot, teary eyes. From close up they could see how clearly the ordeal had taken a toll on you. Not just on your body but your mind too.

It took some convincing and a lot of gentle touches of reassurance to get you off of the floor, but the four of them managed to ease you back into your room. They refused to leave you alone after that. Insisting that at least one of them stay by your side at all times until you decided on your own terms that you were ready to take the next step in your recovery and stay the night alone. It was a slow process, but each small milestone made them extremely proud of you. They were there when you awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, crying and shaking, and they were there when you managed to move forwards too.  They were there to remind you that recovery isn’t linear, and that it was okay to move backwards. It’s all part of the process. The four of them showed you a different kind of gentleness that you had never seen before, and they tried their hardest to bring a smile to your face everyday. And it was their kindness that began to wash away those feelings. It was them who made you realise that you were loved, strong and would find your way back from the darkness and into the light.

[lesbianslvt666]

ellie has a huge crush on a flirty classmate who always wears very short skirts and one day they get together for a physics assignment and ellie asks the reader into her room and things get heated between them, something like ellie fucking the nonstop reader for hours straight omg 😮‍💨

Thinking thots rn

Not proofread

This was hard for Ellie, eight am classes were proven to be quiet the difficult task lately.

As soon as you entered the classroom your pretty scent illuminated and clouded all her senses.

Today your skirt was even shorter than the last one. You gave her a pretty smile and sat down to your now official seat.

To right next to her.

For the past two years Ellie had been hiding this little crush she had on you, at first it was easy, having only one class with you a week and with you seating to the opposite corner of the classroom, always paying attention and sometimes talking to your friends.

Ellie was in trance as soon as she saw you, pretty face, beautiful hair that seemed to change almost every month. And those skirts, good Lorde give her straight.

Ellie wasn’t the only one who notice how every semester your skirts got shorter and shorter, however she was always trying not to be a creep, keeping her eyes from wondering too long and trying to pay attention in class.

Just like today. Physics was one of Ellies favourite subjects, and DR. Lasky was her favourite professor, still, she hadn't heard a thing until now, the whole classroom booing at him.

"boohoo! Is your fault, none of you are paying attention to my class, therefore, I'll be the one to pick each other's partners!" his mischievous smile while saying that made Ellie and you chuckle at the same time, both looking at each other in surprise and when you caught her eyes, both turn back to look at the Lasky.

Warm cheeks and fast beating hearts connected.

This always happens at class, somehow both of you speak at the same time or laugh at the same small details. It made Ellies mind go wild and as Dina once told her "bitch you delulu" while rolling her eyes when Ellie told her you had said the same answer as her at the same time.

"okay, I'll do this with closed eyes" he picked two random people from the list of students and wrote them in the whiteboard.

One pair, two pairs.

Your name.

Followed by hers.

"fuck" she said under her breath, not looking at you.

"so I need this finished by Friday, today is… Tuesday second, so…" he said writing in big bold red letters "Friday 5th" I won't receive any, and I mean it! Homework after this date…" his voice steady while picking up his things, the assignment written beneath the date.

"hey, umm… Ellie right?" you pretty voice fogged every outside noise. She looked to where you were sitting, and to her surprise you were closer to her, leaning on her chair thinking she could hear you better this way.

Her blood flush from her neck to her ears, you were so close to her…

"yeah, that’s… um, that’s me!" she said with an awkward smile that melted our heart… and your panties…

"look, I was thinking if maybe we could start today? I have to finish another assignment for the week, so, it would be a relive if we could finish this first" your rant was followed by a sigh that ended your sentence and Ellie could picture you in other ways only with that

"yeah, um sure, like right now its fine? This was my last class of the day so…" her eyes fell to your legs again, she couldn’t stop herself, she wanted to squeeze them hard…

"umm, sure, I just… I do have another class, 'tsa short one, but if you send me your location I get to your place as soon as I am out, you have my number right?" you told her hurriedly, trying to get to your next class as soon as possible.

"yeah, yeah I have it, I texted you some study material the other week so…" she was a bit disappointed you even asked…

"perfect, fuck.. Umm, see ya' Ells. And um… text me your location!" your words hurry and your demeanour apologetic. You were sorry you had to leave her like that, but you'll make it up to her…

When Ellie arrived to her place she sent you her location and left her phone on her bed, she was kind of disappointed at how awkward she was around you.

She put some music and cleaned a bit, she wanted to give you a good impression, but her cleaning session was cut short when she heard the doorbell.

She opened the door to a smiling dripping you, clothes so wet they were sticking to your skin, your white shirt letting her know you weren't wearing a bra.

"hey… can I come in? is cold out here…" you said apologetically, soft smile clouding your features.

And she let you in, taking your bag and dragging you to her bathroom.

"let me get you a towel, and some clothes" she tossed you a towel a bit harder than she intended, the cloth falling in your head which only made you laugh hard, her cheeks went bright red, you looked spectacular…

"what, why? What happened to you?" her voice muffled by rooming around her closed trying to get you something comfortable to wear.

"one of your shirts is fine, I mean, it's only you and I right" you told her when you saw her compare her clothes, trying to find something that would fit you, due to her being taller than you.

She looked back at you, you were taking your clothes off without a second thought, fuck…

"so basically I went to my class and as soon as entered the classroom the teacher called on sick, I thought of getting something nice for us to eat but it's raining in the city right now so before I could get to the restaurant I like to order take out, the rain washed me over, so yeah…" you took Ellies shirt from her hand, she was looking at you and you didn’t mind.

As on queue the heavy droplets of water started to poor down, the sound relaxing to you.

You seamed clueless to Ellies crush on you but you truly did noticed, how she always looked at your legs, or at your breast, that’s why you always sat beside her, how you waved your hair a bit when you sit down, how you cross your legs in a way she could easily see you, how you always gave her something to think about… and now, how she was eating you all…

So you didn’t mind giving her a show…

Sitting on her bed while looking at her, she travelled to your eyes and shied, oh not right now…

"look at me Ellie…" you didn’t expecting your voice to come out so needy, and Ellie followed your command. You opened your legs for her, her shirt covering your nipples riding up until your panties were at her focal point, she almost fell to her knees.

"can I taste?" her voice somehow seemed more demanding than yours, as if both papers were inverse.

She was making it hard for you, hard for you to resist. Your hand travelled to your covered tit, toying with your nipple. "yes Ellie, fuck…" her hand now touching your lips on top of your underwear, she was going to go insane, the fabric so soaked with your sticky essence, tight on your cunt.

The hand that was on your boob made its way to her face, grabbing her by her chin and pushing her down to her knees, her face in direct contact with your heating pussy.

"don’t be shy now angel…" she took the words out of your mouth because she latched on to your clothed cunt, sucking on it through the cottony material.

You were squirming, moaning her name shamelessly, you knew she lived alone so you didn’t hid from her, how good she was making you feel.

She took your panties off and without wasting another second she went back to her place, the place where she belongs.

In between your thighs.

And she sucked and pull and massage your pussy for what it felt like hours to no end, the pleasure was getting too unbearable, a glowing feeling at the pit of your stomach signalling you that you were about to cum. To Ellie, the signal came from your twitching cunt, how you were closing on nothing, clenching empty.

So she gave you what you needed, one finger in, your pussy sucked it all the way, your moans filling the room and the squelching sounds mixing with it. Ellie felt high, the way you said her name while harshly pulling on your tits, face relaxed, eyes shut and mouth wide open.

While fingering with her tatted hand she took your face with her free one, veiny fingers guiding you to where she wanted you.

right beneath her.

"open your eyes angel" and so you did, you mouth still wide from the pleasure, and she took it as an opportunity, a glob of spit falling form her pretty lips to your hot tongue.

Your eyes rolled back on your head, how fucking dare she be this hot…

One orgasm, two orgasm, one water brake.

"so, I was thinking, maybe we could continue this until the rain is over…" you said sitting on her lap, both completely naked, glistening thighs from both of your wetness…

She smiled at you, her arm hugging you at your waist making you giggle. She unlocked her phone and opened the weather app. "here says that the rain will be over till tomorrow eight am" she said, smirk spreading all over her face.

this was shorter than expected... sorryyyyyyy

[yggdrasilhypno]

So I have a question for you, if you don’t mind.

Can you resist someone hijacking your brain?

I mean, seriously. Can you?

I’d hope and imagine so, it’s not that hard to resist someone.

All it takes is some mental fortitude and focus on something and it’s easy peasy.

After all, you’re resisting control now!

Come on, don’t tell me you have no idea what’s going on right now.

This is all a ploy to have your brain drop its walls with reverse psychology, you figured that out by now I’d think.

And if you didn’t, well that’s not entirely a bad thing.

You see, when it comes to covert and the ideals behind it, it’s one of those things where if you don’t already know the tricks of the trade, it can be difficult to spot.

Think of it like a magic trick, the first time you see it you can’t believe your eyes but once you learn the truth behind it, it makes a ton of sense.

That’s essentially what covert is, and that’s what resistance is too!

Resistance at first seems surefire, like you could do it in your sleep.

However, once you really investigate how the brain is peeled back ever so easily, it becomes a bit harder to even gauge where resistance lies.

Do you resist the words im telling you, or resist the ideas behind them?

Am I hiding something within these words, or is it simply another ploy to lower your walls?

You can see where this all comes from, right?

Resisting me isn’t hard at all, I invite you to do it when you can.

Not because it’s something I always want for you, I do indeed want you to fall when listening to my words.

But, we both know what happens at the end of it.

You fall anyways.

It’s an inevitability.

That’s what makes it fun.

Like jumping out of a plane, you know your parachute will open and you’ll fall safely to the ground.

Resistance is the same in hypnosis.

You know you can resist, and it’s fun to try and fight that inner voice telling you to melt for me.

That’s why I invite it.

It makes it more fun for the both of us.

I want you to notice though that again, im using resistance as a ploy once more.

Simply telling you to resist me.

You know about reverse psychology, don’t you?

I mean, it would be silly for you not to think im using it right now.

I’m telling you to resist so that you hear those echoes in your brain.

Telling you to let down those walls because you know it’s your fate now.

And yet, you can still resist me.

You can still resist my control.

Or you may find yourself slipping anyways.

Maybe I told you to resist.

Maybe I told you to fall.

That’s the best part about knowing your fate though.

Like I said earlier, it’s all about that inevitability.

That you’ll fall soon enough.

And you will, don’t worry.

Hell, you may have already fallen and not realized.

Maybe you’re so deep now that the pretty fog inside your brain’s already destroying every thought you have.

Maybe every thought you have now is just something I told you to think.

But, that’s the best part about it all.

You don’t know what’s going on.

Why you feel the way you do.

And it’s okay not to.

Sometimes, it’s better to sink and enjoy the ride.

Or enjoy resisting me still.

You have been resisting me still, haven’t you?

No?

Yes?

Does it matter?

You’re still going to fall anyways.

It’s not like I’ve been brainwashing you in and out and in and out of resistance this entire time.

It’s not like you’ve had any to begin with anyways.

I could’ve just been using all sorts of reverse psychology on you.

Who truly knows?

Not you, that’s for sure.

You see, that’s the best part of the fall.

When we get here, to the end of this little adventure.

And you know what comes next.

I’ve told you a million times already about it.

You may even believe that number, it’s not like everything else I’ve told you has been fabricated.

But there’s one part to all of this that is the truth.

The ending.

You fall.

Just like that.

And sink, melt, drop, dream into the abyss once more.

And just remember for me, for a moment if you can.

When I started talking about resistance.

Don’t remember? That’s okay.

Maybe you didn’t have any before we started.

Maybe I just broke it all down.

But, you knew all along anyways.

You were gonna fall.

Good subject.

[vraisetzen]

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒍 – 𝑨 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Summary: Kokushibo practices; you watch.

Tags: NSFW, 18+, Smut, No use of (y/n)

Author's Note: A short writing practice to assure myself that I, in fact, still can write. Enjoy!

Sometimes, you wake in the middle of the night, and — realising that Kokushibo is not beside you — you find yourself prowling through the dark, unlit halls of his dwelling, peeking through paper doors and pressing your ear against shutters.

And every time you will always find him there, in the final room at the end of the path, his silhouette softly traced by the flickering of candles, its flame wavering to the gusts of wind sent forth by his sword as Kokushibo practices.

You are riveted by the way he moves — surely and silently, swinging his blade in a single arc to meet just a hair's breadth away from the marionette.

Kokushibo is strong, stronger than anyone, anything you have ever seen — this creature of the night who has lived for so many untold years and honed his art to perfection, and you never cease to be amazed by his craft, coming to a stop just shy of the room, crooking your head slightly over the gap in the doors.

There are no flaws, no openings to be discerned in his advance; the certainty of his stance, matched by the rippling of his hakama as he draws back before lunging forward once more in a different swing, the fabric coiling around his thighs–

Those thighs that you have straddled on countless nights as you rode him to pleasure, watching the monstrous countenance below your body give in to the slick, plush embrace of your sex.

How his eyes never leave yours, in the same manner as he is concentrated on the marionette now. His hands that grip his sword as deftly as he handles you, rough calluses that press up against the softness of your skin as he guides you over his cock, each plunge sending you into the warm, honeyed pools of pleasure.

A shiver shudders through your body as you close your eyes, letting your visions pass — no, it will not do for you let your thoughts take control of your faculties now. Kokushibo did not appreciate distractions during practice; he will certainly not be keen on satisfying your urges while he belayed his repetitions.

Or will he?

It was difficult for you to tell, for he did not require rest. With his demonic constitution, Kokushibo could continue without exhaustion, just as how over and over he repeats his motions: side step, sweep of the arm, bringing the sword down, stopping just before the marionette; then, back step, retreat, an undercut, blade slicing through the air. Behind the weight of his motions — light as air, dense as fog — like the collective knowledge of an immortal being, one that can only come with experience.

Just as how he carries you into his arms, folding you at the hip to ease into your sex, your cries breaking into a whine as the tip of his cock brushes that delicious spot inside you.

Your body is a manuscript to which only he can read, and he thrusts purposefully into your core, slipping against your aching walls, coaxing moans from your throat and bestowing sharp, biting kisses across your collar and down to your breasts...

You chastise yourself for getting carried away with your flights of fancy once more. But as you shift yourself to kneel more comfortably on the floor, you feel arousal clinging undeniably onto your sex through your nightclothes.

Your lips catch between your teeth as you fight back a whimper, and then a sigh. Clenching your hands into fists, you concentrate on the sight before you, adamant to ignore the stirrings of pleasure that have unfurled at the mere sight of your lover at his mettle.

From beneath the wide sleeves of his kimono, you can see his forearms; sinew tightening beneath the weaving of veins, green and blue against his pale pallor. There was something indelible about seeing this display of strength and confidence; though you are ignorant in the matters of swordsmanship, the most primal part of you knew danger when you saw it.

More than his being a demon, Kokushibo was an predator, and you his willing creature.

And in many ways, it mirrored his domineering ways in the bedroom when it was just you and he.

Those three pairs of eyes that will not let you out of his sight as he chases your pleasure, running circles around you with the barest flick of his fingers and the nimble swipe of his tongue until you are breathless, protesting for more.

Your slim fingers curling around his arms as he finally moves on top of and inside you, sliding in one motion until he is tuck to the hilt. Your knuckles turning white as you parted your legs further to receive him, your back arching into his heated ministrations.

This time, you do not cast these intruding thoughts aside, indulging a little more as you admire his posture. You could lose yourself in him for hours if your human body could allow it — your sex throbs at the mere thinking of spending the rest of the hours with him, as you wonder how he might take to you being here, watching him. In this dwelling of his, you cannot tell dawn from dusk, only wakefulness and sleep, you and him.

"Do you intend to sit there all evening?" he asks suddenly, breaking your reverie. It takes you one, two seconds to realise he is speaking to you, and then embarrassment washes over as you respond in what can be barely construed as a squeak.

I was only passing by, you try to explain, but the doors slid further open with a bang as Kokushibo takes a step forward to you in a split second, his stature towering over your kneeling form. You look up at him, eyes wide and body frozen at the sudden scrutiny.

Or perhaps he might be kinder than you realise. A beast though he may be, even the most basest of creatures have their needs. And it becomes all the more apparent as his gaze rakes over your body: the strands of your hair that cling to your forehead from stooping in the stuffy hallway, the tense set of your shoulders and knees as you swim against the rivers of your arousal.

"It is just as well," Kokushibo says after a beat. He loosens his own collar as his eyes settles on the open neck of your nightclothes, which betrays but a tiny sliver of your breasts.

With another tug, Kokushibo eases himself of his kimono, and you are regaled with the sight of his bare chest; his perspiration catches the dull light of the candle, its sheen bringing the smooth muscles into sharp relief. You lick your lips as you imagine its salt on your tongue, before letting your gaze lift to his face gingerly, testing the waters.

In a flourish, Kokushibo grabs you by your arm and pulls you to your feet; before you can protest, he is steering you towards the centre of the room.

"I was starting to wonder when you might wake," he continues, tipping you back with a simple nudge of his finger on your shoulder. Your legs crumple as you sit obediently on the floor; Kokushibo parts them with a firm hand on your knee as he descends on you, closing the distance between your bodies. He nudges his hips against yours, and you feel the tent in his hakama, heavy and hot in the valley of your sex.

The thick spell of his musk — raw, animalic, like a beast in heat, floods your senses. You palm his chest, the pads of your fingers catching on sticky sweat and gooseflesh. Kokushibo grouses as he dives for your neck, unfastening your clothes with ease. You respond to him readily, slipping out of the fabric like clockwork to give him your bare body.

The spark he sends across your bodies is pure electricity, far brighter than the new fangled lights they have on display in the city. It is neither daylight nor moonlight, but an abstract under which you contend with basking, a tantalising glow of the inferno that is to come.

This too, you think gaily, is practice.

For more of my writings, check out my AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vraisetzen/pseuds/vraisetzen

[alostlovergirl]

Marriage of Convenience

(Not my gif)

Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Summary: He really needs a wife.

Tags: arranged marriage, some of Loki questioning his feelings (?), reader questioning her feelings (?)

Note: This is going to have a few parts… so let’s see how much I can pump out of this story.

Part 2: The Marriage Pt3: The Sex

It started out as a simple suggestion. “If you want to be around her so much, why not marry her?”, more as an unfunny joke from his father rather than a suggestion and it earned an eyeroll from the teenage prince of mischief with a huff. He didn’t think about it, simply feeling seen and comfortable with his childhood best friend, spending all the time he was supposed to be training with her. She was a just a random villager that he met as a young child when she snuck into his room during a party his father threw. They have been inseparable since, building a nice friendship that would last for lifetimes as his mother would put it. This friendship also gained her family royal protection, keeping Loki’s friend safe from all harm that would be sent Asgard’s way. Now, since he was being forced into an arranged marriage to a woman he barely knew, he was starting to consider asking her to marry him.

He makes his way to the city, thinking about how he was about to ask her. Should he be direct about it? Or should he try to sugarcoat this as much as possible so that his friend wouldn’t think he was weird? It was a dire situation for him because he didn’t want to marry at all, he wanted to be free to do as he please, not have a wife or husband nagging him 24/7 about his kingly duties. He wanted a throne, but not like this. Thor gave up the throne, in pursuit of being a warrior that protects Asgard instead of a king, leaving the crown to the second and youngest son. This marriage came about for him to accept the crown, with a wife by his side or he could forget about even inheriting the throne. He walks past the townspeople, going towards a small stone house in the middle of the city, a smile gathering on his face. He was always excited, like a little puppy, to see his best friend cause its his little chance to be happy for a few hours a day. He made for his favorite woman no matter what he was doing, even if he was injured from a battle, he would limp his way to her to come lay on her couch, listening to her worry about his wellbeing.

He loved her… well being her friend. The two of them were perfect for each other, in more ways than Loki is ready to admit right now. He knocks on the door, standing back from her oak door, looking over the tidy little home she has made for herself. As soon as she opened the door, he is greeted by his smiling friend with a laundry basket being held into her hip by her forearm. “My prince.”

He snorts a reply. “You know I don’t like you calling me that...” That just made her laugh a bit, immediately letting the god into her home, closing the door and trapping in the warm air in her home. He liked being in her home. It was so much more comforting than his chaotic life of royalty. It was a nice place for him to relax, especially when she gives him an empty, golden mug and fills it with his favorite wine. “You owe me 90 coins for that expensive ass wine, mister.” She teases him, smiling before going back to her little area in the middle of her carpet, scrubbing at her clothes. Loki followed her into the laundry room and sits in a stool in the corner, resting the mug in between his leather cladded thighs, watching her wash her clothes vigorously.

“So, what brings you to my home, friend?” she asked, peering up at him as she scrubbed up and down with the soapy brush, hands already rough from the number of times she has scrapped herself.  Her question fogged his mind because he never really thought about how he should ask her to marry him. He has never shown no type of interest towards her, considering he never let himself feel those types of feelings, making this more difficult to imagine her having a positive reaction to his proposal, but unless he marries the spoiled brat of a princess that he is going to be promised to soon, he better just come out with it. He takes a deep breath, picking up his mug and chugging it before putting it down on the floor. The God kneels in front of his friend, grabbing her hands from the warm water and squeezing them tightly. “I need your help... and this is not like me to ask for help as you know, but I am about to be promised to a woman that I simply cannot marry...”

Her eyebrow raised, confusion filling her face as soon as he grabbed her hands with such a tenderness that she had never seen. Loki, being a trickster, every time he has seen her, he has scared the living shit out of her. Now, here he was, unexpectedly popping up at her door and looking at her with such desperation in his eyes. Just how bad was this woman that he was being betrothed too? She relaxes her shoulders and looks at him, a nervous smile appearing on her face as she wonders how much trouble she is going to be in for the idea he is about to suggest. She was already on Odin’s trouble list. Nothing could have possibly prepared her for what he was about to ask her to do.

“I am going to invite you to dinner tonight... and I am going to propose to you in front of my father, mother, brother and my betrothed. It will pull me out the engagement with her and it will put me in an engagement with you.” He said it so casually, as if he wasn’t asking her to accept a marriage proposal to him and possibly uproot her peaceful life to being in the public eye 24/7. She went quiet, not sure how to respond and not making eye contact with him as she thought about the suggestion. “You are basically asking me to enter a fake marriage with you? Would we get married, Loki?”

He sighs, looking down a bit, losing a bit of his confidence. This is not like him at all. “I could try to hold it off as much as possible, but we would have to get married. See, my father has told me that I would have to inherit his throne to retire him and my mother. Thor would have been the perfect choice. Already married and the first son... but he gave up the throne, leaving me with the burden of finding a wife.” Her stomach was swirling with nausea and butterflies, thinking about how the hell she was supposed to handle the responsibility of being the Queen of Asgard. She has seen Frigga’s workload, and it is not nothing that she doesn’t ever want to inherit. Seeing her hesitance, he started to plead. “Please. It is a selfish request I ask of you, my dear friend… but I cannot marry that woman.” He held her hands, tighter. “She is annoying...”

She laughed, snorting a bit and breaking the tension in the room. “She is that annoying that you ask your friend to marry you?” she jokes, pushing her hands upwards and holding his forearms, leaning a bit closer to him. “If I do this for you, promise that it won’t get weird?”

He nods immediately, pulling her into a tight hug, grateful for her acceptance. “I promise, friend.”

When the night came along, the nerves were starting to set in. She was friends with Loki, but she had never been inside his private room and here she was, sitting there in a silk gown that was cold against her skin. She played drums on her thighs as she waited for Loki to get dressed for tonight’s dinner. She was about to proposed to… for the sake of her friend. She didn’t know why she was so incredibly nervous, enough to feel like she was about to throw up. “How do you sleep in here?!” she called out to her friend, who was with a servant in his giant closet. She was trying to break the mood with a little joke. “It seems so uncomfortable in here... I don’t think I would get a wink of sleep in here.”

It made Loki chuckle from the closet, a rustle of leather against leather being heard. “It’s comfortable... warm and the bed helps. I sleep like a brick most nights...” She giggles, running a hand through her hair. Even his voice seemed to calm her, making her smile more times than she wanted to admit. He finally steps out, dressed in his normal outfit, without the cape and hair slicked back with gel. His heavy horned crown sat upon his hair, framing him out perfectly. He gives her a little spin, fishing for some compliments. “How’d I look?”

“Like my Loki...” she hums, standing up, still a bit wobbly in the heels he had chosen to wear. He said it would impress his father if she stood a bit taller, almost the same height as Loki. She walked over to him, adjusting his crown and making it crooked on his head, earning a signature grin from him. Loki, since he has grown from the young boy that she befriended, has grown into a handsome young man. It made her feel something in the pit of her stomach that she ignored completely. “Seriously, you do look good. How do I look?” She gave him a little smile before pulling back from him, letting him see her outfit. He just smiles, eyes raking over her body in a, what he hoped, friendly way.

“Amazing.” He simply says.

He takes her warm hand into his cold ones, leaving the room with her. He enjoyed the little jokes she could make even before meeting his father, making him feel like something that he couldn’t ignore. The feeling made him feel nauseated and excited at the same time, leading her down the hall to the dining room. She looked absolutely ravishing in her dress, not helping the feeling. He straightened his posture as he could hear his father and the father of his betrothed laughing, heartily. The smell of meat and sweets filled his senses as he opened the door, leading his friend to her seat before taking his seat next to her.

The dinner went as expected, introducing herself to the king and queen in a respectful way. Saying hello to Thor and greeting the lady, who was giving her some death glares from across the table. She keeps her demeanor poised, something that she and Loki would laugh about later. When the proposal comes along, it comes after dessert and a little nod of approval towards his son from Odin. She could hear an audible breath from Loki as he stood up from his chair and moved it. He takes her hand, gently and lifts her up from her seat, pulling her almost too close to him, feeling his breath encase her face, making her shiver a bit. “Just act surprised... afterwards... I am going to kiss you to really sell it.” He whispered, looking into her eyes and making sure she understood her assignment. She nods, slightly and backs away from the prince, watching in fake surprise as he drops to one knee, spewing out some fake sympathy words. Hell, he even earned some fake tears from her as he opened the ring box. The story he was really trying to sell here was that two of them had been in a relationship for quite awhile before now and gods, was she selling it especially. A little squeal and an excited nod when he asked for her hand in marriage really made his betrothed, who they had totally forgotten about, angry enough to leave the room. The relief she felt radiating off his body was enough to relax her as he slid the ring on her finger.

She had totally forgotten about the kiss… she almost bit his lip when he did kiss her, pulling her in closer by her hips and her hands on his board chest. The kiss felt electric, feeling a wetness gather between her legs that she never felt for her friend. He pulls back, saliva connecting their lips and a weird look on her face that she had never seen before from Loki. It was like a hungry look… like that kiss had awoken something in him and it would have only gotten weirder if he wasn’t snapped back to the reality that he was standing in front of his parents and brother by them clapping.

She was now engaged to her best friend... Oh god, where does she go from here?

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕤 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ꜱᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴡᴇᴇᴛ

⋆ ★ ᴜʜ ʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ ɪ ꜱᴘᴇᴡᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Hunter

The sergeant is very unruly in the bathroom.

He is the shittiest person to share a fresher with.

Somehow manages to leave the whole thing wet as he gets out of the shower, has hair all in the drains and clinging to the shower wall, and the mirror is totally fogged up to the point you have to air out the room for a solid few minutes.

All of his hair products and body care stuff also take up so much counter space, leaving barely enough for yours (which is much more minimal).

You’re trying your best to help Hunter implement new, better habits as time goes on, but it’s proving difficult.

He’d never believe you, but you might insist he’s this way because he likes to relax and not bother in the fresher, as it’s the only time for himself to truly unwind and enjoy himself.

But no. That can’t be the reason why. Right?

Tech

He is a CHRONIC nail biter and skin picker.

It’s just a constant fiddle thing.

Helps him focus on something but he also just gets picky with the state of his nails and the skin surrounding it.

Consistently gets to a point where the poor things are red and swollen and just look painful.

Subtly you try to make him stop; switching to a new soap, coating his nails with bad tasting polish and finish, etc.

It doesn’t work.

He somehow always manages to swerve around it and continue biting his nails.

One day you’ll find a strategy to get him to stop; hint, it might be letting him fiddle around with your hands a little…

Wrecker

Sloppy with food. Like, very sloppy.

If you hand him a full plate, a good portion of it will find its way onto the table, the floor, his pants, his shirt, and the surrounding area of his mouth.

He just can’t seem to keep it all in one place.

It’s not that big of a deal; if he’s truly conscious about it, he won’t actively make a mess (though he might still get some on his clothes and mouth), but a lot of the time, he isn’t.

Either way, it’s kind of charming. Seeing him snarf down food enthusiastically only fits so well with the rest of his character.

Crosshair

This man’s sleep schedule is fuuuuucked; more fucked than Tech’s, even.

He will go to bed early, wake up in the middle of night and stay up until the morning when he finally does fall asleep for a few hours but is forced to wake up and start the day.

Or alternatively, he’ll go to bed very late, sleep until noon, and spend his day taking minor naps only continuing his habit of sleeping later.

The worst part is he doesn’t make any effort to fix it and practically enables it.

What kind of fucked up form of masochism is this? you think.

He’s a quiet riser and sleeper so this habit of his manages not to affect anyone else, but it especially bothers you out of your care for crosshair and his well-being.

You might try and coax him to sleep and wake up at proper times with you, and it might work every now and then— but Crosshair’s sleep schedule doesn’t follow anyone’s orders.

Echo

This boy has really bad posture.

It’s not very obvious compared to Tech’s posture, but it causes him lots of shoulder and neck aches, especially when he’s sitting in the cockpit for too long.

You make jokes about getting him a back brace and he grumbles with a laugh, “I already got enough metal hooked up to me.”

Sometimes when you notice it and see him rubbing at his neck, you get his attention and sweetly tell him ‘shoulders up, love.’

Without fail, he does so with a soft smile and leans over to kiss your cheek as a way of thanking you for the reminder.

ragu list: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dukeoftheblackstar @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @aconstructofamind @padawancat97 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @mandos-mind-trick @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @andrakass2 @jesjestraverse @crosshairlovebot @wizardofrozz @dangraccoon @lickylickylicky @captainfresh501 @thebomb-diggity @urmomsmattress @jedi-hawkins @who-would-want-a-broken-heart @cw80831 @bluebird-dreams @ladyzirkonia @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen @eyeluvmusic21 @mythical-illustrator @a-single-tulip

[obriengf]

Empatheia ✽ Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: The trio investigate the meaning behind Scott’s dream, while Y/N searches for her own answers from Derek Hale.  Words: 9.8k Warnings: swearing, awkwardness, not proof read ✽  Series masterlist  ✽  

Chapter Three: 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 /Part 1

Exhausted was beyond an understatement when it came to the way you were curled up against the pillows of your bed; textbooks were found discarded by your feet and the soft glow of your bedside lamp created a gentle yellow haze over your face. You were lacking peacefulness in your slumber, as seen in the way your heavy eyes clung with scrunched edges and your pursed lips that quivered every so often in time with a disrupting element of your dream. Your new life didn’t account for worriless sleep and easy days, neither did it give room for you to take a deep breath and embrace somewhat of an eventless few hours. No, your life was now branded by a thick fog and clouded by shadows, everything of which you knew was now questionable, and the people that you once assumed had since been altered by new elements and revelations. This life was difficult and sceptical, and maybe that’s why you just simply couldn’t get enough. Valerie was more observant that you were giving her credit for - always watching, always paying attention to how you’ve changed so dramatically over the past couple of weeks. She took notice in your new company and how conversations were now hushed when she was near, even how you took more frequent journeys in the neighbour’s old blue Jeep rather than her car when it was offered to you instead. She saw the more prevalent darkened circles that tore down your eyes more and more each day, and how your face refused to settle when you managed to sleep. But what she especially discerned the most, was the way you flinched at any present emotion that was, at first, not of your own. She couldn’t quite tear her gaze away as it settled with discomfort over your sleeping stature – reminded of the nightmares that would plague your dreams and how they twisted their way into a scar that she hoped you would never have to bear. History repeating itself, she thought.

The only sound that could be heard between the walls of your house was the gentle creak of a door closing behind an anxious Aunt. She wandered with soft steps downstairs, hiding herself in the furthest corner of the kitchen. You were out like a light, but she couldn’t risk being overheard as she flicked through her phone, selecting a contact that she hoped she wouldn’t need to call upon. Valerie took a deep breath as it rang through, repeated tones sounding against her ear that built uneasiness with every loop.

“Hello?”  The voice was rough, raspy as if interrupted from a sleep stage. Valerie nearly felt bad for calling at such an hour, until she remembered the reason.

She drew a deep breath, eyes closing momentarily as her head lent back against the fridge door, “You told me to call you when it was happening again.”

“Who-? Valerie?” A sigh was released in reply, shuffling through the receiver following next. The voice stilled for a second or two before it returned, “I’m guessing you’ve noticed it too.”

“Noticed it? It’s hard not to notice! It’s starting to control her life!” Worry got the better of her as your Aunt snapped, mentally cursing at herself at the volume she didn’t intended on amplifying.

“- Val, calm down.” She didn’t how the other voice remained so steady, but it prompted her to draw a deep breath and lull her head back once more. The voice was losing its roughness; becoming more alert, more awake, “We’ll figure it out, we’ll help her… she won’t reach the same fate, I promise.”

“Is that a promise you really can keep, Derek? From what I know, she’s just like her mother, and you know damn well more than anyone else how that played out…”  Valerie was growing protective – more so than usual. It didn’t help in the slightest that you are the spitting image of your mother, and every time your Aunt closed her eyes, all that she can picture is you in that hospital stretcher instead, covered in blood and grasping at the thin thread of life that happened to slip through your mother’s fingers. Destiny had a funny way of making things happen, but she would sell her soul if it meant that you didn’t have to end on that same fate.

Derek sighed once more, agitated at his inability to guarantee safety and happiness. That’s all he wanted for you, but the chance was growing slimmer by the second. “I’ll look again, alright? My mom’s journal has to be here somewhere.” The man glanced around the charred remains of his family home, flickers of candlelight creating shadows among the dilapidated structure, “She would’ve hidden it, the fire… it would have been safe from the flames. That’s something I can promise.”

“Just look out for her, please, Derek.”

He wouldn’t find that difficult – you were nearly glued to Scott McCall’s hip now and that young wolf was tying with you for first place on his list of things to stress about most. Kill two birds with one stone. Derek chuckled lightly, “Won’t be an issue.”

You would hardly deem yourself as ready when you heard three loud rasps of knuckles against the wood of your front door. Slightly charred toast half hung from your filled mouth, hands busily working to tie the laces of your sneakers, and you were glad that you weren’t hardly uncoordinated enough that you couldn’t multitask. Valerie snorted in amusement as she watched you; the same expression she wore when you were bumbling down the stairs not even twenty minutes ago, cursing about how you nearly missed your alarm. Not that she could blame you, really – your Aunt heard the softened whines from the nightmare you were having last night, but knew better than to wake you. Some things just need to be sought through instead of interrupted.

The knocks were heard again, and it made you groan, peering to your Aunt as she coddled the coffee mug against her smiling lips. Your eyebrows rose, voice muffled, “Drrr.”

“What was that?” She questioned, fake obliviousness in her tone.

“Drrr. Kh new get uh drrr?”

She nodded as she snickered at your reply, “Ah, would you like me to get the door?” And your eyeroll was enough of a confirmation before she sauntered to the front of the house, smiling as she shortly became face to face with the neighbour’s kid.

“Mornin’ Valerie.” Stiles chirped, hand straight as it pulled away from his forehead in a welcoming salute.

Your Aunt simply copied his gesture before moving to the side, allowing a space just large enough for Stiles’ frame to fit through. “Hello, Stiles. C’mon in”. The dainty steam from her mug continued to dance over her face, prompting her to blow gently for it to waft into the hallway. She peered over her shoulder at the boy, lips curling at the corners, “You might as well just have your own key at this rate, seeming you’re here every day.”

“Oh, I already have one.” The boy let slip, his tone quiet as it absentmindedly fell in a mumble. It was loud enough, however, for Valerie to stop and twist her torso just enough to nearly face him. Her eyebrow rose in question and Stiles couldn’t hold back the awkward chuckle that he released, “Ya know, for emergencies!”

Valerie hummed, seemingly not convinced, but found the subject better to leave as it was. She always knew that Stiles Stilinski was an odd kid – he was too smart for his own good, but he exercised it in ways that made her wonder how Noah was still clinging to threads of sanity. His attention deficit disorder made him very vigorous, and she was used to seeing him as a young boy ride his bicycle up and down the street for hours, just to release said energy. He was constantly on the move and never seemed to slow down, using his intelligence to cause harmless mischief and drive his parents completely crazy. Valerie had also always known that Stiles Stilinski was a good kid. He was thankful for his parents, polite when his mother used to strike up conversations with Valerie in the driveway, helpful when asked for assistance, and overall kind-hearted. Your Aunt saw this more after your mother died – when you moved into the bedroom across the fence from Stiles’, he became an instant friend. She saw him care for you and pick up pieces that continuously shattered. He was your rock, your comfort, and he eventually became your light.

So, in truth, Valerie would always view Stiles as that weird kid next door, but she also held him highly for the large heart he carried so well.

 “I’m ready, let’s go.” Your voice interjected from the living room, bag slung over your shoulder and just enough concealer to cover the purple rings that pulled down from your eyes. The attempt to cover your exhaustion and lack of peaceful sleep was good enough to the unknowing – but Valerie and Stiles’ smiles fell just slightly, the truth clear as a sunny day, as they briefly scanned over your face.

It was your cue to shift your gaze to your scuffed sneakers before a cough cleared your throat and you pushed between them both. You knew that they provided you with looks of concern, and somewhat even surprise, but the last thing you wanted was the be the centre of some very unwanted attention. It was best to escape the awkwardness before it settled. With an arm effortlessly linking with your neighbour’s, you pulled him toward the front door with a goodbye call over your shoulder to your amused Aunt.

Slight anxiousness bubbled in Valerie’s chest, and you could’ve sworn you tasted it briefly on your tongue. She called after you, “Have a good day, and be safe!”

It wasn’t too long until you had crawled into the backseat of the Jeep, Scott slipping haphazardly into the passenger side you nursed for a mere ten minutes beforehand. He immediately dropped his head to the window, a guttural groan easily filling the space around you all and creating weak condensation against the glass. Stiles’ thick brows rose to his hairline in question as his eyes caught yours through the rear-view mirror – all you could do was shrug in response.

“You, ah…” Stiles started, reversing out of the McCall driveway, “You all good there, Scotty boy?” He was met with muffled speech, the glass once again fogging due to the inaudible response. Stiles pursed his lips, “Can you repeat that? Away from the window?”

Another groan was exhaled, “Couldn’t sleep last night.”

Stiles hummed, his head dropping into a nod of acknowledgement, voice quieting as he flicked on the indicator and peered down the street for morning traffic, “Seems to be a common thing around here.”

It was difficult to not conjure a bit of remorse for your werewolf friend. Sleeping wasn’t something that you could call a prize possession during these times; your eyes, even now, still fluttering from lack of slumber as you tried to hold back a yawn. You sighed, leaning in between the two front seats, “What happened Scott? Did’ya have a bad dream?”

His head lulled to the side, rolling over the headrest so lazily until his gentle gaze peered into yours, “I-I don’t know… it felt so real, whatever it was…”

Silence enveloped the Jeep for a brief moment; aside from the clutch grating whenever Stiles changed gears, and the morning tunes of the radio murmuring weakly. You could see the stress stem so easily from Scott’s eyes and it made you worry, trauma peeking through due to whatever horrors he saw.

Your lips curled in as your face softened, an attempt at holding back your sympathy was made so that it wasn’t mistaken for pity, “Well, how about you start with what your dream was about?”

“I was with Allison, we were… looking for somewhere private –“The boy started, his view tipping to look out the windshield as the Jeep navigated Beacon Hills’ suburbia.

He was interrupted, however, as you held up your hand and scoffed “I swear, Scott, if this is some kind of wet dream, I will hit you - “

Scott jumped, the accusation prompting his body to jolt awake before his jaw was dropping and his tone spiked highly, “-NO! No, let me finish” The young wolf’s head shook with incredulity, ignoring Stiles as he chuckled beside him. Scott’s breath drew deep, “We were at the school, just hanging out… and maybe making out, b-but that’s not the point!”

Stiles’ sounds of amusement died quickly, his eyes rolling, silently mocking his friend until he caught Scott’s judgemental glare beside him, “What? I didn’t say anything!” He muttered as the Jeep edged closer to Beacon Hills High. The sunlight was sharp; beams of gold flickering through the windows, filling the cabin of the Jeep with the Californian warmth, whilst also creating sparkles of mischief within Stiles’ delinquent wink into the rear-view mirror. You always wondered why his middle name wasn’t troublesome.

“Anyway…” Scott dragged, “We were both on the bus, and everything was great… so great, but then I just – “ His lips pursed as discomfort clouded his gaze, “I started to turn. I tried to control it but I couldn’t. I yelled at her to get away, but it wouldn’t stop!”

You could sense the anxiety. It was a common occurrence with Scott now – the uncertainty, the worry, the panic. He was bathed in it, and that’s how you knew that whatever went on within those night terrors of his must’ve been the worst case of bad. You looked up in time to see Scott’s head in his hands as was slipping lethargically from the Jeep, surrounded by fellow students as they made their way across the carpark. Stiles was next before he flung his seat forward for you to vacate.

As you swung your bag over your shoulder, Stiles turned to the side as feet directed him to the School’s entrance, his hands warming in his jacket’s pockets with a once furrowed brow now rising in question, “So, what? You bite her, or something?” He was wearing obliviousness like a new trend, completely unheeding to the trauma clawing into Scott’s mind until he saw the despair dragging down his friend’s usual lopsided grin, “Or… hang on, did you kill her?”

The two boys pushed open the large doors; your now intrigued senses heightening as Scott exasperatedly shrugged his shoulders alongside rounded worried eyes, “I don't know! I just woke up… and I was sweating like crazy, and-and I couldn't breathe!” He visibly shuddered and it provoked a chill to run down your spine at the small crack within the boy’s voice, “I've never had a dream where I woke up like that before.”

You wanted to reassure him – you’ve woken up like that, plenty of times. It started when your mother died and had reoccurred recently much to your dismay. It sucked, and it physically hurt, and it got to the point where you couldn’t recall what was real or fake anymore. Dreams were bleeding into nightmares, and they were determined to make themselves known whilst you were awake. You desired to reach out to Scott and tell him that he’s not alone, but any seriousness was so easily removed from the situation as Stiles stopped in front of you both, back to the remainder of the corridor.

“Really? I have.” Stiles replied for you, and for a miniscule moment you considered that he would be earnest and thoughtful toward Scott. But instead, his hands fumbled into strange gestures until he was making his point very cringe, and very clear, “Except it usually ends, uh… a little differently.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes rolled quite distinctly as you pushed past Stiles, words muttered with incredulousness. The boy snorted, rascality etching deeply across his features as he watched you venture forward with Scott hot on your heels.

Scott groaned, new images flashing through his mind, and they were beyond not wanted, “A… I meant, I’ve never had a dream that felt that real…” He began, turning to look at Stiles with utter disgust contorting his expression, “And B… never give me that much detail about you in bed again!”

With a nod of his head and whispered affirmation on the edge of his breath, Stiles managed to take a deep breath, the corners of his mouth dropping as he worried about how Scott will react next, “Let me take a guess here – “

“No, I know. You think it has something to do with me going out with Allison tomorrow… like I’m gonna lose control and rip her throat out.” An accusatory finger was directed in Stiles’ direction, Scott sneering at the offence his friend was wearing too well.

Stiles’ mouth gaped, lashes fluttering uncontrollably against the sharpness of his cheekbone. The boy stuttered, “N-no, of course not!” He exclaimed, hands held in front of him. Your lips curled slightly at the twitch of his eyes as Scott stared intensely at him, scepticism also driving the jump of the young wolf’s brow. Stiles conceded, too easily, “Okay, yeah. That’s totally it.”

Stiles peered to the other side of Scott as the wolf sunk his head in glumness, managing to catch your sympathetic eyes. You weren’t sure how to help besides providing a few words laced with wannabe optimism, simply hoping that Scott can’t see past how hard you were trying to appease him, “Hey, come on, Scott. It’s gonna be fine, alright?” You smiled as you lent in closer to him, softly nudging his side with your elbow before ducking to catch his view. Your voice quietened into a whisper, “And personally, I think you’re handling this pretty freakin’ amazingly.”

“You know she’s right, Scotty.” Stiles chimed in, his arm leaning on Scott’s shoulder, “And it's not like there's a Lycanthropy for Beginners class you can take.”

The atypical sarcasm prompted Scott to raise his hands, the dark brown of his irises squinting, showing a forlorn expression in his frown. He appeared pitiful before a sudden change made his head raise, his eyes widening as if a metaphorical lightbulb lit up behind them, “Yeah, not a class… but maybe a teacher…”

Stiles scoffs almost immediately, “Who, Derek?” His words didn’t hold much meaning until he properly looked at Scott, all seriousness remaining in the young wolf’s face. Stiles spluttered nonsense, baffled by what he had heard before his hand whacked the side of Scott’s head. You cringed, trying to ignore the strange looks from your classmates before you heard Stiles’ voice pipe up again in exasperation, “You’re forgetting the part where he got him tossed in jail.”

Scott’s tone matched Stiles, of not with more urgency, as small cracks settled in the base of his words, “Yeah, dude, I know. But chasing her… dragging her to the back of the bus…” He sighed, a hand rubbing tiredly at his face, “It felt so real.”

You pursed your lips as the three of you continued walking the halls of Beacon Hills High, a heavy heart weighing down your chest as sympathy began to flood your system – an emotion, that for once, was purely from your own conviction. You looked to Scott, “How real?”

He drew a deep breath and shrugged, “Like it actually happened.”

Stiles reached out in time with you as you both pushed open the large doors at the end of the hallway, exposing the rear of the school, and greeted unexpectedly with crime scene tape and sirens. The three of you froze in time with the students pushing out from behind you, shocked and slack jawed as you looked at the horror scene that plagued the bus bay. One of the yellow school buses was tainted with a thick red spray and the back door just barely hanging from its hinge after being torn off. There were deputies ushing away growing crowds, and a well-dressed member from the Sherriff’s station taking crime scene photos of a torn back seat, with white cushioned stuffing spilling to the floor.

It was straight off the set of a Hitchcock film, and much to your despair, a perfect description of the nightmares that plagued Scott only a few hours ago.

Stiles gulped, “… I think it might have.”

You almost didn’t feel Scott’s hand as it secured around your bicep until the nausea began to light in your gut, the bubbling of acid and fear rising to your throat. Slowly, you peered to the side, and although your friend wasn’t looking back, you knew that this was Scott needing you to feel how he felt.

“She’s probably fine…” None of you truly knew at this point – initially unsure after Scott expressed his nightmare, and even more after the scene you’d just witnessed outside. Stiles’ words rang clear enough to hear, but Scott was far from listening as he pushed anxiously through the crowded halls, his thumbs racing as he sent multiple messages to Allison.

His teeth were clenched and knuckles white from the grip he had on the small device, “She’s not answering my texts, Stiles.” Scott stood as high as he could, attempting to look over the other students in case he spotted Allison. His features contorted frantically, heart hammering in panic, frustrations expressed through small grunts.

Stiles sighed as he tried to reassure his friend, “Look, it could just be a coincidence, alright?”

“A seriously amazing coincidence.” You muttered, not realising that you voiced your thoughts, and the defeated sarcastic tone that came out with them. You stopped, guilty as you passed over Scott and focused on Stiles and his lack of amusement. His bow raised, and you shrugged, “What? I’m just saying.”

“Guys! Just help me find her, okay?” Scott intercepted, evidently exasperated to the point where you swear he nearly reached for the pocket that once housed his asthma puffer. You all turned and scanned the hallway, beginning to make your way past students as you tried not to veer too far from one another. Class hadn’t started yet, and you were only feet away from her locker, but the girl was nowhere to be found. You pulled out your own phone and sent off a brief text, one to say good morning and ask if she wanted to meet for lunch – surely, much more toned down than what you imagined Scott’s anxious messages to read.

“Do you see her?” He eventually asked after the crowd was recycled, bringing in a new lot of students as they gathered their books and moved toward their first period.

You sighed in time with the slumping of Stiles’ shoulders, your voices in unison as they relayed the bad news, “No”.

Fingers dragged through shaggy brunette locks with jittery movements, and soon, Scott’s feet were moving just as fast. He was on autopilot and the spontaneous need to bolt made it hard for you and Stiles to follow him. He ducked and weaved, using his enhanced speed to escape the ruckus of the situation. It had only been mere seconds before he had disappeared from your sight.

You could feel Stiles grasp onto your shoulder, digits digging into the soft material of your jacket, their strength tense as his own state of worry started to increase. He didn’t ease the further you two moved but it was too late to catch a glimpse of Scott – the halls were too congested. He groaned as he pressed his chest to the back of your shoulder, “Where is he?”

“He might just need time to chill, Stiles.” You replied, trying to lead the boy to a space that was much more capacious.

He grumbled against your ear, “Chill? Do you remember the last time he freaked out like this? He nearly ripped our faces off with his little wolfy teeth.” Which was much more real than you’d like to admit, but instead you just huffed, a deep exhale, remembering the events clearly as they happened in the room just down the hall. It was absentminded as you reached to your shoulder to take hold of Stiles’ hand, squeezing tightly as you pulled him through the doors of the girl’s locker room. The boy made a small sound of awe, “How is this nicer than the boy’s one? Mm it smells nice.”

Nearing first period usually meant that nobody would be in here for hours – a space baron, vacant, and especially private. Thoughts ran wild in your mind on whether what you had planned would work, you could feel from near, but could you do it from afar? It made your chest fill with your own anxiety now, a thickness that was heavy in your throat and a throbbing in your head. Turning slowly, you glanced up at Stiles, who had finished examining the foreign room and whose large brown eyes had already settled on you with much curiosity.

Your lips pursed hesitantly, “I’m going to try something, okay? But I need you to just… trust the process.”

Stiles’ thick brow rose, perplexed by the process you were referring to. He didn’t get the chance to ask as you dragged him to a bench that sat between two rows of lockers, sitting in time with you as he watched a deep shaky breath being drawn. He could see the way your eyes creased with a lack of assurance and how your hands were rung the same way his did when he fidgeted out of uneasiness. He smiled softly, sympathetically, before he took your hands in his and held them gently in your lap.

This pulled you further to him as the apprehensive flutter in your chest began to die down. You drew another deep breath, this time, much steadier as you began to calm from Stiles’ hold. You sighed, “Scott can hear things, right? Far away. He can do this thing where he cuts through everything else and just zones in on a particular voice or sound. Like on the lacrosse field last week.” Stiles nodded, understanding what you were saying but not where it was leading. It prompted his head to tilt slightly to the left after he twisted his frame, now directly facing you front on with his legs either side of the bench. Your tongue darted out quickly to lap at your lips, “Well, what If I can do that too… but with emotions. What if I can feel Scott?”

“You’ve never done something like that before, how do you know if it’ll work?”  The boy questioned, eyes never leaving yours as he observed the desperation to try. His shoulders slumped, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing against your hands as they remained within his grasp. He could see your concern, as bright as day.

“You said it yourself, Stiles. Last time he was this worked up, he wolfed out on us. We don’t know where he is but I can at least try and see if he’s okay.”

Stiles agreed immediately – the line of his lips steady and straight as he nodded his head again. He wanted to help Scott, but he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t the tiniest bit curious just how far your new quirks can go.

You smiled as you pulled your hands away from his, sitting them flat on your knees, “I need you to be the lookout, and wake me if anything goes wrong.” When you had the go ahead from Stiles, you breathed in through your nose and fluttered your eyes closed.

You didn’t know if this was possible, or how to start it off, but you tried to focus purely on Scott. You thought about the distress he felt only moments earlier and how upset he was in the Jeep this morning. You thought about when you felt his anger on the Lacrosse field, and even more so when he held Stiles up against the wall in his room – how you voice made him stop.

Scott.

Stiles jumped when you opened your eyes, only to be met with that familiar white glow. It terrified him but he couldn’t look away, mesmerised by their tone and ethereal qualities that made you appear so oddly celestial. He waved one of his large hands in front of you but elicited no reaction, and it made him wonder just how this was truly working.

“He’s turning.” You said softly, brows furrowing, feeling the red-hot course of adrenaline that settled in your chest whenever you felt Scott turn before. It was as if he was clenching your own teeth as your jaw began to ache, worried that fangs were going to protrude. The inability to see just what you were focused on only made the feelings stronger. It wasn’t until your fist flew back and the muscles strained with such force that you knew it was getting too much, like Scott hit something, hard. You could barely hear as Stiles asked if you were okay, nor did you notice how he was quick to hold your still balled-up fist and inspect your knuckles. With a shaky tone, you whispered, “Scott, stop, come on… take a deep breath, snap out of it.”

It was a relief when your heartbeat began to drop as instant calmness loosened your tense muscles and relaxed the thumping in your head. You closed your eyes and smiled, sitting in disbelief that it worked, and that your friend was okay.

“Y/N?”

Stiles’ voice rang clearly, a soothing sound as it coaxed you back to consciousness. Your lashes danced over your cheeks for a moment as you gathered yourself, gentle as they opened to see Stiles shaking his head with a wide toothy grin.

He chuckled, “I can’t… you just did that, I mean… you’re amazing –“

“Attention students, this is your principal.” The PA system suddenly sounded, shaking you two out of your bubble as your gazes focused on the speaker. The announcement continued, muffled and crackly from years of going without a system update. You both furrowed your brows as you tried to listen, “I know you're all wondering about the incident that occurred last night to one of our buses. While the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as usual.”

You turned to Stiles in perfect unison, a look of disappointment dragging down your features as your bottom lip jutted out, “I can’t believe they’re still making us go to class.”

Stiles hummed, slapping his thighs as he stood from the bench before throwing a hand in your direction. His fingers wiggled, an invitation as he insisted on helping you up, “Yeah well, I wish that was the least of our worries.”

“You’ve got first period with Scott, right?” You asked, to which he nodded as he offered enough strength to pull you into a standing position. “Make sure he’s okay. It’s crazy just how much his body goes through when… it happens. Poor guy – “

“– your eyes glowed again.”

“What?” Your bag slid onto your shoulder, body twisting as you looked over your shoulder at Stiles. You pushed out your lips, voice hinting at tones of disappointment, “My eyes were closed; all I saw was darkness the whole time.”

“No, they glowed. They were bright… shining. Just like the other night at the Hale house.” He replied with so much excitement, hands moving in explanation. “It was actually pretty awesome.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. The more you use your abilities, the less you seem to understand. The unknowing was a never-ending fog and when you tried to decipher an explanation for the things that you could do, it only ended in getting lost even further – unlike Scott, he has a label, he was a werewolf. There was lore and expectations, books after books with detailed descriptions. But you always came up short, and the optimism that Stiles carried so well on finding an answer was just ever so tiring.

A huff passed your lips, “Can we talk about this later? We have homeroom.”

“Uh, yeah?” The boy replied, deflating immediately as you brushed him off. He didn’t look away as you made your way from the room; eyes wide as they followed you, trying to contain the pity he felt so strongly in case you could sense it. Stiles knew this was hard on you – whatever this truly was – but his determination would never falter. Never for you.

Leaning against the metal doors of some lockers on the first floor, you continued to stare at your phone screen – the text conversations fuelling the thoughts that run over again in your mind. You were in a daze; inattentive, distracted, engrossed in contemplations that you simply couldn’t control. It was the reason that you haven’t been sleeping and now it was taking over your daily life too. There was futility in focusing on one thing at a time. But how could you, with the added dramas from this morning.

You made an excuse to leave your class early when Stiles told you that they recovered a body from the bus. The ambulance rolled him out, and he was believed dead by your friends until the man jumped up in fear. Stiles told you that Scott was even more shaken than before and that second-nature feeling of dread had returned to the pit of your stomach. It was the softened call of your name that broke you from your pondering, to which you glanced up to be met with the two boys – one with a smile of sympathy, and the other with all of the devastation in the world sitting upon his shoulders.

“This probably isn’t going to help, but at least he isn’t dead.” You spoke quietly, your hand sitting upon Scott’s shoulder as you ducked to catch his eyes. You could see Stiles shrugging, hands sinking deep into the pockets of his hoodie as he claimed that he tried that, too. You moved until you could properly see Scott’s large brown eyes and a sigh pushed passed your lips, “Okay, at least it wasn’t Allison.”

“No, but someone got hurt, because of me!” Scott groaned, his face falling into his hands as you began to gently rub at his back.

Stiles piped up as he began to guide you all toward the cafeteria, attempting to bring some sort of contentment to his best friend, “We don’t know for sure that it even was you.”

“This is why I need Derek’s help. I need to know about this dream, what I did last night... I need to know what the hell is going on.”

You were first to the lunch line, trying to muster a smile as you accepted the assortment of food for the day. Looking to your side, you could see Stiles trying to push Scott along as he began to wallow once again in his distress. This was too much for him to handle, for anyone to handle, and you were starting to wonder if Derek really would have the answers for Scott after all.

“But dreams aren’t memories.” Stiles spoke again as you all were huddled together, locating an empty table. Stiles took his place first as you sat opposite him, Scott slipping into the seat next to you.

The wolf sighed and placed his backpack in the chair on his other side, “Then this wasn’t a dream.” He rubbed at his face again, anxious movements as he let out his frustrations, his voice cracking in what you could tell was plain exhaustion, “Something happened last night, guys, and I can’t remember what”.

Taking a bite of your apple you watched as your two friends spoke back and forth, a tennis match between scepticism and rationalising. It would be more amusing to watch if the topic of conversation wasn’t literally revolved around life and death. Stiles rolled his eyes, his body leaning back in his seat as arms crossed over his chest, “Uh huh, and what make you think Derek even has all the answers?”

“BECAUSE –“Scott began, already overwhelmed as his voice rose in anguish before the silent scolding from Stiles prompted him to settle down. He looked around bashfully, hoping that nobody could hear as he continued with a hushed tone, “because… during the full moon he wasn’t changed. He was in total control, while I was running around in the middle of the night… attacking some totally innocent guy!”

A coo pushed through your lips, a sort of sigh, as you lent slightly on the table to face Scott, “You don’t know that.”

But he shook his head, putting his metaphorical foot down, “I don’t not know it.” He stopped; eyes moving in thoughts as he bit roughly at his bottom lip, tugging before breathing out in defeat, “I can’t go out with Allison. I have to cancel.”

“What? No, you’re not cancelling, okay?” Stiles shifted forward in his chair, his crossed arms now settling on the tabletop. With a serious gaze, he looked at Scott, voice beginning to nag, “You can’t just cancel your entire life!”

You intercepted, a hand thrown in Stiles direction to agree with his sentiment, “He’s right, we’ll figure it out.”

“ – Figure out what?” Her voice was one that you didn’t expect, especially as it was followed by her sitting next to Stiles on the other side of your table. Lydia smiled brightly as she saw you, her fingers lifting into a small flutter of a wave, and you were happy to smile warmly back at her. You just hoped that she didn’t hear anything else before she made herself known.

Your greeting with your friend was interrupted by odd noises, fractured syllables and stammering sounds as Stiles grew nervous from being so close to his crush. He was at a literal loss for words as his mouth gaped and he smiled with bashful rosy cheeks. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Just, uh…” Scott jumped in, trying to fill the void that Stiles left when answering Lydia’s question, “Just homework.”

She took that as a good enough answer before looking to the other students that began to sit around the table with you, starting small friendly conversations that you and the two boys felt out of place within. It prompted Stiles to incline across the table, close enough so only you both could hear, his brows furrowed and tongue lapping at his lips, “Why is she sitting with us?” It was a question that you didn’t have an answer to as you shrugged in reply, side-eying Scott that did the same thing.

You smiled at Danny when he sat on Stiles’ other side, his greeting followed by a reciprocated grin and small nod of his head, and when you looked around nearly every seat was occupied by students that you didn’t have very much to do with. Harley slipped into the spot on your right as Allison settled next to Scott. It was a strange experience, and you managed to share your expressions of confusion with Stiles as he pouted from your conversation being interrupted.

“Get up.” Jackson scowled at the head of the table to a poor student, and you were close to banging your head on the surface in front of you just by the sound of his infuriating voice. Today just wasn’t your day, or Scott’s, or Stiles’.

“How come you never ask Danny to get up?” The kid argued, only maiming his case to stay.

Danny smirked as he bit into his apple, “Because I don’t stare at his girlfriend’s coin slot.” He spoke, matter-of-factly, and most of the table chuckled as the kid left in embarrassment and Jackson took ownership of the seat. You wished that your table has just been left alone.

You were looking between Scott and Stiles, thinking of an excuse for you all to leave, until Danny began a conversation about the morning events, “So, I hear they’re saying it’s some type of animal attack. Probably a cougar.”

“I heard mountain lion.” Jackson added, poking at his food with a disapproving glare.

You wanted to correct them both, but a disgruntled Lydia beat you to it with an annoyed tone of voice as she kept her eyes downcast, “A cougar is a mountain lion.” Your space was quiet as others observed her oddly, Jackson looking to her with a blank stare, and it provoked the redhead to tilt her head and speak once more with an airy high-pitched voice, “… Isn’t it?”

Her boyfriend scoffed and you started to imagine what it would look like if you just knocked him off his chair with a well-thrown water bottle aimed straight between the eyes. If only.  Jackson groaned, his voice uninterested, “Who cares? The guy’s probably some homeless tweaker who’s gonna die anyway.”

“Actually…” You flicked your focus to Stiles as he peered down to his phone, turning the device around for everybody to see, “I just found out who it is. Check this out.”

It was coverage from a local news outlet, the reporter seen speaking before the screen flashed to video footage taken this morning at the school, “The Sheriff's department won't speculate on details of the incident but confirmed the victim, Garrison Myers, did survive the attack. Myers was taken to a local hospital where he remains in critical condition.”

“Wait, I-I-I know this guy…” Scott shuffled in his seat, gasping at the recollection of the name, “When I used to take the bus, back when I lived with my dad, he was the driver.”

Everybody faded away as you, Scott and Stiles shared a pointed look between each other. With every new article of information, the tension would grow stronger, and it meant that it was gradually getting more difficult to piece together the puzzle.

Your sombre expressions were ignored as Lydia sighed loudly, indicating her boredom in the conversation as she examined her perfectly manicured nails, “Can we talk about something slightly more fun, please?” You watched as she jumped, gasping loudly as she looked across to Scott and Allison before sitting her chin atop her now folded hands, “Like, where are we going tomorrow night?” Their lack of reply made you wonder if they were on the same page as Lydia, so she took a deep breath, and spoke slower to clarify, “You said you and Scott were hanging out tomorrow, right?”

Your throat felt tight, and you knew that it certainly belonged to someone else. Leaning forward you could see Allison’s worried eyes, and as if on cue, the fluttering started in your chest as she grew nervous. You could noticed as her hands rung under the table, and Scott wasn’t any better as his shoulders tensed alongside the clenching of his jaw.

Allison coughed gently, a clear of her throat before chuckling nervously, “Um, well, we were still thinking of what we were gonna do…”

You recognised the way Lydia’s eyes lit up – how they glinted with eagerness, rascality, good intentions with a twist of trouble. She was eying off Allison and Scott and you knew that it wouldn’t end as ideally as they’d like. Stiles seemed to be thinking the same thing as he caught your focus, a joint wide-eyed look expressed between you both, a small smirk tugging at his lips when he caught sight of Scott’s apprehension of being put in the spotlight.

“Well, I am not sitting at home again watching lacrosse videos, so… if the four of us are hanging out, we are doing something fun.” Lydia’s tone was frank, the flow of her words spoken so candidly and confident with no room for dismissal. It was the total opposite to Scott’s ambivalence as he sat there, stunned, and slack jawed. Your space silent enough to hear a pin drop.

“H-h-hanging out? Like… the four of us?” He stammered, immediately turning to Allison and watching as she covered up her disappointment with a large drink from her water bottle. Scott lowered his voice and raised an eyebrow in question, “Do you wanna hang out? Like, us, and… them?”

A small, choked sound from Stiles forced your eyes away from the trainwreck in front of you to watch him cover his mouth, clearly taken aback by the scene you were both agonising over as mere spectators. He looked at you once more with those wide caramel eyes as you both shared a silent conversation – consisting mostly of ‘what the actual hell is going on right now’.

Allison chuckled in discomfort, but shone a lovely smile nonetheless, “Yeah, I guess. Sounds fun…”

“You know what else sounds fun?” Jackson interrupted, annoyance exuding from his voice and his features contorted into an unimpressed expression. He held his fork in the air, shaking it with his words, “Stabbing myself in the face with this fork.”

You thought that Stiles was moments away from spitting out his water as he took a large gulp; hoping it would stop him from interfering in whatever was going on in front of you, his eyes rolling dramatically and hand motioning wildly. Lydia, completely unaware of the interaction between you and Stiles, reached for the fork clutched in Jackson’s hand as she sent him a scowl at his rudeness.

She huffed, a manicured finger pointing in her boyfriend’s direction, “Well, how about bowling? You love to bowl.”

Stiles shook his head violently as he tried to gain Scott’s attention, but the werewolf simply just shrugged as he felt helpless in the situation. This made you drop your head to your hand, groaning softly under your breath. You changed your mind – this alone was way more dramatic than the events this morning brought you all.

“Pft, yeah. With actual competition.” Jackson continued his tirade of needing to be the best with a loud huff, his tone purposeful to deride the others.

What you didn’t expect to come next was Allison to speak with such enthusiasm, confident to hide the offence that the jock left them with. “How do you know we’re not actual competition?” The girl sat up straighter, causing her brunette curls to dangle over the back of the seat as she turned to Scott, hope sparkling in her eyes, “You can bowl, right?”

Scott shrugs, uneasiness dripping from his words, “Sort of…”

“ – Is it a sort of, or is it a yes?”

“Yes.” Your friend was quick to reply to Jackson’s patronising tone, his frame matching Allison’s as he sat tall and courageous with a smile curling his lips, “In fact, I’m a great bowler.”

You have never facepalmed so fast in your life.

Your afternoon classes went smoother than you expected. It seemed that everything that could be deemed eventful happened before the end of lunch, and the rest of the day went past as if everything was, dare to say, normal. You managed to filter out the background chatter about Mister Myers as you moved around the school halls in between your classes; only hearing the odd pieces of gossip speculating different predatory animals and scenarios that led to his attack. It was hard to pay attention to the different opinions when you knew the truth, or the somewhat truth, as you wholeheartedly believed that Scott was innocent in this matter.

You didn’t realise you were so distracted – staring out the window of your math class with such obliviousness – until you felt a tap on your shoulder. It provoked a small jump from you as your arm dropped to the table and your eyes growing wide and alert. As you turned, a concerned-looking Scott McCall was leaning toward you with his grip slipping to your bicep, squeezing with reassurance.

“You good?” He quietly spoke to avoid detection from your teacher, and you were glad that you both decided to sit toward the back of the classroom today. You replied with a soft nod of your head, unconvincingly, but your friend let it slide as he offered a thin-lipped smile. You could see from your peripherals that he seemed to be in an internal battle as he sat back into his seat, deep thoughts scrunching his brows and slack-jawed as if he was trying to think of what to say. You’d be lying if you didn’t find it somewhat amusing until he turned around to face you, his lips pursed in question, and momentary awkwardness in his eyes.

“So, uh… I think you were in my head earlier. Ya know, this morning…”

You hummed in reply, pen inattentively tapping against your page, “I honestly didn’t know how far I could go with it, but yeah, I guess so.”

Scott nodded as his focus flickered toward the front of the room and back to you when you were clear to continue talking, “It was weird. Like, I knew you were there and I could hear you, kinda… it was quiet but I knew it was you. I knew you were trying to calm me down.” Scott sighed under his breath, his hand running through his hair, “Reminded me of the first full moon, and you – “

“ – I thought the same.” It was a night that still made you uncomfortable; the first time you saw pure anger exude from Scott, how his eyes grew dark with harmful intentions despite the immense struggle he faced to keep them at bay. You remembered how he was trying to stop the anger and hold onto his humanity, but the moment he held Stiles against that wall… when he threw that chair at you… you realised that what Scott McCall had become was something way beyond what you could properly fathom at that time. Even still during this time.

Scott understood your choice to cut that memory, his head nodding again as he offered a sympathetic smile that was intertwined with all things apologetic and sweet. It hurt him more than it did you that night, and you could never stay mad at such a kind soul, always forgiving for what Scott does unintendedly.

“Another thing…” He began once more, only this time his voice wavered as if he was testing the waters. It made you wonder just why he was holding such hesitancy. Your friend cleared his throat, “How, ah… how are you feeling after doing all that? Your eyes glowed, you’re getting more into whatever abilities you have. Kind make you wanna find out what else, is uh... what else you can do… right…?”

The fractured sentencing was an indicator, but the way his eyes suddenly couldn’t focus on you and how he was uncertain with his speech – you knew that these words weren’t those of Scott’s.

“Did Stiles put you up to this?” You asked, point blank. Theories were proven correct when Scott’s eyes grew wide and his jaw slammed shut. As if he was caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar, a deer in headlights. He wasn’t very subtle. “Scott… I’m pretty sure I’ve made it clear to Stiles that I don’t really want to get into that right now.”

“But he worries about you. We both do.” His voice strained, and you tried to not feed into his physical emotion by taking a deep breath and closing your eyes for a mere moment. You weren’t ready to know what you were, or how you could do these things, because what if you didn’t like what the truth held? You can’t go back to an image of normalcy once it is all out in the open.

Your stare held notes of solace, a comfort in knowing that you weren’t alone; and that even though you sometimes felt as if you wanted to give up, the two unlikely friends that wondered so effortlessly into your life wouldn’t dare let you slip, not even in the slightest. You smiled at Scott in perfect timing to the last bell of the day, and he continued to smile back.

“So? Are we going to talk about earlier?” Stiles started immediately as you and Scott met him at the staircase, ushered along with the other students that were preparing to leave school for the day. You both provided a questioning look, and it provoked him to throw his hands up, still appalled by the scene in the cafeteria, “You know, the fact that you’re a terrible bowler!”

Scott turned to see Stiles glaring at him with all of the incredulity he could muster, and it caused a low groan as he remembered the bright white lie he presented so confidently, “I know! I’m such an idiot.”

Stiles continued ranting as he ignored the discomfort etched deeply on Scott’s face, “God, it was like watching a car wreck. I mean… first it turned into the whole group-date thing, and out of nowhere comes… that phrase – “ 

“Hang-out?” You chimed in, finger lazily pointing in his direction, and Stiles reciprocated your gesture and a complementing wide grin.

“Yes! You don’t hang-out with hot girls, okay? It’s like death.”

“Wait –“ You stopped him from proceeding, your body standing still in the middle of the hall as feet planted themselves still. Your brows were furrowed, contemplating the boy’s words, Scott looking between you both in the utmost confusion. You pushed out your lips, ready to press a query, “But we hang out all the time.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest as his head fell into an impatient shake, dumbfounded by your statement as he lacked the social cues to understand where this was going, “So?”

“SO… Does that make me not hot?” Your facial features contorted into a grumpy pout as you glared pointedly at Stiles. He immediately stammered, disconcerted with your words as Scott simply just stood to the side in immensely amused shock. It was a well-needed break from his own stresses as he instead observed Stiles making a fool of himself.

Stiles’ pitch increased as he jumped on the defence, hands held high and waving wildly, “What? No! That’s not what I meant!”

“So, you do think I’m hot?”

He was a blubbering mess – caramel eyes large and doe-like when they looked to you in nervousness, words heavy on his tongue as he tried to shake them out. Stiles was digging himself a hole, a deep hole. “Uh… just, let me finish… what I was trying to say is that once it’s hanging-out, you might as well be her gay best friend.” Lengthy fingers wrapped around each other before he shot his hold toward Scott, his attention span providing a clean getaway from the mess he was creating by shifting the conversation from you to his best friend instead, “Hey, maybe you and Danny can start hanging out.”

With squinted eyes you continued to watch Stiles and how he purposely avoided your attention. There was lack of offence on your behalf, it was just funny to watch him squirm. But a small part of you did wonder if you were viewed in this three-way relationship as simply just ‘one of the guys’ – and if you were, is that something you were completely content with.

Scott’s loud groan broke you from your thoughts as his head fell back, eyes closed and hands cupping his face, “How is this happening? I either killed a guy, or I didn’t…”

You were ready to console the young wolf but was cut off by Stiles’ own tangent, his overly-energetic mind already moving way past your previous topic as he began to mumble to himself, his own eyes unfocused as he peered into the distance, “I don’t think Danny likes me.”

“ – I ask Allison on a date, and now we’re… hanging-out…”

“Am I not attractive to gay guys?”

“ – I make first line, and the team captain wants to destroy me…”

“Surely I’m attractive to gay guys.”

You moved yourself so that you were standing before the two boys, your hands held in front of you as you raised a stern voice, “Okay, stop! You’re driving me freaking crazy.” Their heads perked up – like meerkats, cute and sweet and unknowing, bobbing around until they found the source of the noise before settling under your frustrated gaze. You released a softened groan as you rubbed at your temples, firstly looking to Scott with your hands now settling on your hips, “Scott, you need to breathe. Calm down. You’ll get yourself into a panic again.”

You could see as his shoulders slumped, tension slipping away and dropping to the floor. He glanced absentmindedly at his phone before doing a double take, the anxiety back as quick as it left, “Shit, now I’m gonna be late for work.”

A positive from gaining werewolf movement would be his ability to dodge with pure flawlessness. You usually saw it on the Lacrosse field, but now twice in one day as he bolted down the hallway to make it to work on time. You huffed, standing on your toes to see over the crowd as if it would magically help your projection as you called to him, “Don’t forget to breathe!”

“Wait, Scott! You didn’t say…” Stiles called exasperatedly after you, but his friend was already gone. “Am I, am I attractive to gay guys, I just… you didn’t answer my question.” His arms raised on either side of his frame, a deep sigh slipping in annoyance with muttered words. Stiles turned in frustration before seeing you, his face lighting up, “Y’N! Am I attractive to – “

“Nuh uh. You never answered my question from before.” Mischief glinted in your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. Stiles’ jaw slammed shut instantly. “Do you think I’m hot? Or not?”

You had never seen Stiles Stilinski so quiet before. He started at you with a now dropped jaw, unsure of which direction he should take in replying to you. You could feel the restless fluttering, however, in his chest. Or maybe that was just your own butterflies, teetering on the edge as you awaited his answer. Either way, it was affecting you both much more different than you anticipated.

Whether you were joking around or not, you didn’t expect him to take this long to answer – perhaps, he was thinking of a way to let you down easy. Yeah, that must be it. With a loud clearing of your throat, you plastered on a smile, trying to chuckle away the awkward silence.

“I was joking. Come on, weirdo, you’re my ride home.”

[mandowifey]

MKAY SO WE ALL KNOW ABT AL'S CHEST RIGHT??? Idk why but it looks so smooth-

Anyways how would it go if the reader just straight on tells him that she's obsessed with his man tits?

Anon. This made me ugly laugh at 11 at night. Thank you for this.

○ ○ ○

Fancy You.

Albert Shaw/The Grabber x Fem!Reader

Warnings: General Dead Dove, you're kidnapped by a lunatic, Stockholm Syndrome, Implied NonCon, NSFW content.

(This was not proofed.)

• • •

Time crawled to a halt in this place.

You weren't sure if it was weeks, maybe months since your abduction. When you started scratching lines into the cement walls, you had lost track of the hours that passed. Oftentimes, you couldn't recall if you already marked a day, which meant your count could be wrong or missing altogether. Right now, you stood at 27.

'This place' was a basement. You had taken to thinking of it like your coffin. It was a cold, dark, all-encompassing tomb, which you and many more would die within. Sometimes, you wondered how many before you left their own scratches on the wall. There was no evidence of others, which roused concerns that none of them lasted long enough to count their days. You considered if you were his first, or perhaps his last. Neither option felt palpable.

He collected you around the evening, as usual. Punishment this time had felt less brutal and more sensual, as the welts from his belt bloomed on the flesh of your ass and thighs instead of your back and arms. Hand prints marred your throat and wrists as reminders of your place here. Somewhere between your legs resides something sticky and warm. As you wade through the fog in your mind, you return to consciousness as your captor rocks against you.

'Good girl, m-my good girl.'

A brush of silicone against your throat made your head drop back. Large hands palmed your hips, guiding your flacid body into his. Gasps came quick and muffled behind his mask as he ruts against you, the drag of his girth leaving streaks of precum on your thighs. Each jerk of his body loosened a couple more of your mental screws. Maybe you didn't hate this at all. Maybe you'd always wanted to feel needed.

The man groans something low and guttural in your ear, his fingers bruising your hips as heat spills over your soft thighs. Revulsion fills your stomach like acid, but you can not bring yourself to shed another tear. As his grip loosens, he begins to move you off of his lap and have you stand. He liked to look at you, bloody and broken while covered in his cum. To him, you were a masterpiece meant to admire.

"Look at you," His voice is soft in stark comparison to the brutality in which he took you. "My perfect little dove."

The kitchen floor is cold on your feet, and you feel something in your chest. Perfect, you think, his.

Maybe...

"I like your chest," you say suddenly. Time grinds to a stop, and you are hardly breathing. "It's smooth, nice to look at." Who was this speaking for you? Or perhaps this voice had been there all along, waiting for its chance. The fog in your brain makes you lethargic. Your head felt weighted as it rolled in his direction, your eyes on the sockets of that devilish mask. He was frozen in place, watching you.

Standing up, the man you only knew as Mister towers over you and breathes hard. Fingers cup your chin and pull your face up to look at him. It was difficult to keep your eyes open as consciousness rattled around in your head like loose stones. At this distance, you can see the glean of those predatorial blue eyes.

"What else?"

You blink and try to focus your attention.

"What else?" He says again, his large hand encompassing your jaw in a painful squeeze.

At a loss, you gawk up at him and frantically try to discern what you're being asked. He moves you backward by your jaw until you touch the counter. You gasped as you're lifted by the hips and placed on the edge, legs forced apart so he could slot between them. Slowly, you start to understand. He must not ever receive compliments, certainly not from his victims. You had caught him off guard and thrilled him. You could tell by the way he was already hard again.

The man drags the weeping tip of his cock along your crease and pulls another noise from your throat. As he angles to drive inside of you, he brings that large hand to your throat and presses into the flesh.

"What else do you like about me, kiddo?"

[win-writes]

𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘔𝘦

༶ contains: fluff, overwhelmed!jouno, jouno using mobility cane, established relationship

༶ word count: 0.8k

༶ a/n: based on this post that got way more attention than i thought! i feel like jouno's disability isn't talked about enough throughout the manga, so I'm trying my best to make up for it! always open to constructive criticism by anyone who can help me be more accurate when writing for jouno

To say working as a Hunting Dog isn't easy, would be an understatement. Especially for the man who depends on his sharp hearing to make up for his lost vision. Sure, it comes really handy when it comes to interrogations or investigations, but it's times like this very moment when Jouno feels as if he's no different than an average human being with the same disability as his.

After a tiring week full of missions, Jouno finally has the chance to spend some time with his dear darling. Your date at your favorite café filled your heart with so much joy and warmth that only he could bring you. Of course, the same goes for him.

On your way home, unfortunately for your boyfriend, the streets are relatively busy. Countless cars passing by, crowds chattering, loud music from the local shops. Smoking cigarettes, a plethora of perfumes and scents. All kinds of sounds and smells attack Jouno's senses, making it difficult for him to navigate on his own.

"Baby, are you sure you're okay?" your voice is filled with worry for your partner, who can't seem to be able to hide how overwhelmed his surroundings make him feel. He gives you one of his soft genuine smiles "Yes my love. I'm just tired, that's all"

You may not have the ability to hear his breathing, but you know Jouno like the back of your hand, you don't need to put much effort to tell he's lying "It's alright" you caress his back ever so softly and Jouno swears he can feel his heart melt at your loving touch "do you need help?"

Much to his displeasure, Jouno knows he can't take more than two steps forward with the amount of information he has to process to do such a simple thing like walking home. He simply nods his head to you, too proud to admit out loud that he indeed needs guidance to continue.

You detach your hand away from his back to reach out for your bag. The loss of contact forces Jouno's hand to subconsciously tug on your arm, ensuring you are right next to him "I'm right here baby" a simple sentence like this is enough to cancel every backround noise for a moment and fill Jouno's ears with nothing but your lovely voice.

You're quick to take out his cane, carefully unwrapping it before handing it to him "There you go my love" Jouno lets out a quiet sigh before taking his cane in his hand. You don't fail to notice the change in his expression, his sad closed eyelids, his smile turning into a thin line and his head slightly titling down.

You know how stubborn your boyfriend is and how he easily lets his pride get the best of him at times. Combined to how exhausted he is right now, it's only natural for him to feel self conscious about his current public presentation.

You gently wrap your arm around his own "It's okay" you whisper before placing a kiss on his cheek "Are you ready to go my love?"

A wave of sharply edged euphoria washes over him at your affections. His smile slowly takes its place back on his lips, before turning his face to your side "Of course angel"

With your arms perfectly linked together and the assistance of his tool, you successfully make it pass the sea of people, steadily gaining distance from the lively street. Throughout the whole way, Jouno felt his heart skipping numerous beats every time your delicate fingers drew random patterns on his limb. Normally he would tease you for being so openly affectionate, but today he couldn't help but just let himself enjoy your warmth and love for as long as he possibly can.

At last, the noise eases and the fog inside jouno's mind finally clears away. He sighs with a smile on his face, relieved that the world around him finally starts making sense again.

"Feeling better?"

His arm that was previously wrapped by your hand now moves to rest on your waist, pulling you closer to him. You giggle at the way your noses brush against each other, sending a jolt of pleasure to his entire body.

Jouno could never imagine himself being so vulnerable around anyone. Throughout his whole life, he had to live in constant alert to danger; both as a criminal executive and as a hunting dog. Never once in his life did he believe someone as pure as you would take him in and shower him with so much love to finally allow him to have his moments of weakness.

"Much better"

He whispers before capturing your lips into a sweet kiss, thanking his lucky stars for sending him an angel like yourself to lighten up his days and helping him escape the darkness that surrounds him when he needs it the most.

[mrs-snape5984]

“As long as I'm with you, I've got a smile on my face…”

“Save your tears, it'll be okay. All I know is you're here with me…” (“Here with me” by D4vd)

Suffering from ME/CFS makes me feel like my whole world is falling apart in front of my eyes. Since I’ve already lost so much joy and so many abilities due to this devastating disease, my continuing loss seems to increase even further.

As some of you might know, do I love to write my own stories about Severus and Julia just as much as I enjoy using my tumblr blog as some kind of journal, whenever I’ve commissioned another artwork. It’s my way of rolling out a red carpet for the artists of Snapedom…it’s my way of honouring them for their talent in their profession. Commissioning those amazing people and letting them make my ideas and fantasies come to life, is my very own manner of coping with my physical and emotional pain.

And now, this coping mechanism seems to crumble into pieces as well as everything else, that I’ve already lost! It hurts me to admit, that my brain fog takes advantage of my capability to create vivid images with my words. My thoughts are getting blurry and chaotic. I’m struggling to find the right words to express my emotions (it’s even worse in my native language German than in English!!)…and this scares me to hell!

My mind was the only place, where I could find some shelter from my infuriating and terrifying reality of losing myself to ME/CFS. What if I forfeit my only - just barely existing- talent now?? How should I flee this nightmare of existence if writing wouldn’t be an option anymore?! How should I express my gratitude towards all those marvellous artists of Snapedom, who are all weaving my emotional comfort blanket with each piece of their art?!?

I don’t want to give up on my writing…and I won’t…even though my pride would probably fade away with each badly written chapter of my fictions…and with each unworthy post on my blog. I must admit, that I’m already acknowledging the loss of quality. 🥺

I found an inspiring poem about the importance of staying resilient, no matter how difficult the hardships of life might become, and I want to share it with you:

"KEEP GOING" (Better known as "DON'T QUIT") by Edgar A. Guest

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, When the road you're trudging seems all uphill, When the funds are low and debts are high, And you want to smile but have to sigh.

When care is pressing you down a bit, Rest, if you must, but DON'T YOU QUIT!

Life is queer with its twists and turns, As everyone of us sometimes learns, And many a failure turns about,

When he might have won if he'd stuck it out, Don't give up though the pace seems slow, You might succeed with another blow.

Often the struggler has given up, When he might captured the victor's cup.

And he learned too late, when the night slipped down, How close he was to the golden crown,

Success is failure turned inside out, The silver tint on clouds of doubt, And you never can tell how close you are, It may be near when it seems afar,

So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit, It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit.

My dear @mmad-lover, I can’t stress enough how grateful I am for your dedication to this stunning piece of art and believe me, it was worth every single second of waiting! Paula, I was incredibly touched to hear, that my request seemed to be something special, something personal to you. I can assure you, that, indeed, all of my ideas have a profound meaning to me and I’m glad that you’re such an empathetic person, who sensed that particular importance of your art to me. Your devotion to this drawing is palpable in every single detail, every line of your brushes. You created exactly the mood, that I wished for Severus and Julia. It doesn’t matter that the world is burning to the ground around them, they will always have each other’s backs! Just like I’m relying on Severus for more than 21 years now. Thank you for everything, you precious soul! I’m glad that I met you and I hope, we’ll stay in touch. 🥹

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤