#i think this is almost everything i have for this fic

[chuluoyi]

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍

sylus x reader

when your husband went away without so much as a proper notice, you thought you wouldn't forgive him so easily. but he tries everything to capture your heart back: spoiling and indulging you… little do you know that he expects a reward in return

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—rotten fluff, domestic bliss, explicit smut, cunnilingus, fingering, mating press, taking elements from sylus' card night of secrecy, secret times approaching dusk and spoilers! from myth beyond cloudfall

note: my first sylus x mc fic! with this i'm spreading the soft!sylus agenda and that spicy 4-star approaching dusk has destroyed me :') loosely based on this post

Sometimes, you do wonder... does Sylus really think you're that easy to placate?

On one chilly morning, you woke up only to discover your hunk of a husband gone... and in his side of the bed, a sticky note.

Your eyebrow twitched as you read the audacious message scrawled on it:

Hey, kitten. I need to leave for a few days. There are things I have to handle on my own. Take care of yourself while I’m away. I’ll come back soon.

That was it. No clear explanation, no further details. Just those vague words in such short notice. The day before, he’d seemed like his usual self, not a hint of this sudden departure in sight.

It irked you. It made your heart clench at the same time. Because even after marrying you, Sylus remained elusive, playing his cryptic games. It was beyond you how he didn't even stop to consider how you were left worrying about him while he drifted in and out of his dangerous world without a second thought.

You understood the reality of your lives—that you were a hunter and he was the Onychinus leader, and that to be with him meant you had to walk that fine gray line between light and dark.

And you'd already made your choice. You had accepted it—accepted him—wholly. Even when your marriage had been a rushed affair and registered under false names to protect both your identities.

Things couldn't go on like this. You had to teach him a lesson too.

As your irritation simmered into determination, a devious plan began to take shape in your mind—a way to spite him just enough to make your point crystal clear.

Two days later

Sylus was done with his dirty business faster than he thought, and to appease you, he had come bearing gifts.

The precious little thing that is now his wife, of course he missed you too. But your safety was a price he wasn’t willing to gamble. If going away to take care of those pests meant your peace would be unperturbed, then he would leave without hesitation.

However, as he stepped inside the base, his relief quickly turned to unease. The space was eerily empty, the usual hum of activity conspicuously absent.

Normally, you’d be at the center of some commotion, locked in a spat with either Mephisto, or Luke and Kieran. But now—

“What do we do?! She’s gone!”

Sylus immediately rushed to the source of the ruckus, thinking something bad had happened to you. He found his henchmen standing in a tight, anxious circle around the coffee table.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Without a word, they stepped aside, revealing the object of their concern: a single note lying on the table.

He snatched it up, scanning the words. Then, he let out a sharp exhale of relief, a smirk began tugging at the corners of his lips.

Catch me if you can.

Typical. Absolutely typical. And maddeningly you.

. . .

That night, you had a very strange dream, it felt almost felt like stepping into the pages of an ancient tale.

You were a fallen princess wrongfully accused as a sorceress, who began consorting with the fearsome fiend from the Abyss.

The sorceress and her dragon. Together, you were an infamous pair, a dark legend whispered across generations. Your union had ignited Doomsday itself... and yet, amidst the turmoil and destruction, the sorceress fell in love with the dragon... deeply and irrevocably.

The dragon, in turn, was utterly bewitched by his little witch. He indulged your every whim, no matter how mischievous or perilous, and though he rarely spoke of his true feelings, he always found ways to show his affection.

The lucid dream felt as though it might go on forever, but you were pulled from it by the soft brush of lips against your forehead. The warmth lingered, blurring the lines between dream and reality, until your eyes fluttered open.

“Sylus...?” His features, fresh from your dream, now materialized in your reality. It took you a few seconds to realize that he had come here—

“Morning, sweetie.” His voice was rich and smooth, with that familiar, mischievous edge. A smirk curled on his devilishly handsome face as he leaned in, garnet eyes gleaming with playful intent. “Caught you now, hmm?”

The haze of sleep vanished in an instant, and you were suddenly wide awake. In a flurry, you shoved him away and turned your back on him, trying to regain some semblance of control.

You’d left the N109 Zone for one of his safehouses in suburban Chansia City, thinking it would take him some effort to track you down. Clearly, you’d underestimated him.

“Oh. The kitten is in a bad mood, it seems.” Sylus’ gaze lingered on you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well, what do I owe the ire for?”

“...”

“Silent treatment, huh? The lady of the house is getting better at our little games while I was away.”

“...”

“Remember, sweetie, there’s no divorce in our relationship, hmm? If you’re tired of me, keep taking naps.”

You felt the weight shift as he rose from the bed and stalked away. The door clicked shut, leaving you in the silence of the room.

You wanted to resent him for coming and going on his terms, for never offering even an apology. Yet, no matter how much you tried, a part of you remained hopelessly tethered to him. The part that couldn’t ignore the reminder of the dragon from your dream—captivating, powerful, and infuriatingly hard to resist.

You love him, really you do.

. . .

When you didn’t come down for breakfast some time later, Sylus barged into the room once again, and this time he came up with a different approach.

“My lady,” he began, his voice sickeningly low and sweet, but his eyes gleamed with a touch of mischief. “You haven’t had breakfast yet. Please come down.”

You shot him a look, unamused, and decided to play his game as you crossed your arms together. “What if I don't want to?”

His smirk only grew, his tone dripping with mock formality. “And what must I do to change your mind?”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but notice his persistence. He had chased you here, given you more time to sleep in, and now stood before you to get you to eat. You felt your resolve beginning to soften—maybe just a little.

“Carry me there,” you said with a hint of defiance, lifting your chin high, daring him to follow through.

Sylus tilted his head, failing to restrain his snort. “As you wish, my lady.”

He placed his arms around you effortlessly, one hand beneath your knees and the other supporting your back, lifting you into a flawless princess carry. You instinctively put your arms around his neck, and he turned to you.

You opened your mouth, ready to fire off a sharp retort, but before you could, he dived in—

Smooch!

—and planted a bold, wet kiss on your lips. You, wide-eyed, punched his chest in retaliation. “Sylus!”

He chuckled, entirely unfazed. “Careful now, sweetie. Wiggle too much, and you’ll fall.”

He carried you downstairs, effortlessly navigating each step with you still in his arms. Once there, he gently set you down onto the dining chair, and that was when you noticed the table.

Salad, slightly burnt toast, scrambled eggs, milk—simple dishes by all means, but the thought the big, bad Sylus making them?

Wait. When you arrived last night, this place was a dusty shell, and the refrigerator had practically nothing—

“You cleaned the place?” you asked, your tone laced with surprise as your turned from the spotless room to him.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why is that so surprising? I can cook and clean just like everyone else.”

It sent a wave of warmth through your chest. He’d prepared food and cleaned the place knowing you’d be hungry and uncomfortable with dust all around.

You huffed, trying to hide how your heart fluttered. “No, your cooking skills are questionable at best.”

As if to prove you wrong, Sylus disappeared into the pantry and reemerged with a tray of warm, freshly baked dough that filled the room with a heavenly aroma.

“You are... baking?” You approached him, mystified at the sight of your husband, who usually at the scene of crime, behind the counter and started frosting the cupcakes.

He set the frosting bag down and picked up a cupcake, holding it to your lips with a teasing smile. “Here. Open up.”

Dutifully, you nibbled on the cupcake, and the sweetness immediately spread into your mouth. “It's tasty,” you mumbled, blinking at him. His eyes crinkled with satisfaction as he gestured toward the tray.

“Go have some more.”

Grinning, you grabbed another cupcake and eagerly took a bite. Munching away, you missed how Sylus’ gaze softened, his bright red eyes focused solely on you.

He couldn't resist pinching your full cheeks at that moment.

“Sy-wus!” you protested, glaring at him. His laughter broke free that instant, warm and unrestrained.

Utterly funny, utterly precious—that’s what you were to him.

Indignant, you scooped up some icing from the cupcake and smeared it right across his face. The stunned look he gave you was priceless, and before he could react, you burst into a fit of giggles and bolted out of the kitchen.

But as you reached the base of the stairs, a strong arm caught your waist from behind, halting your escape. You squealed in surprise, “Noooo!”

Sylus leaned closer and pressed you to his chest, his voice rumbling in your ear. “Ha. Did you really think you could get away that easily?”

He lifted you up with one arm and brought you back to the kitchen, setting you down on the counter and trapping you in place with his arms braced on either side. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he leaned in, and with a grin, he bumped his frosting-smeared nose against yours, leaving a sticky smudge.

“This is unfair!” you protested, still caught in a fit of giggles as you looped your arms around his neck for balance. Sylus chuckled along with you, his gaze steady and warm, never leaving yours.

Being with Sylus in the kitchen like this, savoring simple meals and smearing each other with frosting, it made you realize that you craved this domestic bliss more than you thought.

As the laughter subsided and you both settled into the quiet, your expression softened, all your previous grievances forgotten. The tenderness in your eyes said everything you didn’t need words for, and Sylus could see it clearly—you adored him, just as much as he adored you.

The one who gazed into his jewel-like eyes, embraced his burning soul and sang to him in the night wind... is once again in his arms. A part of him was almost sentimental at the thought.

Instinctively, he closed the distance between you, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. But as they were about to meet, he paused, as if hesitating, leaving you puzzled.

Then, without a second thought, you chose to abandon all senses. You seized the moment—yanking him to you and capturing his lips, claiming him for yourself.

Suck, suck, bite, suck— You were relentless, and you didn't really know why. At first, even he was taken aback, but then his hand slipped behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in an intoxicating rhythm.

“Mmm...” You sneakily began to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one, your fingertips grazing his warm skin with each deliberate motion. Feeling it, Sylus broke the kiss just enough to smirk, his voice husky. “Getting bold, aren’t we?”

But before you could respond, his hands trailed down your sides, firmly pulling you closer, leaving no space between the two of you. His gaze burned with desire, as if daring you to keep going.

Then, without warning, his lips began their descent, grazing your jaw softly before trailing down to your neck and chest, leaving a trail of warmth and shivers across your skin. The feeling was intoxicating, even as his hair tickled you, making it hard to focus on anything but him.

“Ahh,” you couldn’t help but sigh, pressing him closer.

His lips left wet marks on your neck, and he whispered, “Now tell me... what made you so upset that you left home?”

When you didn't answer right away, one of his hand slid beneath your blouse, unhooking your bra and grazed your skin.

“You... keep coming and going as you please...” you stammered, feeling him begin to cup and squeeze your breasts, your breath growing erratic.

Sylus bit down on the skin at the nape of your neck, and you almost gasped.

“It's almost as if— Mmm—” The way he fondled your chest made the space between your legs grow warmer. “—you wouldn’t... miss m-me at all...”

How untrue. He stopped his ministrations, and the steel behind those eyes you loved so much met your gaze once again.

His wife was a mess of sweat already. He swiftly hooked your thighs around his waist and claimed your lips once more. With effortless movement, Sylus guided you to the long recliner in the room, laying you down there, still lost in the heat of the kiss. His hand intertwined with yours, pinning you to the soft surface.

“So...” he rasped, breathless against your lips, “You’re upset that I didn't miss you when I was away...”

His other hand worked to unzip your skirt. “But don’t you know? I... was worried about my wife getting into trouble when I wasn’t with her too... That’s why I was in a hurry to go home...”

Sylus pulled away, both of you panting for air, and he took a moment to savor the sight of your glazed eyes.

“But then I couldn't find her anywhere.” His voice was low and taunting, trailing his fingers on your belly. “I made it back as soon as I could, just like I told you and you are the one who misbehaved... Don’t you think I deserve something as a compensation?”

It took you three solid seconds to realize that the lower half of your body was now exposed. Your husband parted your legs and settled his face between them, pressing a kiss on your knee.

“So I believe at the very least... I deserve this.”

He dived straight for your clit then and you let out a loud gasp.

“Ngh! Aaah...!” You let out incoherent moans as he devoured your folds, lost in the cloudy haze of pleasure. It didn’t take long to unravel you at all. Ticklish, hot, wet— all in all, it felt like a sin, but you just had to get this heavenly taste.

Sylus felt how you were this close to get your orgasm, so he moved faster, licking and sucking your clit, while adding a couple of fingers to bring you to the peak faster. You unconsciously moved your hips against his face— too far gone to be thinking anything else, grasping the leather of the sofa and pulling his hair—

“Ahh— S-Sylus!” And then you came hard, screaming his name, feeling how much it was— were you squirting?

You didn't know, didn't care either, as it was the sight of his ruby eyes that grounded you. You were spent, spread on the sofa (most probably ruined it, even), your chest heaving to catch your breath.

Sylus let out a low rumble as he wiped your juices off his lips with a thumb and tasted it, looking so sinfully sexy like a forbidden fruit while at it.

“You said... I wouldn't miss you.” He traced one finger on your face with such tenderness. “Now, I'm going to show you, and you'll be judge of it. Are you sure you don't want me to stop?”

If you said no, he would comply. That was the kind of person he was and you knew it. Sylus had always looked out for you since the very beginning, no matter how nonchalant he made himself to be.

“No.” You met his eyes, your voice steady. “Show me.”

It was the only affirmation he needed. He began unbuckling his belt and pants, keeping his unclouded gaze on yours, and soon he too was bare before you.

He was thick and long, and while you had taken him many times, it was never fully easy to ease the intrusion. His tip was already slick with precum, and he spread it along his length.

“You know the rule,” he murmured with a meaningful smile. “If it becomes too much, you scream, and I'll stop.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, sliding in slowly. The sharpness of the stretch seeped into you bit by bit, and you couldn't help but moan his name.

“—!” A sharp hiss escaped you as he fully sheathed himself inside, hitting that sensitive spot. Had your eyes deceived you, or was there a slightly noticeable bulge in your belly from where he was?

Sylus noticed it too, but he folded your knees and made sure your eyes were kept on him. His gaze intense and filled with something deep, something possessive. The room seemed to narrow, your entire focus consumed by him as he settled in close.

“Ah, hah, ahhh!” You couldn't stop moaning beneath him as he started thrusting into you. The feeling of him so deep inside, coupled with the way you tightened around him, sent waves of blind pleasure through you.

Sylus’ eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he watched you squirm under him. Your skin glistened with the heat of the moment, and the sound of your breaths, frantic and needy, filled the room. His control slipped, just a little, as he pushed deeper, his movements faster, chasing the release that quickly building within both of you.

“Sylus—!” you almost wailed, gripping and nails digging into his back, and he growled, knowing full-well that he was finally losing it.

Just like that he shot his cum straight to your womb, his own body shuddering, thoroughly rutting into you. You groaned, tears falling from your lashes as you too reached your climax.

Full, too full... Yet you knew that you wouldn't have it another way.

. . .

It felt warm and comforting.

Your eyes fluttered open hours later, and the first thing you noticed was Sylus' sleeping face, and that you were now in the bedroom.

He looked so vulnerable like this. You couldn’t help but be drawn to how serene and unguarded he was, a side of him that only you got to see.

Even in his sleep, his arms were wrapped around your waist, as if to protect you from anything that might disturb your rest.

Your lover... and then husband. He was rough around the edges, sometimes didn't make any sense at all, and often reckless enough to burn himself playing with fire.

But just like the inseparable pair of dragon and sorceress in your dream, you knew you’d stay by his side until the very end.

Sylus was easy to read sometimes, and you couldn’t help but smile at your earlier doubts about him. How could you not see just how deeply he was attached to you?

Out of a playful surge of affection, you tapped his nose, and he grunted softly but didn’t wake, instead nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, seeking more of your warmth. It was cute, how he was so worn out that he sought comfort in your embrace.

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead then, vowing with everything you had that you’d never let him go, and that with him by your side, you would definitely made this life you shared a happy one.

Several weeks later...

“Thank you, miss!”

The boy bowed his head with a wide grin as soon as you handed him the red pocket money for Linkon New Years. You waved at him, smiling warmly as he skipped away, clutching the envelope in his hands.

The festive occasion inspired you to pay a visit to a nearby orphanage, driven by a desire to share more of the joy and blessings. You brought small gifts and red envelopes, hoping to bring a little light to the children’s lives and make the celebration even more meaningful for them.

Of course, Sylus tagged along too. He was the benefactor, after all.

“Sir, thank you for your generosity.” The headmistress approached Sylus, who looked effortlessly sharp in his red suit, and gave his hand a shake. “The children are really happy with the cupcakes and pocket money.”

He merely chuckled and pointed at you with his chin. “Thank her, my wife is the one with the idea.”

You joined the conversation shortly after, and it didn’t take long for the topic to shift from the orphanage to your personal lives.

“So, do the two of you have plans to start a family soon?” the headmistress asked, her tone warm and curious. “Both of you are still young, and you're so good with kids. Having children of your own might bring even more joy into your lives.”

You mustered a polite laugh, the words to gracefully deflect her comment forming on your lips, when—

“Soon,” Sylus interjected smoothly, his arm slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. “Very soon, in fact.”

You blinked at him, startled by his bold declaration, while the headmistress’s face lit up with approval. You nudged him discreetly.

As soon as the headmistress went on her way, you turned to him with a frown. “Why would you tell her that?”

Your gaze met his, clear and utterly clueless. Sylus snorted, so tempted to pinch your cheeks, but settling instead for a tender pat on your head.

“You'll see soon enough, sweetie,” he replied, his tone laced with playful mystery.

Epilogue

It was the dead of night when a sudden wave of nausea overtook you. Stumbling out of bed, you rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before retching up the contents of your stomach.

Your body trembled as you stood, dizziness threatening to topple you. Leaning heavily on the sink for support, you rinsed your mouth, trying to steady yourself. The effort left you shivering, your legs almost buckling beneath you.

Before you could even comprehend the blur in your vision, a pair of strong arms got a hold over you. “S-Sylus...?” you murmured faintly.

Without hesitation, he lifted you into his arms securely as he carried you back to the bedroom, his expression shadowed with concern.

As he settled you onto the bed, he held you close, pressing your face against his bare chest that peeked from his unbuttoned shirt. “Take deep breaths,” he urged softly, his voice grounding you.

You inhaled shakily, letting the familiar warmth of his scent calm your frayed nerves. Slowly, your breathing steadied, though the nausea still lingered in the back of your throat.

“Is it the first time?” he questioned, smoothing your hair. “Have you thrown up before?”

You shook your head. “No... I get dizzy spells but that's it... This is the first time.”

Nausea, dizziness, vomiting. It wasn't hard to piece together what it was. Amidst your dazed thoughts, the realization hit you, and you turned to your husband almost in wonder. “Sylus... a-am I...?”

Sylus broke into a smirk, ruffling your hair. “Told you. I know your period is late.”

Your heart skipped a beat—and it was the only thing you could hear in that moment. The thought that a baby would enter your lives left you briefly speechless.

“Yeah, at the rate we're going, it’s like we’re bunnies,” you quipped sullenly, trying to regain a sense of control as you leaned into his broad chest.

You really thought he would poke fun at you for your highly possible pregnancy, but instead you were taken aback when he pressed a fond, lingering kiss to the side of your head. His arms tightened around you, his soft chuckle reverberating through his chest.

And when you found his gaze again, his jewel-like eyes softened into such an extent that made your heart soar.

“Well, aren’t I the luckiest man— having this fair lady be the mother of my child?”

[zeropro]

Hi, what are your thoughts on Megatron? Most Starscream fans don't have very positive ones about him lol, but everyone is different and I would like to know that you think

I like Megatron okay, he doesnt bother me but im not like jumping up and down for megatron content yknow? but I get not liking Megatron as a Starscream fan. It's just, you can't deny how intrinsically the two characters are tied together. Really can't have Starscream without Megatron, which is unfortunate for someone like me who does not like drawing Megatron lol!

Maybe the reason most Starscream fans dont like Megatron is because of their abusive relationship? And let's be clear, due to the power imbalance, I do interpret it as an abusive relationship. Despite how much we like to joke that Starscream deserves the punishment he gets (I'm not entirely sure how attempted murder/political assassination attempts factor into an abuse allegory) no one ACTUALLY deserves to be abused. The fact that Starscream is low key also evil and has done evil things is a separate issue from Megatron's abuse of him, we can hold him accountable for the one while also having sympathy because of the other. For me personally tho? Megatron abusing Starscream doesnt make me dislike the character at all, it's honestly the main draw of the dynamic for me. Maybe I just like to see my blorbos suffer…

The G1 Cartoon Megatron is probably the most fun, and I think this dynamic is the most on the level in terms of Starscream dishing back as much as Megatron gives him. They're all just bullies on the playground, their toxic back and forths feel a lot more slap stick and silly than actual abuse. What makes it work I think is that Megatron is not as crazy powerful as he is in later continuities, and Starscream responds to the abuse like a cartoon villain, immediately bouncing back and plotting his revenge, so it's funny rather than upsetting! I also find it hilarious how Megatron is weirdly nice to all the other Decepticons who aren't Starscream lmao? G1 Cartoon Megatron is a 10/10 for me.

If G1 cartoon's Megatron and Starscream are more on an even playing field, Prime Megatron is like the opposite of that. Prime Megatron is so impossibly powerful it almost feels like no one has a chance against him in a fight, and Prime Starscream is so scrunkly and small it's almost laughable. I think I feel the most pity for Prime Starscream when he gets beat up by Megatron, but he almost always makes up for it by being possibly the most evil of the Starscreams. I like how in the third season, he genuinely seems happy to finally dedicate himself fully to Megatron, but you just know how much he'd been beaten down and broken over and over again to even get to that point. Good for him for trying to get revenge in the sequel series. As for Megatron himself, I think more often than not when I am reading fics I see Prime Megatron in my head, and it's his voice I hear. What can I say, it was the first Transformers show I watched haha. Do I love how his redemption arc was handled? Not particularly, it sorta came out of nowhere, felt really rushed, and he just goes away anyway so we don't even get anything out of it. I like redemption arcs in general, but I don't necessarily think this particular Megatron needed one.

To be perfectly honest, I didn't think the 2005 IDW Megatron deserved one either, only because when it comes to over powered, unstoppable, irredeemably evil Megatrons, this one ranked right up there if we take into consideration everything he did before Dark Cybertron. His redemption does kinda come out of nowhere. But like, idk mang! It's also really fun? Like, Bumblebee carrying him around cuz his pants got blown off is hilarious! Him actually upset at Bumblebee's death and then taking Bumblebee's Autobot badge and putting it on over his own was sweet! Him dealing with the crazy crew of the Lost Light is a lot of fun! And him actually having to confronting and deal with what he's done (and other characters dealing with him dealing with it) is a lot more interesting than just him dying. idk. The comics have been around for years by that point, and passed through the hands of many writers, so if a little handwaving and a little contrivance and a little suspension of disbelief is what is required for us to have an honestly pretty fun take on Megatron, I think I'm okay with that.

I do have one complaint tho, mostly based on content I haven't read yet so take it with a grain of salt. I have been told that the adjacent series to the Lost Light Megatron stuff covers Starscream's side of the story and that it does actually address his abuse at the hands of Megatron. My problem is that apparently (and again I haven't read that far yet so this is just hearsay, but apparently) the writers on the Lost Light Megatron stuff didn't get the memo so while Megatron feels bad for and is working at redemption for all the evil war stuff he did to everyone, the one thing he doesnt regret is apparently his treatment of Starscream? Haha, like come on! on the one hand it's really disappointing to me because id like the catharsis of Megatron’s remorse, but...on the other hand, I guess it's kinda true to life actually. Your abusers are people, and they can change and grow and become better, but it doesnt mean they will ever become better for you. It doesnt mean they will ever apologize or even feel bad for what they did. Maybe theres something to be said about having to move on and heal without that. I guess whether this is a complaint I maintain will depend on how its handled.

I get that some people don't think Megatron should ever get a redemption arch, because he's an abuser, a monster, a tyrant, and an evil warlord, and it's completely fair for your stance to be that he should just be killed and that would be justice. I personally really like continuities that treat him more like just some guy. I think Starscream put it best in 2005 IDW during Megatron's trial when he said Megatron wasn't some political genius or the most gifted strategist. He wasn't even the most evil man. In IDW, Megatron started out as a social advocate from the lower class, and despite the problematic narrative of "the bad guy had a point and just did advocacy wrong/went too far," I think the idea that Megatron kinda got swept up by his own hype and was used by people and powers more devious than he is a compelling one.

Starscream is Starscream, so who knows how much of what he says is true and how much is him lying, but this idea just rings true to me. It humanizes him. If handled well, I'm honestly not opposed to stories redeeming Megatron. I'm also not opposed to stories treating him like the devil and just killing him lol. I love a character that can do both!

Uh uh, what else. Earthspark Megatron is nice, I like him. There's...a bit of cognitive dissonance in trying to reconcile the things he chastises Optimus Prime for and the idea that he still was a ruthless warlord at one point, both of which continue to be left unexplored. Transformers One Megatron is neat, I was worried going in how they would handle the switch from Orion Pax's brother to lets start a 4-6 million year war, but like, I like the way he actually was super okay with accepting his lot in life. Like obviously he didnt like it but he didnt see a point in fighting it, and that adamant complacency as a coping mechanism is what lead to his feelings of rage and betrayal by the end. Also I think its hilarious how much younger he is from all the other Decepticon high command, especially Starscream XD.

I don't think I've read or watched anything else with Megatron in it. Man, I wrote a lot. At the end of the day, Megatron is a good character, I like the role he plays in Transformers, I'm not like actually that interested in him on his own but more what he brings to the table when considering Starscream's character. You can't have one without the other! Do I ship them? No, not really, no more than any other ship. But I'll still read Megastar stuff cuz sometimes you just want to watch two people be toxic and make it hurt so good. I'll always prefer Trine stuff anyway ha! Have fun out there!

[andhumanslovedstories]

I've been thinking the kind of writing I do and the kind of reactions it gets. Some authors get goofy comics of their works. Me? I just got a comment on my Captain America: Winter Soldier fic that I helped the reader understand 9/11. I am, by the way, delighted by that.

I struggle to describe my own writing style. It's wordy, I know that, and favors a LOT of detail, to its benefit and detriment. I'm indulging this tendency for my current fic because it's fanfic and I am having a lot of fun seeing what details I write that I end up elaborating on, but my number one style goal this year is to work on brevity and a snappier pace. My style is so introspective; characters spend a lot of time reflecting on themselves. I put a lot of work into making my characters complex, even at times contradictory because I think that's true to human nature. And by god, do I think about a story's themes. Do other writers think about themes this much? Sometimes I'm like, hey brain, I'm actually good on themes. Would love to get some plot.

Not to entice all the sapiosexuals out there, but I take a very cerebral approach writing. (This does not btw mean that the fic itself will be particularly intelligent.) I'm not saying this is a good or bad way--it's one way to write. My writing can feel very cold to me. Very same-y as well. That's why writing SQQ pov is so fun, it's such a radically different voice than my usual.

The fic I'm writing now was supposed to be a lighthearted fic that was an excuse for me to practice writing a sex scene. Almost 80k words in, it's so super not that. I just can't resist the thrall of complication. Although you know, as I'm writing this, I'm not exactly sure what an "intellectual approach" to writing even means to me. I use big words? I overuse semi-colons?

Maybe it's the way that I'm so language-forward in my writing. Like, what I love doing is crafting a sentence. Someone described literature to me as writing where the main draw is the author's technical accomplishment in executing their style. I definitely favor authorial voice, to the point where the stories I write that I like least feel like balsa wood gilded over. It looks nice, but you quickly realize it's weak as hell.

There's works that clearly value style over plotting, and vice versa. You need both when you write--all plot with no style reads like a synopsis of itself and all style with no plot is imagery in pursuit of nothing. Both very boring in their own way. It's interesting how totally which one weighs more affects every part of the story. Mrs. Dalloway is not a fast-paced page turner, and a thriller doesn't halt itself so we can read really beautiful, pointless paragraphs about how the color of the sky evokes memories of a long ago time when you were so different.

Maybe what I mean is that my stories tend to evolve out of the ideas that I'm exploring. In the fic I'm writing now, I had this core conceit of misunderstanding: people failing to interpret something without knowing they're doing so. In a way, the entire story is about the hard work of moving from misunderstanding to understanding. Getting information, interpreting it, having that interpretation challenged, exploring what that challenge provokes, moving either closer or further from "the truth". Shen Qingqiu misunderstands basically everything, and basically everyone misunderstands Shen Qingqiu. What situations can I make that center on misunderstandings? I also think a lot about the concept of fault--how have people failed in the past, how are they failing in the present, and how do you make up from what you have done wrong? Do you get to just move forward? Are you always at mercy of whatever you did in the past?

So a lot of the plot of the story stems out of ways that I can bring those ideas to the forefront. When I get stuck, I think of different ways these concepts can manifest. Ming Fan's getting a whole plotline because of this. I like my writing, I do, but I’ve really been thinking about the way I write affects what I write. And then in turn the reactions I get to my writing. And then I wrote this whole post because ao3 was down and I couldn’t post my chapter. And now here we are.

Also general DVD commentary on OOC fic--I hit such a roadblock because we're very close to the point of the story where Big Things are going to happen, and I could not decide on exactly how those things should occur. I had about three ideas that I was excited about. None of them were compatible with the others and each would have very different emotional implications. It's hard to write when you're essentially juggling three different drafts. The only way I got myself to commit to one was promising myself that I could always write AUs of my own fic. I honestly doubt I'll get around to doing that, but who knows. Maybe someday there will be a fic of (spoiler warnings ig for things that aren't going to happen) this fic's version of sqq and lbh in the endless abyss together.

Also you would not imagine the amount of thought I've given which conversation should happen before the abyss and where each character relationship needs to be. I have dithered like crazy. And there's so many relationships I'm working with. I'm keeping track of Shen Qingqiu's relationship with: Luo Binghe, Liu Qingge, Yue Qingyuan, Mu Qingfang, Ming Fan, Shen Jiu, Qing Jing Peak as a whole, a couple of OCs, the System, and his concept of self. Mu Qingfang has not been on screen for a minute but it's not because he doesn't haunt my plot outline. Sorry, bud, everyone else just keeps getting more pressing stuff.

[magicshopaholic]

Late Night Call

Summary: Chaeyoung helps Hoseok in a vulnerable moment. In the dead of night, Miso and Yoongi finally have a long overdue conversation.

Pairing: Yoongi x OC, Hoseok x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Angst

Word count: 11.2 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of a panic attack, mentions of parental abuse, mentions of blood and violence

A/N: It's been a long time since I've posted - in the k-pop world, this might be known as a comeback. But I kid. Thank you for being patient and I hope this fic is worth it. This fic is set around two or three months after Interlude: Hyung Line.

Tagging: @bbl32 @ quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive  @faearchives @margopinkerton  @dreaming-with-happiness  @confessionsofamarshlily  @purpleseoul7 @sumzysworld @jihopesjoint @xjoonchildx @infinitehobi @handfullofcandids

Listen to: "just the two of us" by kauai45 and sweet cocoa

yoongi masterlist | hoseok masterlist | main masterlist

Yoongi pours a large pint of beer into two glasses and takes them out to the dining table. He places one in front of Hoseok with a soft thud, making him jump slightly.

“Cheers,” offers Yoongi, raising his own glass.

“To what?”

Yoongi shrugs. “A night off. Your album launch?” He nods when Hoseok exhales heavily and drops his face into his hands. “Headlining Lolla? That’s a huge fucking deal, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” he mumbles, voice muffled in his hands. “Huge deal. Huge set list, huge crowd, huge risk of it sucking.”

Yoongi sits across from him and frowns, clinking his glass with Hoseok’s which is still sitting untouched in front of him. “Since when? You were practically giddy during the meeting about it earlier.”

Hoseok gives him a look. “I can’t be negative about it in front of them,” he says with a grimace. Catching the look on Yoongi’s face, he hurries to continue. “Not that I’m negative… exactly. It’s just… everything’s going to be different now.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer immediately, instead taking a large sip of his beer. Hoseok isn’t buzzed enough for his feelings to tumble out freely, but Yoongi suspects he isn’t referring just to their solo ventures.

“It’ll be good for us,” he says eventually, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Yeah? You think?” 

“Sure.”

Hoseok raises his eyebrows, evidently expecting a more emphatic response. “So you’re not worried about your tour at all? Because I got to tell you: sneaking shots backstage before performing as a group was fun. Doing it yourself is just… depressing.”

“You underestimate me,” mutters Yoongi, but flashes him a smile to let him know he’s joking… kind of. “You should be less nervous, though. Your album release was a success. Sales-wise and PR-wise, especially after the listening party.”

Hoseok hums, drinking his beer. It’s unusual for him, Yoongi reflects, to seem this anxious, almost as though he’s lost. Somehow, aside from Namjoon’s responsibilities as leader and Seokjin’s general disposition to look out for them, if there’s anyone who’s level-headed and goal-oriented to the point of being a co-leader of the group, it’s usually Hoseok.

“If anything, you’ve given the rest of us the confidence that people will care about our music even if we aren't together,” says Yoongi after a moment, hoping it will encourage the younger member.

Hoseok nods, although he seems far away. “There’s too much at stake,” he murmurs. “It can make or break the rest of our careers.”

Yoongi frowns slightly, for he's not wrong. But before he can join Hoseok down this rabbit hole, Yoongi hastens to bring him out of it. “Everything you did for the listening party worked. It was a hit. And you seemed to be having fun with Chaeyoung.”

He'd added that last detail as casually as possible, but it catches Hoseok's attention. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Hoseok stays silent for a few seconds. “Do you think it's weird that I invited her?” he asks suddenly, his tone different and his torso leaning forward slightly.

“No,” answers Yoongi. “Why? Do you?”

“No. I don't know.” He clicks his tongue, looking deep in thought. “I think she did. But I can't be sure.” 

“Did she say something?”

“She seemed a little surprised, I guess.” Hoseok shrugs uncertainly. “It's hard to tell. We're not in a very… forthcoming place right now.”

“So why don't you say something to her?”

“I did,” he reminds him forcefully. “On Sooah's birthday. I told her it was a bad idea and we couldn't be together but we were still hanging out and… eventually hooking up again,” he adds, a bit abashedly, “but after what I said, I don't know how to move forward without making a mess of everything.”

Yoongi, not one to pry, waits for Hoseok to reveal more information, for he certainly isn’t going to ask. “You guys seemed close at the party,” he remarks.

“Yeah. We always have fun together. Not that kind of fun,” he adds with a face, as Yoongi chuckles behind his glass. “Not just that kind of fun,” he amends, his ears reddening slightly.

“But you're hooking up,” he confirms seriously.

“We haven't had sex, if that's what you're asking,” informs Hoseok, a little defensively. “If it's anything serious… she deserves better than an awkward friend-relationship for that,” he admits in a mutter.

Yoongi doesn't reply except to lightly clink his glass with Hoseok’s. He's certain his friend doesn't know this, but Hoseok in love is a predictable machine. The last time this had happened was when they were still trainees; that entire situation had had the distinct desperation and immaturity of teenage hormones and insatiable hunger. 

Now, with the wisdom that age is bound to bring, Hoseok is more restrained and thoughtful, but still the same nevertheless. The emphasis on fun (a baseline requirement for him), the overthinking about whether she felt comfortable or weird about something, the subtle ways he kept her on a pedestal - they’re all classic signs. Had it been a simpler situation, such as one where Hoseok had no lifelong loyalty to her older brother, Chaeyoung would be the most affectionately courted young woman in Seoul right now.

As it is, Hoseok is staring into nothing, a frown between his eyebrows. “There's just… way too much on my mind right now. Even sleep is hard to come by sometimes. I don't know - what do people do when they’re stressed? What does Namjoon do?”

“Wallows, mostly,” says Yoongi. “When he's in a productive space, though, he goes to the gym.” He shrugs. “We could go to the gym.”

There's a pause before both of them snort.

“Feels good to laugh,” chuckles Hoseok, chugging a quarter of his beer before abandoning the rest. “I'm driving,” he adds, “but I wouldn't mind a snack, honestly.”

Yoongi makes a face but doesn't argue, pouring the remaining into his own mug as Hoseok stands up and shuffles into the kitchen. As he hears the cabinets opening and closing, the doorbell rings. Not quite expecting anyone except an Amazon package that usually gets delivered to the lobby downstairs, Yoongi peers through the peephole first. He frowns - for his eyes have to be deceiving him - and opens the door, an incredulous expression on his face that fades when he takes in her appearance.

Kang Chanel pushes her hands deeper into the pockets of her hoodie, her shoulders hunching. “You said I wasn't a project, right?” she reminds him lightly, as though she's referring to an argument about ramen toppings. “Well, here's your chance to prove it.”

Yoongi stares. It's probably rude that he hasn't invited her in yet but he can't help it. Her clothes are wet - he realises now that it's raining outside - and as she pulls down the hood of her sweatshirt and shakes out her wet hair, he notices at once that it's shorter than before.

But that isn't even what he's looking at.

“What - what happened to you?” he murmurs hoarsely, before snapping out of it and standing aside to let her in. She takes a couple of steps and stops, droplets of water pooling around her feet on his clean, tiled floors.

“Well, it's raining,” she answers, making a fuss of wiping her wet hair off her neck and retrieving her phone from her hoodie pocket, clutched tightly in her hand, all the while averting her eyes from his. “It was a drizzle when I left but I didn't think it would get so bad -”

“That's not what I'm talking about,” he interrupts her. She pauses, clearly aware, but doesn't elaborate and doesn't quite meet his eyes either. “What happened to your face?���

Miso takes a deep breath and looks up at him, and he can almost make out the wheels turning in her mind as she evaluates how to answer this. At that moment, however, Hoseok appears in the hall with an energy bar in his hand.

“Is someone at the - oh.”

Miso's eyes widen. “Oh, I didn't realise you had company. I'm sorry, I should've called, I guess,” she mutters, turning her face away slightly, Yoongi knows, to hide the gash from Hoseok's view. 

“It's fine, he was just leaving.” Yoongi meets Hoseok's horrified gaze and gives him an imploring look, hoping he will understand. To his credit, despite knowing nothing about Miso's background, the kindest person Yoongi knows nods wordlessly, the opened energy bar in his hand forgotten.

Both he and Miso stay silent as Hoseok hurriedly pulls on his shoes and moves to the door. “Is - is there anything I can do?” he asks when he's at the doorway.

Yoongi glances at Miso before turning back. “I don't think so,” he says. “But, Hobi -” He pauses as Hoseok meets his eyes again, and this time Yoongi shakes his head a miniscule amount.

Hoseok nods. “Of course,” he says in a small voice, before closing the door behind him.

Just the two of them now, Yoongi turns to Miso, ready to speak more freely now. But she beats him to it.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” she asks quickly. “I’m freezing. I mean, I know it's unexpected. We're… colleagues. Like, I know it would be weird for sure if I showed up at Donghyuk's and asked to shower -” She breaks off when she catches sight of his expression, unmoving. Her words are tumbling out of her mouth, her tone jerky and her shoulders still hunched, as though expecting to be caught at any second.

Yoongi has so many questions, but if there's ever been a time when she's seemed more like a hunted animal, he can’t think of it.

“Bathroom is down the hall to the right,” he says at last, noting how she nods in barely masked relief. “Fresh towels are on the rack. I'll, uh… get you some clothes.”

Miso nods. Her mouth trembles slightly; whether it's the cold or something else, he can't tell, but when she wipes her face with her hand and winces upon touching the cut, smearing blood further across her pale cheek, any further words die in his throat.

He waits in the living room until he hears the door to the en suite in his room close and the shower start. He rummages in his closet to find dry clothes for her, a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, all the while trying not to let his mind wander down dark paths, for he will learn what happened soon enough. There’s no point, he thinks stoically, as he yanks a hoodie from its hanger with force, of imagining something that may very well have not transpired at all.

The shower is still running when he knocks softly at the door. “Miso,” he calls, as gently as he can. “I'm leaving some clothes on the bed. I'll be outside, in the kitchen,” he adds after a moment. “The door will be closed. The bedroom door, that is.” Cringing at himself, he turns to leave when he hears her voice from inside, unmistakable even through the water.

“Come in.”

He freezes, for surely he must have heard her incorrectly. “Um -” He clears his throat and cranes his neck so his ear is to the door. “What - what did you say?”

“Come in.”

There it is. It's muffled through the water but the words sound exactly the same. “It's - it's Yoongi. Uh, Min Yoongi,” he adds for good measure.

“Yoongi,” she states, but he can’t make out tone or mood. “Come in.”

It occurs to Yoongi that she’s said it three times now; any more and he becomes the Neanderthal who can’t follow a simple request. Hesitating a little, he opens the door to the en suite and steps in, unexpectedly relieved that the glass door to the shower is still closed and fogged with steam.

He places his folded clothes on the basin slab and turns towards the shower, not moving a muscle. For some reason, his palms and the soles of his feet feel tingly, almost as though they’re bracing themselves for stimulation. But it feels wrong, too, and Yoongi wishes Miso would tell him clearly what to do.

“You can come in.” 

Her voice is softer now, as though she knows he’s closer. The steam rises from above the glass door and it takes a certain effort for Yoongi’s feet to leave the floor. His stomach leaping, completely off rhythm with his steps, he places his hand on the handle. Wildly, for a moment, he wonders if he should take off his clothes, but immediately dismisses the thought. Tonight doesn’t seem like that kind of night.

Yoongi opens the door slowly, his heart slowing when he doesn’t see Miso where he was expecting - standing in the middle of the shower - and instead spots her on the floor, sitting under the stream of water, fully clothed and hugging her knees to her chest. She looks up when she sees him.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “The hot water felt really good.”

Still in the doorway of the shower, droplets splashing onto his t-shirt, Yoongi debates what to do. Miso doesn’t say any more but the fact that she’d asked him not once, but thrice, to come in tugs at his heart. She’s never looked more alone; part of him wonders if she’s testing him, to see what he will do next. 

The steam is starting to make him sweat now. After a moment, he slips out of his sliders and steps into the shower as well, sitting on the floor opposite her. The water is scalding; he hisses as it hits the back of his neck and shuffles on the floor until he’s sideways with his back to the wall, the water now mostly hitting his track pants. He looks up to see her mouth twitching slightly at this spectacle, but doesn’t comment on it.

Yoongi can’t hold it in any longer. “What happened, Miso?” he asks quietly.

Miso sighs and runs a hand over her wet hair, causing it to stick to one side of her neck. “My mother had one of her… meltdowns, I guess you could call it. My father is abroad on a business trip and she started drinking a little earlier than usual today and couldn’t find one of the thousand pills she takes…” She trails off and shakes her head, but Yoongi isn’t about to let this conversation end.

“What kind of pills?”

“Just pills.” She shrugs and continues, a deliberate nonchalance in her tone this time. “And she was suddenly convinced that I’d hidden them from her and when I denied it, she accused me of lying and said I was ungrateful after all she did for me, hiding my colour blindness from my father…” She exhales and rolls her eyes. “Anyway. Then she started throwing things.”

She says it with a note of finality, as though that’s all there is to say. Yoongi reaches up and touches her cheek with his knuckle, where the blood has been washed off and the cut is now just a thin red line. He hesitates before making contact as gently as he can, light as a feather. Miso closes her eyes momentarily at his touch before opening them again.

Yoongi’s mind races, thinking of knives, daggers, mirrors, shards of glass flying through the air -

“Diamonds,” she says, and Yoongi knows she’s guessed the direction of his thoughts. “She usually has these episodes when my father gets distant. More distant,” she amends as he lowers his hand. “She flung a hundred carat necklace in her anger and it hit me. She didn’t intend to do… this.”

Yoongi stays silent. He isn’t sure what he might say if he opens his mouth, and the last thing he wants is to put her on the defensive and start a fight - or worse, for her to leave.

“You need to get dry,” he says finally, clearing his throat. “There’s ramen - or whiskey. Whichever warms you up faster. I can put your clothes in the dryer,” he offers. 

Miso nods, her eyes flickering to the floor. But she gets to her feet and Yoongi mirrors her, holding her hand to make sure she doesn’t slip. She peels off her drenched hoodie, her t-shirt rising slightly and sticking to her pale torso. She adjusts it with a slender arm and raises her eyebrows at him.

“I’m going to take my clothes off now,” she says. “So unless you want to watch…”

Hoping the heat on his face is only due to the steam and nothing else, he returns her wry hint of a smile and holds his hand out for her sweatshirt. “I’ll be outside,” he confirms. “Possibly checking myself for a couple of second degree burns.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be in here. Not drowning myself,” she clarifies.

Despite the situation, Yoongi can’t help but chuckle. Stepping out of the shower and closing the door behind him, he exhales. He needs to change his clothes, too; without thinking, he takes off his wet t-shirt and shakes out his hair. Hearing a movement behind him, he turns to see her jeans thrown over the top of the door, followed by her t-shirt. Another, almost inaudible movement occurs inside, but no more clothes appear.

Mouth feeling a little dry, Yoongi reaches up and tugs lightly at her jeans. “They should be dry in an hour, probably.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Taking that as assent, he pulls her clothes down. He should leave; it’s too fucking weird to be standing out here while she’s inside, naked and bathing. But he doesn’t move and she doesn’t ask him to either. The door is still opaque with steam; he isn’t even sure if the vague silhouette he’s seeing is real or if he’s imagining it.

“Yoongi?”

He moves closer to the door, automatically. Her voice is soft again, barely audible over the shower. If he thinks about it, they can’t be more than two feet apart, at best. But something tells him they’re even closer. Hesitating, he touches his fingertips to the door, careful not to wipe away any steam, waiting with bated breath to hear her voice again. A droplet of water falls from the ends of his hair and trickles down his bare chest as he stays there, his heart thumping against his rib cage. 

“I…” Her voice is definitely closer than it was before. “I’ll have a whiskey,” she murmurs eventually, but it’s enough for Yoongi. Nodding wordlessly, he steps away and leaves the en suite, giving her her privacy.

—

Hoseok drives through the cold, misty streets of Seoul, the image of Kang Miso, pale and drenched, in Yoongi’s hallway. He’d had an inkling that Miso wasn’t just any colleague in Yoongi’s orbit at Big Hit, but evidently they were far closer than any of them knew.

It occurs to him only about ten minutes into the drive that he doesn’t have a destination in mind… but somehow, he’s found himself on a familiar route, one he’s come to associate with anticipation, excitement and a not unpleasant fluttering in his stomach.

Predictably, it returns the moment he begins thinking about it, about her. He hadn’t been lying to Yoongi; it was genuinely getting harder and harder to stay away from Chaeyoung. It was easy with her, easier than he’d ever thought possible because she was like a fairy: a cute, fun fairy who made his day better just by existing and had the softest skin and smelled like berries. In fact, there had been more than a few moments over the last couple of months where he’d seriously considered whether it was worth forcing this distance that was basically just for name’s sake at this point, and whether his friendship with Chanyeol was strong enough to survive it if he decided to take the next step. 

Hoseok parks across the street from her building in his usual spot; just far enough away to not lead any stray cameras or phones to Chaeyoung’s residence (Kaya’s incident last year had shook them all to some level). Chanyeol. It’s the only part of this whole situation that turns the pleasant fluttering into an uncomfortable mess of twitching and flapping. As if on cue, his mind goes to the only thing worse than Chanyeol finding out, which is Chaeyoung eventually deciding that this state of limbo is too much for her and walks out of his life.

He sits back in his seat and closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into them. It’s been a busy, stressful few months, with his album recording, the release, the music videos getting filmed and rehearsing for his appearance at Lollapalooza. Chaeyoung had been there through all of it, but it isn’t over. He appreciates Yoongi’s attempt at trying to make him feel better but Yoongi hasn’t reached that juncture yet, the one where, suddenly, there aren’t six other members to ride and die with on stage but just him, alone and exposed. Every crack in his voice, every glitch in the sound system, every off-beat step will be glaring, and anyone who had ever said, all the way back before he’d debuted, that the group would be better off without him would be proven right.

Where would he go from there? If it was proven, beyond doubt, that his solo music and his solo performances were subpar and that everything he was - everything he is - is just because of the handsome, talented people he’s surrounded himself with, then where would he go? How would he ever show his face to the world again? To his family, his friends, his members who would look at him with pity and comfort the lagging member? 

After all these years of travelling and performing and working constantly, he can feel his chest and shoulders and back physically ache at the thought of it all culminating in the clarity that he shouldn’t be here at all. The exhaustion makes his lungs constrict, his heart beating so rapidly that it’s starting to hurt now. Hoseok clutches the sides of his seat, his vision starting to blur and his breathing reduced to dry, uneven gasps.

Even as the blood rushes to his face and his arms go hot and then go cold, as though his skin isn’t even connected to his body anymore, somewhere in the back of his mind it occurs to him that he’s having a panic attack. He hasn’t had one in a long while but he also hasn’t been here in a long while, in a place where the future is so uncertain and the stakes are so high and all the decisions are his and his alone and there’s no room for error because if he messes this up then where would he go?

He’s trembling now, he can feel it. A loud sound almost makes his heart stop but then he turns his head slightly in the direction of the sound to see Chaeyoung outside his window, waving at him with an angelic smile. She’s saying something but he can barely hear her; there’s a roaring in his ears like waves crashing and he can’t breathe. The thought makes him panic but his limbs won’t move. Outside, Chaeyoung is knocking on the window again and her voice is higher now, more worried and he forces himself to turn to her, registering her wide eyes and her palms banging against the door and pointing frantically to something below.

It’s almost euphoric when he realises he understands her; with one shaking hand, he unlocks the car door and hears the click. A moment later, a blast of cold hits him like a freight train but is almost immediately blocked when Chaeyoung peers inside the car.

“Oh, shit! Oppa, are you okay?” she asks, sounding a bit frenzied. “Oh, God - okay - wait, take this off -” She leans over him and clicks unbuckles his seatbelt, returning to her original position. “Okay, oppa? Hobi - can you hear me?” 

Hoseok meets her eyes and nods vigorously, so relieved she’s here with her presence of mind and her sweet-smelling hair. She takes his face in her hands and he almost cries at being able to feel something, and tries to focus all his energy on her cold, slim fingers on his cheeks.

“Hobi? Breathe. Breathe,” she repeats calmly, keeping her big eyes locked on his. “Breathe,” she says again, inhaling slowly. He tries to copy her, his breath still coming in jerks and getting stuck in his throat. But he hangs on to her voice, telling him to breathe, breathe, breathe.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, nodding in encouragement. Placing her knee on the seat between his legs, she hitches herself up and wraps her arms around his shoulders. “Keep breathing,” she continues, rubbing his back, her voice like honey in his ear.

Hoseok nods, feeling his chest start to expand with oxygen. The panic he was feeling starts to fade and he clutches the bottom of her tan sweater in his fist and presses his face to his shoulder. Breathe, she say  and he obeys, breathing in her scent. Focus, and he does, on the only tangible thing in the world right now, anchoring him to the very ground. 

As his breathing starts to normalise, he closes his eyes, because the question that had sent him spiralling - where would he go? - seems like it might have an answer.

—

Hoseok taps his foot on the floor as he sits on Chaeyoung’s sofa, waiting for her to freshen up and return. Now, with a clearer head and calmer breathing, he’s starting to feel a bit silly. Stress was something he’d learnt over time to manage over time, be it in private or public. But he wasn’t expecting it to crash over him like this out of the blue - and he definitely wasn’t intending to get caught.

Chaeyoung appears from inside her room, now in a hoodie and joggers instead of the sweater and jeans she’d been wearing earlier. She gestures at him to continue sitting when he notices that she’s on the phone.

“I know, Dad, I am,” she says, giving him a look as she makes a beeline for the kitchen. He hears a cabinet opening and closing, sounds interspersed with more murmurs, mostly “yes, Dad”s and “I know, Dad”s. He hears her say goodbye to him after a couple of minutes after which she enters the living room again, holding a tall glass of water and a spherical object wrapped in gold foil. She hands him the glass and waits until he takes a sip.

“Thanks,” he says, clearing his throat.

“You’re welcome.” Chaeyoung takes a seat opposite him on the coffee table and crosses one leg over the other, sweeping her long hair over one shoulder. With all her perfectly subtle make-up wiped off, she looks younger all of a sudden. No, not younger - unencumbered. 

Hoseok finishes the water and places the glass down and it’s only then that Chaeyoung holds up the foil-wrapped chocolate.

“Here. Sugar is good for you,” she adds when he hesitates. “Especially if you’re feeling light-headed.”

He observes it for a moment, then unwraps it. “Split it with me?”

To his surprise, Chaeyoung nods immediately. “I wanted it, too, but… I can’t justify eating an entire one myself,” she says matter-of-factly as she pops her half into her mouth.

Hoseok frowns slightly, although the chocolate feels comforting and creamy. “You don’t need to diet,” he tells her.

Chaeyoung licks the tips of her fingers, finishing the last of the chocolate, before looking at him. Their knees brush against each other as she leans forward slightly. “Are you okay?”

He sighs and nods. “I am now. Thanks to you.”

She shrugs, but her eyes soften. “I just recognised your car.” She pauses. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later? I’m just… stressed. About a lot of things.”

“The album?” she guesses.

“Yeah.”

“And Lolla?”

“That, too.”

“Enlistment?”

He looks up at her and tilts his head, not knowing whether to be annoyed or amused. “Am I that transparent or have I just been talking about myself that much lately?”

She smiles. “Maybe a bit of the first. And maybe a third option, which is just that I know you that well.”

“That’s probably true.” Wrapping his hands around her calves, he jokingly tugs her a little closer. “You’re the smartest person I know, caterpillar.”

“And you’re the happiest person I know, oppa,” she counters, pinching his cheek. She lets go but her fingers stay and she gently smooths the side of his hair before lowering her hand.

There are words on the tip of his tongue he hasn’t said in a long time, but he reins it in. Leaning forward, he kisses her. Her lips are soft as always, shy at first, and he discovers the stomach flutters are back. He brushes her hair back as they continue kissing until she pulls away, biting her lip with two light pink spots on her cheeks.

“I love you.”

It’s the way her eyes widen, like a deer’s, and her smile fades slightly that he realises he’s said the words out loud. Aside from the realisation that hadn’t been able to rein it in for quite as long as he thought, Hoseok searches for something else: panic, regret, annoyance. But he finds none of them.

“I mean it,” he says softly, before he can talk himself out of it. “I don't know where I'd be without you.”

He searches her face this time for a clue, but his heart sinks slightly when she leans away and sits back. “Why?”

“Why?”

“I mean… why are you telling me?” She purses her lips before shrugging slowly, deliberately. “I don't mean that in a bad way, but…” His expression must tip her off about something, for she quickly shakes her head. “Like… I get it. I love you, too, I guess. We're practically family.”

Hoseok's heart seems to settle somewhere around his abdomen. Before he can respond, a sound startles him and they both turn towards the door with a jerk. It opens to reveal Sooah and Jimin entering the house with shopping bags and a large transparent glass each with a straw, sipping matcha tea together. Hoseok uses the few seconds of chaos in greetings to quickly shake it off and breathe in, trying to swallow the lump threatening to creep into his throat.

Sooah immediately begins showing Chaeyoung the things she bought and Jimin joins in as well, and the moment is gone. Somewhere in the middle of it, Chaeyoung's eyes meet Hoseok's eyes briefly and he holds her gaze until she looks away.

—

Yoongi smells his own shower gel and lotion wafting into the open kitchen but stays where he is, by the bar and on his phone, wanting to give Miso a chance to come to him on her own time. It proves to be a good decision because after a few minutes, when she doesn’t, he peers out to see her in the balcony, sitting on the sofa with her knees to her chest. 

He wonders if she’s cold - she must be - but also somewhere understands the appeal of the freezing wind, with its unique ability to numb. She’d asked for whiskey; taking an executive call, he takes two bottles in one hand and two glasses in the other and joins her.

The air is as biting as he’d expected, but something  about the way she’s wrapped himself in his hoodie, her hands pulled into the sleeves and the hood pulled over her head, makes his heart float. He sits next to her, noting that her hair is mercifully dry and pours himself a drink while leaving her glass untouched.

“Is that rum?” Miso asks.

“Yep. Great for cold nights.” He takes a sip of his drink and sighs in satisfaction. “You can try it if you want. Or there's whiskey, as you asked,” he reminds her, pointing to the other bottle.

She holds out her hand for his glass, her fingers warm as they brush his, and takes a sip. “Wow,” she says, coughing a little. “That's -”

“Too strong?”

“Sweet,” she finishes, returning the glass to him. “I wasn't expecting it. But it actually seems to be working.” She frowns, looking disproportionately subscribed. “What is this and why have I never heard of it?” she mutters, reaching for the bottle to read the label. “Old Monk?”

“Mhm. A friend gave it to me, last time I saw her.” Yoongi takes another loud sip as Miso begins making a glass for herself. “She always buys it from the duty free section, but she let me have a bottle to try. Namjoon hated it,” he adds as a side note.

“It's nice.” She takes a longer sip and sits back on the sofa, looking decidedly more comfortable. Yoongi decides he can finally ask her something that’s been on his mind since she turned up an hour ago.

“Can I ask you something?”

She tenses automatically. “What?”

“I don’t mean this to sound weird or like you can’t come over or something - because you can, whenever you want - but just out of curiosity -“

“You’re rambling, Min Suga.”

He pauses abruptly. “Guess you just bring it out in me.”

She raises her eyebrows and half-chuckles. “You were saying?”

“Yeah. How, uh… how do you know where I live?”

“Oh.” Miso looks down at her glass a little guiltily. “Well… I asked Donghyuk. But technically, you gave it to me, a long time ago,” she reminds him quickly. “It just got deleted from my phone. Remember your new year party last year?”

“Of course. The one you didn’t attend?”

“The one you only invited me to because you couldn’t leave out just one person in the team,” she corrects him pointedly, but he simply nods sheepishly. “Having said that… I’m sorry I barged in on your night. And I'll apologise to Hoseok as well. I just - I didn't know where else to go.”

Yoongi bites his tongue, trying to think of the right thing to say because there is so much he wants to say. Finally, he shakes his head gently. “Don't be.”

“I won’t make a habit of it. I mean, I can’t,” Miso shrugs when he gives her a curious look. “It's a lot easier to leave the house when my father is abroad and I'm nowhere on his mind. But it is good to know that Seungkwan has no actual personal interest in where I go,” she adds.

“Did it really get that bad?”

Miso bites her lip. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to evade the question or just not answer but he wonders if anyone has ever asked her this in the first place, point blank. But she came here, he reasons with himself. Why would she if she didn’t feel safer here than in her own house? 

He waits it out, though. Finally, after finishing her drink and placing the empty glass on the table, Miso sits back and hugs her knees again.

“My mother hasn't had one of these episodes in a long time,” she says, not properly meeting his eyes. “But I guess a lot of things came together this time… Father’s on a business trip and I think they had a fight before he left, one of her socialite friends insinuated that he’s having an affair which he probably is, she and I got into an argument about when I’m going to get married and not embarrass her anymore, I told her I have a actual career and she flipped out…”

Yoongi doesn’t interrupt her, although he has so many questions. How many times has this happened? How did she get hurt? What does she mean by episodes? He tries to picture Kang Sera, always the picture of elegance and finery, unraveling while she screams at her daughter. Finally, he prompts her gently. “You fought?”

“That’s an understatement. She accused me of stealing the last of her pills, I told her to go get a life, she called me ungrateful -“ She shakes her head and exhales tiredly. “If I’d known my colour blindness was a thing she was going to use as an argument for the rest of my life, I would’ve foregone the contact lenses. She acts like she fucking saved my life.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” argues Yoongi. “She’s your mother - it’s her job to take care of you. She hurt you, Miso,” he reminds her, unable to keep it in anymore and hearing the hardness in his own voice. “All because she’s insecure about herself and is imagining that you stole from her?”

“But I did,” she admits, surprising him. “I did steal her last pills because she was getting on my last fucking nerve. And they aren’t even prescription,” she clarifies immediately, defensive. “I was just really pissed off. Maybe it was petty.” She looks straight ahead, eyes far away, and Yoongi wonders if she’s seeing a diamond necklace fly towards her face. “I guess in a way I deserve this,” she says, pointing to her face.

“No, you don’t. What are you -“ Yoongi breaks off to keep his glass on the table and scoots closer to her. He needs her, so badly, to hear this that he wishes he could grab her shoulders and make her face him. “You don’t seriously believe that.”

“You know what - forget it,” she says, shaking her head and turning away. “It’s complicated and we don’t need to talk about -”

Fuck. “No, no - wait. I’m sorry,” he interrupts, grabbing her arm to make her turn to him. “I’m not judging, I promise. You’re right, it is complicated. But I want to listen, if you want to talk about it,” he says, his voice softer now. He touches her cut again with his thumb, hoping he isn’t hurting her. “Do you want a band aid or something?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good. But… look, I know my parents are awful. And being around that my whole life… it’s - it’s completely fucked with how I interact with them now. My mother is a shrew who hates me but - but in a way, she’s even more trapped than I am. Her parents never let her work a day in her life, she didn’t really get a choice in who she married, her kid is nothing like she wanted  and now she’s stuck with my monster of a father who -” Her voice breaks and Yoongi knows for certain that she’s never said it out loud before because the loathing in her voice is transparent. “I feel bad for her sometimes. How weak of a person am I?” she asks, her voice breaking slightly.

Yoongi doesn’t reply for a few seconds. He raises his hand slightly again and even though she doesn’t back away, he lowers it before he can touch her . “Miso,” he says quietly, bowing his head. “I’m sorry about what I said in that motel. I’ve felt so shitty about it because… you’re nothing like him.”

She gives him a look. “I just told you I stole a pill from my mother.”

“From what you’re telling me, I would’ve done the same thing,” he clarifies. “And it’s really none of my business if you’re taking over his company one day. I’m sure you’ll do a great -”

Miso shakes her head. “I’m not taking over his company, Yoongi,” she interrupts. 

“I thought you said -”

“Yeah, I know what I said. That’s the official party line, that I’m his heir.” She meets his eyes and shakes her head. “But I don’t think he’s ever giving me his company. And to be honest, I don’t want it. I mean, I worked for him for a year after I returned from Australia and it was… God, I hated everything about it. The way it was built, the way he was running it, the culture, the clear… monotony of it all. There was nothing there, they weren’t working for anything, or creating anything. It was just money and power and being ruthless about everything.”

Yoongi bites his lip, for he wasn’t expecting this. “But… you haven’t told him all this.” The moment he says it, he realises how stupid it sounds.

Miso scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s a conversation that would go down well. But I don’t even think he’s going to give it to me. He keeps me so far away from it, he’s completely okay with me working for a company he’s invested in on the side… I don’t think he has any intention of having me take over.”

“Then why does he keep calling you his heir? Why hasn’t he just told you either way?”

She shrugs, palms facing up. “Maybe he wants to sell the family-owned business, chaebol image. Maybe he doesn’t want me to be certain so he can continue using it as leverage whenever he wants. I don’t know - why does he do anything?” She runs her hands through her hair, the shorter length seeming to surprise her for a moment. 

“I don’t care anymore, Yoongi,” she murmurs, sounding defeated. “I just can’t care. I can’t…” She takes a deep breath and Yoongi realises with a start when she sniffs that her eyes are wet. “I’m just so tired. I hate waking up in the mornings. Every time I open my eyes, I… I just want to go back to sleep. I’m so tired,” she finishes, her voice barely even a whisper anymore.

At the same time that she moves towards him, he does the same and wraps an arm around her. She rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, and Yoongi wishes helplessly that he could make this easier, that it didn’t need to take a blow-up with her mother for her to end up here.

They stay there for a while, neither of them saying anything. Yoongi’s cheek rests against the top of her head; he feels at a loss to do anything for her. Aside from a shower and a drink, is there really nothing else he can do for her, to help her escape her family? 

He fingers the ends of her hair on her other shoulder and he isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but Miso relaxes into his side. “Your hair is shorter,” he remarks. “Is there a story there?”

“Um…” Her tone is slightly different. “I tried to cut my hair into layers,” she confesses, sitting up straight and rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why, I’ve always sucked at it. But then I had to correct it and I ended up cutting more of it… are you seriously laughing at me?”

Yoongi purses his lips and shakes his head, but he’s restraining himself. “I’m not laughing. I’m amused,” he allows, his arm still around her for he’s not ready to let go just yet. “It’s just not something I pictured you doing. I always imagined you got fancy overpriced haircuts at those luxury salons in Gangnam or something.”

“Not all of us have personal stylists, Min Suga,” she reminds him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the Chanel lavender and rose hips lotion you have in your bathroom. You’re fancier than I am.”

“That was a gift,” he points out. “And I can smell it on you so don’t pretend you didn’t use it as well,” he adds, realising only when she stiffens next to him what he’s said. He wants to slap himself, but Miso doesn’t seem uncomfortable.

“I did use it,” she admits after a moment, shifting slightly next to him. “It’s nice. I like how it smells.”

Yoongi nods. It shouldn’t, but his mind immediately pictures her stepping out of the shower, wrapped in a towel and peering at his lotion, possibly snickering to herself before applying it on herself. His shower. Something warm courses through him that he hopes is the Old Monk; it’s occurring to him now just how close in proximity they were to each other while wet and partially naked. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut; his body should not be reacting right now.

“It may have been worth it, though,” she continues wryly. “My mother saw my hair and freaked. It would’ve been kind of funny if it wasn’t so deranged.”

Yoongi is glad to hear her chuckle; even if she doesn’t mean it, he’ll take anything that improves her mood even slightly right now. “I like it,” he tells her, smiling when she half-scoffs and half-laughs before sighing hugely.

“We’ve been talking about me for a while,” she says, looking up at him. She doesn’t usually look like she wears much make-up but with her bare face right now and her short choppy hair, she looks strangely vulnerable and otherworldly, almost androgynous, and Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more beautiful.

“I don’t mind,” he manages to say. 

But she begins sitting up and, to his regret, moves away a little so she can tilt her body towards him. “How’s it going with you?”

“Uh…” Yoongi shrugs. His problems of fame and living his dream don’t seem appropriate to bring up right now. “It’s okay. The usual.”

“The usual?” Miso raises her eyebrows. “I heard the company got a huge cash infusion which they’re using to fund your tour.”

“Yeah - how did you know that?”

“I work for the same company you do, Min Suga.” She taps his knee with the back of her hand. “Are you looking forward to it? Oh, have they set a release date for your album? They’ll have to give it at least a month between -”

But her voice gets fainter, for a wonderful idea has occurred to Yoongi.

“Come with me,” he says abruptly. “On tour. Come with me.”

Miso, who looked a little miffed at being cut off, now falls silent. “You’re asking me to -”

“Come on tour, yeah. We’re both producers, part of the same teams,” he reminds her. “It won’t even look out of place. I can - I can talk to the management, get you on the team and we can just… you can get away, from everything. Just for a while. Just… travel around the world, come to the shows, work on music…” 

Miso’s eyes soften. “That… that sounds amazing. Honestly.”

“Then do it,” he says immediately, quickly, because he can already feel it slipping away. “Come.” With me.

“Um… I can’t, though.”

It takes all of Yoongi’s strength to not to say yes, you can. Instead, he grabs her hands, slender and ice cold. “I’ll speak to whoever is needed. I know I can get you on the team. Last year, we invented a position on the team for Jimin’s girlfriend to come along to a show so I know that I can -”

“No, I can’t, Yoongi,” she interrupts gently, retrieving her hands and squeezing his. “I can’t because… my father has my passport.”

A few moments of silence pass, during which Yoongi’s blood runs cold. He doesn’t immediately understand why; he just knows how his own passport is a constant accessory, almost always on his person. 

He stares at her. “He… what?”

She nods. “He has all our passports, under lock and key. I’m pretty sure I know which lock exactly, too, in his study, but…” She bites her lip, all traces of humour wiped off her face. “Yeah. Could be problematic.”

No shit. Yoongi tries to process this, every single instance of him telling her to leave and to live her own life coming back to him in vivid detail, along with a sense of frustration and regret because he sees now that he had no idea how confined she really is.

“Is this how he’s keeping you here?” he chokes out. “Because… I mean, how can he do this? I’m pretty sure it’s not even legal to keep your own documents from you. How - how is he -” But he breaks off, unable to find enough words.

Miso winces thoughtfully. “I don’t think that’s initially what he intended… butit’s probably an added bonus. A few years ago - the year I worked for him, actually - someone hacked the Kang Industries internal network,” she explains, folding her legs. “They even attempted identity theft but thankfully, it didn’t work. But it completely shattered my father. He was… outraged. Someone caught him by surprise and almost took everything he’d built away… he became completely paranoid after that. It’s only just started getting better, but… yeah, that’s when he locked up all our documents.” She shrugs, her eyes falling to her feet. “Too bad it’s limited our options in the process.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to realise that by “we”, she’s referring to herself and her mother. “He still doesn’t have any right to keep it from you,” he says eventually. “You’re an adult. You’re - you’re a person. I know he’s beyond normal human emotion but this is… God, what the fuck, Miso?”

Miso nods calmly, which only infuriates him more. But he can’t let it show, not any more than he already has. Not tonight. Not if there’s a risk of her leaving again.

“Look, the thing with my father is… he doesn’t look at it like that,” she begins, then pauses. She’s concentrating, and Yoongi guesses she’s working this out as well. She opens and closes her mouth several times, as though trying to find a good metaphor to explain a maths problem to a teenager. 

“Look, for him… I am no different than any other twenty-nine year old woman in Seoul,” she states, her eyes blank. “He doesn’t care that I’m his daughter, there’s no specific attachment there. He just doesn’t understand that. He cares about money and power and control. Those are the things he knows. And I’m not saying this to defend him,” she adds, almost knowingly. “I’m saying this because I have spent years trying to figure out how to get to him and I realised, finally, that… there’s nothing parental there. The only thing that separates me from everyone else is that I have his name and his blood. It’s fact, it’s ink - and he’s in control.”

Yoongi doesn’t care much for a psychoanalysis of Kang Jaesung right now. He swallows, trying to quash the rising feeling of defeat in his stomach. She feels so far out of reach again, like he’s zooming out and seeing her for where she is, far and small in the distance.

“So… what? You’re stuck here forever?” he asks, trying to keep the bite out of his tone.

“No,” she answers, shaking her head. “He’ll never admit to that. The last time I needed to go abroad, I asked him for my passport and he gave it to me. Granted, I was travelling with him,” she adds after a moment, looking down.

It’s late, probably around the same time of the night that he and Miso had yelled at each other in the motel while it poured outside. It was raining earlier tonight, too, but it was nowhere near as bad. It felt peaceful and hopeful for a bit and Yoongi struggles to find it again.

“Yoongi.” Her hand eases up his thigh until it reaches his own, and she squeezes his hand. She’s trying to comfort him, he realises, and it seems absurd. But he lets her because, as he discovers soon enough, he could use it.

“I can still ask,” she says after a moment. “It’s work, technically. It’s an artist tour, it’s publicity, it’s…” She trails off.

“It’s my tour.” By the look on her face, he knows he’s said what they’re both thinking. 

“That’s the tough detail.” Miso gives him a small, hollow smile. “After the last stunt you pulled in front of him, my father may not be so agreeable.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to recall; despite knowing exactly what she’s talking about, he can’t remember actually making the decision to come in between her and her father. It had been entirely instinctual, but he wonders now if it may have been the wrong move.

His heart skips a beat when she leans forward suddenly. The scent of his own shower gel gets stronger as she presses a kiss to his cheek, slow and deliberate.

“Thanks for asking,” she says softly, sitting back. “I’m sure you’ll be amazing on stage. A force to be reckoned with.”

Yoongi doesn’t know how to respond to that. It just occurs to him that he’s leaving for three months - three whole months during which he’ll be away and she will be here, still in the clutches of her father and her life, too far away for him to do anything about it.

She rubs her eyes and looks away. “It’s late.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “The guest room is ready. And… fun fact, but it’s actually bigger than the master bedroom.”

The moment he hears it out loud, he thinks it probably sounds extremely stupid. But if it does to Miso, she doesn’t react. She simply nods and stands up, allowing Yoongi to lead her to the guest room.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says just before she closes the door. He’s finally seeing her properly in the light; his clothes seem to fit Miso strangely well. They're just loose enough that her shape isn’t quite visible, but not so much that she looks like she's in donated clothes. 

Most importantly, she looks comfortable. He’s about to offer her an additional jacket or something but before he can, she mutters a “good night” and begins closing the door.

It’s a complicated scenario. He potters around for a while after, cleaning the kitchen counter, returning some emails and folding the clothes from the dryer, all the while with the sinking feeling that he’s disappointing her somehow. Maybe it’s his inability to be of any help in her circumstances, or the way he seems to be misreading signs and situations in context.

Finally, he retires to his room, changing into pajamas and getting ready for a sleepless night staring at his ceiling when there’s a knock at the door. Figuring it can be only one person, he scrambles out of bed to open the door.

“Hey,” he says, hearing himself sound strangely breathless. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” answers Miso, running a hand through her short, choppy hair. “I was taking out my contacts-” She holds up her hand to show him a small and thin white box “- and I was just thinking, uh… maybe I will take that band aid.”

Yoongi nods and beckons her inside. She stands awkwardly by a dresser while he rummages around in a different cabinet before finding the first aid box. He goes up to her and hands her the band aid.

“Do you need any help with it?” he asks.

“I don’t think so…” Miso tears it open and peels off the sticker, holding the band aid up to her face. “Hang on, do you have a -”

Yoongi steps forward and takes the band aid from her, cleanly and gently placing it on the thin red line on her cheek. The solitary lamp on the other side of the bedroom barely illuminates her face, but he doesn’t think he can ever forget the sight of the cut on her face, dripping blood as she came to him in the middle of the night.

He knows it’s happening before it actually happens, but the moment he covers the cut, his hands still on their way off her face, Miso leans up and kisses him. It’s instinctive and immediate and Yoongi also knows that despite the hellish night she has had, he kisses her, too. He does. He pulls her in just as much as she grips his t-shirt and he tangles his hand in her hair just as much as she presses herself up against him.

“Miso -” He breaks away for a moment, his heart racing and body reacting. “I can’t -”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers, and she sounds fearful. “Not tonight, not -” She shakes her head and reaches up to kiss him once more.

He lets her, just for a moment, but then gently pushes her away again. “I’m sorry. Miso… it’s been a hard night and - and I wouldn’t feel right if I…”

She licks her lips but drops her hands to her sides. “You think you might be taking advantage of me?” she asks.

“I don’t want it to even be a question.” He moves his hands down her shoulders until her hands are in his. “I want this, too.” You have no idea how much. “But not at a time where there’s even the slightest chance you may regret it tomorrow.”

Miso looks away and for a moment Yoongi is afraid, terrified that she will leave again. Then her shoulders fall and she sighs. “Wow,” she mutters wryly, but there’s a tremble underneath, buried deep. “You’re a good one.”

He waits a moment, then two, then steps forward to wrap his arms around her. She lets him, her body initially stiff until, slowly, she relaxes against him, shaking silently. 

“You’re not alone,” he murmurs against her hair. “You don’t have to be.”

He intends to stay there, exactly like that, for as long as she needs. Eventually they separate, Miso’s face slightly redder but her eyes dry once again, softening when he pulls her in by the hand to press a kiss to her forehead. Under the covers, they lie next to each other.

“How did you do it?” she asks after a while in the darkness, almost in wonder. “Somehow, despite my best efforts to keep you out of this, how did you manage to creep into my life?” There’s a movement and he sees her silhouette move to face him. “How did I end up here?”

Yoongi brushes her uneven bangs out of her eyes. “I can be pretty persistent. Although it’s not something I’m really known for,” he points out. “So I’m not sure. I tried to stay out of it, if that helps.”

Miso scoffs. “Not very hard.”

“No,” he agrees. “There’s something about you, I guess.”

“All that privilege and nepotism probably.”

“Not that,” he disagrees, a little guiltily. “I liked how you were a different person during our nights in the studio,” he says after a moment. “I liked that person.”

“I liked that person, too,” she murmurs. She exhales softly and turns back to look at the ceiling. Her features are sharp in the darkness, but her presence is light and fresh, almost like his bedroom was far too big and empty before she set foot in it. 

He wishes he could’ve let her kiss go further. He doesn’t regret stopping it, but for a moment he lets himself imagine a world where she wasn’t hurting, where she was free to kiss a man she was attracted to with no baggage attached and he was free to kiss her back without wondering if he was contributing to her trauma or enabling it in any way.

When she shifts to get comfortable and turns onto her side, facing away from him, Yoongi scoots closer to her and wraps an arm around her again, loosely at first. But she stays and so does he; pressing a kiss to her shoulder, on his own t-shirt that she’s wearing, he holds her close and hopes that tomorrow morning, at least, may be a better one for her.

—

Settled on the couch with a pillow and a purple blanket from Chaeyoung’s closet (which smells of her floral fabric softener, but he won’t think about that), Hoseok stares at the ceiling in the darkness. Next to the blank television, the light from the wifi router glows red and there’s a dim strip of blue underneath Chaeyoung’s door which he knows is a nightlight she can’t sleep without.

He can’t quite believe he’s sleeping over at her apartment. But Jimin and Sooah had been fully enthusiastic about hanging out as a foursome, and the former had peer pressured Hoseok to try a large glass of sparkling wine he’d bought which was strong enough to render him incapable of driving home safely. Later, Chaeyoung had awkwardly provided him with sleeping arrangements on the sofa before disappearing into her room, signalling the end of the night.

Jimin and Sooah had successfully interrupted one of the most revelatory moments of his life but in hindsight, Hoseok wonders if they had done him a favour. Chaeyoung’s response had been disappointing on every level and he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to remain around her if those two hadn’t barged in, full of stories about their eventful day. After Chaeyoung and then Sooah had left, Jimin seemed to notice that something seemed to be bothering the older member, but Hoseok couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. He’d caught himself off guard with his impulsive confession; he can’t imagine she would’ve been much more prepared with a response.

It’s late now, but Hoseok can’t sleep. He briefly considers waking Jimin from Sooah’s room or calling Namjoon, but he doesn’t think he can handle words of encouragement from them now, especially since Jimin’s will surely be accompanied by his Cheshire cat grin at being proven right about his year-long hunch regarding him and Chaeyoung. No, not Namjoon and definitely not Jimin. If Hoseok is being honest with himself, there’s only one person he wants to talk to right now.

Chaeyoung [01:15] Are you awake?

Hoseok almost jumps out of skin when the phone buzzes next to him. Heart racing, he stares at her message.

Hoseok [01:16] Yeah. You?

Chaeyoung [01:16] It would be really weird if I wasn’t, oppa.

Hoseok [01:17] You know that when I said what I said, I didn’t mean it as family, right?

Chaeyoung [01:18] I know.

Hoseok [01:19] I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.

Chaeyoung [01:20] You didn’t.

Chaeyoung [01:21] I’m just not sure why you said it.

Hoseok [01:22] It wasn’t planned, honestly. But I meant it. Is that not what you’re asking?

Chaeyoung [01:23] It isn’t.  I don’t know how to put this

Hoseok frowns at his screen, rolling over onto his stomach and staring at it with bated breath. He pictures her inside her room in a similar position, brows furrowed and biting her lip, trying to talk to him.

Hoseok [01:25] It’s okay Take your time

Chaeyoung [01:26] I guess I don’t know the point of bringing it up

Hoseok [01:26] The point? I mean… I wanted to tell you how I feel

Chaeyoung [01:27] You just said you didn’t plan it

Hoseok [01:27] I didn’t, but in that moment, that’s how I felt I was spiraling and you were there for me. You helped me feel better. I always feel better when I’m with you

Chaeyoung [01:28] But that’s about how you feel

Hoseok [01:29] I’m hoping you enjoy my company too, since we hang out together a fair bit But I understand. You don’t have to feel the same way, Chae. I just wanted you to know. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable

Chaeyoung [01:30] Stop saying that, Hobi

Hoseok [01:30] I mean it, though

Chaeyoung [01:31] I’m sure you’ve meant everything you’ve said tonight But it’s not going to change anything. Right?

Hoseok [01:32] Chae You know why I said that

Chaeyoung [01:33] Sure But that’s why I don’t understand why you would bring this up now. If it’s not going to change anything, then what’s the point?

Hoseok [01:34] Do you really want things to change?

Chaeyoung [01:34] I’m not sure it makes a difference

Hoseok [01:35] Of course it does!

Chaeyoung [01:35] Really? Because you didn’t even ask me what I thought when you made that decision. This isn’t about me at all, Hoseok. This is all you.

Hoseok [01:36] I didn’t mean to make you mad, Chae

Chaeyoung [01:36] I’m not mad I heard you and I didn’t expect anything from you But you can’t do this. It’s not fair

Hoseok [01:37] I’m sorry

Hoseok [01:39] You’re right. You’re absolutely right.

Hoseok [01:40] Chae?

Chaeyoung [01:41] I’m here Your friendship means a lot to me, Hobi But I’ve been down this road before and I don’t want to be in this position So if you make a decision, like nothing is going to change, then I need you to stick to it

Chaeyoung [01:42] I’m not mad at you Ish But I’m going to sleep now

Hoseok watches her go offline, his heart sinking slowly. He types out a half-hearted “good night” but he can’t be sure if she’s seen it. She’s right, of course, about everything. He drops his face onto the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut and half-wishing he hadn’t opened his big mouth today.

—

The next morning when Chaeyoung wakes up, the sun has barely come up. She slips on a hoodie and brushes her teeth before heading to her bedroom door, taking a deep breath, and opening it just a crack. Her heart stutters for a moment when she sees the pillow and comforter neatly folded on the sofa, the rest of the living room clearly empty. But then she exhales in relief and heads to the kitchen, deciding it’s far too early in the morning to be rehashing the events of last night.

The events of last night. Despite how her night had finally ended, the words, the memory of him saying those words, makes her stomach flip. Chaeyoung lets herself enjoy it for a couple of minutes while she makes her morning smoothie, the euphoria of having an answer to his actions during their dalliance, the victory of having him say it first. She pours the mauve coloured drink into a tall glass and sticks a wide straw in it, taking a long and hearty sip of fruity goodness before dragging her mind away from the good part about last night.

“Nope, it’s too early,” she mutters to herself, setting the glass down and tying her long hair into a high ponytail. She has the rest of the day to dwell on it, to feel hurt and annoyed and wonder if she’d overreacted. Grabbing her glass, she heads back towards her room, when she does a double take.

Hesitating, she steps forward and closes her bedroom door before lightly fingering the two post-its on the door. They’re both from the tiny stationery box on the cabinet in between both bedrooms, set up by Chaeyoung herself, with coloured pens and stickers. The orange one is on top and has a message she’d expected to see at some point today: Went home, didn’t want to wake you.

The second one, a green one, is the one she takes off the door to read.

Can I take you to dinner tonight? Call me if it’s a yes. Actually, call me even if it’s a no.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[vvachillessongvv]

2024 Fandom review

💜

When I was in third grade, I wrote a short story about a girl who had been shrunken down to the size of a grape and had to find a way to grow back to her regular size. My teacher wrote a note on that story that said I should be a writer when I grow up- I held onto that even though all my adults told me writing wasn't a good career choice. I guess they never thought about the alternative, which is writing fluff and smut for free on godless AO3 😂 I can't explain how much every single comment means to me, the little community we have here, it is truly such a wonderful space and I feel like I gained so much in 2024 just by being a part of it. Thank you for being here and reading my words. I started reading and writing Young Royals fic in 2024, so it was a truly magical year.

Fics written:

First fic posted in 2024: Popcorn 2024-06-02

Something that popped into my head, and made me think "Yeah, I could probably write a Wilmon fic" 😂 it's sweet and sort of silly and it means a lot just because it's my og baby.

Last fic posted in 2024: stay with me

2024-12-31

Filthy smut with a bit of feelings, because it's Wilmon 😏💜

Fav fic I've written: Siren

This one is just everything to me. I loved being creative with it, I loved collaborating with people, I loved the slight switch in writing style to fit the time period, it is a true ode to my love of writing and Wilmon combined. Bonus, it introduced me to someone who is now a truly important part of my life.

Fic recs will be after the page break 💜💜💜

Fics read:

Who knows how many- my bookmarks are sitting at 150, but I'd say probably closer to 400-500. There's genuinely no telling 😅

First fic I bookmarked/read: I was on ao3 as a guest for a hot minute, so the first Wilmon fic I read was Fuck the Monarchy by @iwouldnevergetintofanfic (a truly beautiful place to start!) but the first fic I bookmarked on my profile is Almost Is Never Enough by This_time_its_just_me on ao3

Last fic I read: I'm assuming this means the last fic I read in 2024, which would be Now we're falling like snow by @skibasyndrome I absolutely adore his fics, and this one was no different.

Some favorites I've read this year:

You are Unbreaking by @unfortunate17

This is absolutely beautiful, the premise is amazing and just so different while still capturing that amazing Wilmon magic.

Doesn't everyone belong in the arms of the sacred by @alltoowille

This one meant so much to me I was messaging the author from my personal Tumblr to tell them how much it meant to me, before I'd even created my sideblog or ao3 account 😅 it's beautiful and genuinely changed the way I look at religion

Is it over now? by @iwouldnevergetintofanfic

This one is so visceral, it still has an impact on how I write wilmon, and I will probably cry every single time I go back to it

i don't feel like our love it brand new @prince-simon

This fic lives in my heart indefinitely. Prince Simon is absolutely everything to me. Not to be dramatic, but this changed my life a little.

always on the tip of my tongue by @royalwilmon

This is basically what I'm trying to emulate any time I write smut. The way their intimacy is written in this smut is pure magic, the original characters have made a home in my heart and mind, and it's just one of my favorite Wilmon fics of all time

do you think you'd like me more if i was less like you by @toffeelemon

This fic meant the world to me on my genderqueer journey, in fact I'm rereading it just for the amazing gender feels.

Align by Ripki on ao3

Some of the most gorgeous writing I've ever come across. Every chapter touches me and blows me away all at once, and makes me want to write my own beautiful words

Hungry by @earlgrey-lateatnight

I have 2 vampire Simon docs and it's all this fics fault 😂 it's so hot, intimate, and written so wonderfully

now we're knee-deep in this mess by aqua_rius on ao3

This one broke me and put me back together. I had to pause reading multiple times because their pain and longing hit me so hard. It's incredible.

Love drunk and we're never sober by @caramelpenguin

This is so lovely and written so beautifully. It made a little home in my heart and I now think about it when I'm writing anything close to friends to lovers.

To hold (in return) @saynomorefic

I'm telling you, I think about this fic unbidden at least once a week. It is so soft and wonder.

and if my heart should somehow stop by @grapehyasynth

Such a unique premise, the longing and love is so palpable, and of course, the writing is just perfectly beautiful

Baby I know how to use a gun by @saynomorefic

Another AU that lives in my head rent free. Completely amazing, I'd read 200,000 words of just them.

futile devices @jordensgolde

The writing is immaculate, the premise is different and so incredibly Wilmon. The beauty of these words truly inspires me.

one hundred and seventeen @prince-simon

Dare I say this one trans'ed my gender? I read this and suddenly had words for how I felt about myself. I still cry every time I read it. Genderfluid Simon has a special place in my heart, and it's just written so beautifully. Love entirely.

Say a prayer for me in the dark by witchjeons on ao3

This made me want to write poetry again, which I did for one of my fics, and I've continued to do so just for myself. It is utterly beautiful, and I sob each time I read it.

I hate accidents except when we go from friends to this by @cloudywilmon

This is my ultimate feel-good/fully dissociate from reality fic. It is hot, and funny, and ridiculous in all the most perfect ways. When I'm having the shittiest day imaginable, there's these boys having sex and pretending it means absolutely nothing.

Outlines of You by @enjoythesilentworld

Genuinely some of the most beautiful smut I've ever read

Knowing what it feels like by strawberryxcreqm on ao3

This is another fic that just lives in my head, and I can't listen to Mazzy Star without thinking about it.

for the tree's sake by @enjoythesilentworld

This is one of my favorite dynamics. I absolutely adore poetic Wille, it is so soft and sweet and captures them so perfectly

Final reflections:

Thank you to everyone who participates in this fandom in any way. Lurkers, commenters, people making art, gifs, sharing those amazing scene/character analysis'. And of course each and every fic writer, you who have inspired me to find writing again. This is such a beautiful little corner of the internet that I can't wait to spend another year in. Thank you 💜💜💜 feel free to come yell at me or just say hi in my inbox or ask box. I'm shy but I promise I'm always up for talking about Wilmon 🥰

[desperateknot]

My starting screen today is a bit different :0

👏👏👏👏👏

Effervescent Corrosion E.G.O Queequeg

Splash art:

Awakening: Truly want…this pearl?

Corrosion: Filth! Filth! All filth after all!

Reasoning: I have stated many times that I have decided to forgo Blind Obsession for her WAW EGO. Instead, I want to give her Effervescent Corrosion from Ambling Pearl. Why?

In canon, Queequeg displayed clear envy for the Abnormalities because they have wishes while she didn't. She did say "Abnormalities," plural, but to that point, we have only fought Mermaids in gameplay.

After she said it must be nice to be an Abnormality, we fought Ambling Pearl. So, if I have to pick one Abnormality that she was specifically jealous of, it'd be Ambling Pearl.

Ambling Pearl also inflicts the larva status effect. A larva is a wingless, worm-like form (like a caterpillar) hatched from an egg. It fits perfectly with Queequeg saying she couldn't become a cocoon.

Other than that, Effervescent Corrosion has the theme of filth.

"Filth nests inside me... so that they may be reborn as something useful."

This is Hong Lu's Corrosion line. I feel it is particularly fitting for Queequeg.

"Crawling in filth. Thinking filth was everything. Thought filth was the world. Thought I knew the world."

Right, just to explain why I link the image of filth to Queequeg, that was her line in Canto V.

Queequeg calls herself a maggot. She already thinks herself is filthy. But there is a pearl inside her. It's covered in filth, almost, but still shining. Queequeg would ask you if you truly want it, the pearl covered in filth.

Anyways, the pearl is compared to the reason for the Ambling Pearl's existence. Without the pearl, the Abnormality may crumble away. Coincidentally, Queequeg is also struggling to find a reason for existence of her own.

"Must be nice."

"Knowing what you want. Knowing what you desire."

Queequeg was ceaselessly scratching at her arm as her eyes remained fixed on the Abnormalities.

She was scratching so hard that blood and pale gunk were starting to seep from her torn skin.

Oh right, Queequeg lied btw (/j). 30 minutes later, she told Dante she wished Ishmael to find her way. So she did have a wish of her own. Without that wish...without Ishmael...without the pearl...she crumbled (only in my fic tho).

The more I think about it, the more I think Ambling Pearl was there for her.

Personal note: This EGO is Envy. On account of how Queequeg was jealous of the Abnormality it was from. I know it's green. I don't care.

[rwrbficrecs]

WIP Wednesday

A bit late but happy new year 🎊 starting the year off strong with 10 WIP recs - enjoy!! ❤️

the world forgetting, by the world forgot by @leaves-of-laurelin (book-verse)

@dot524: This is an extraordinarily sad and poignant story about the tragedy of a failed relationship and the efforts to bring it back together. Alex and Henry used to be together, but they grew apart. As part of their breakup, Henry underwent a procedure that caused him to forget Alex, and Alex decides to do the same thing. What will they do when they realize that it was a mistake? This is an Eternal Sunlight of the Spotless Mind AU, and I’m not familiar with that story, but the fic is engrossing and well-done. It’s also almost finished. Check it out!

Like Because, Love Despite by @aforgottennymph (book-verse)

@dot524: Alex and Henry are work rivals who are both working themselves to the bone. It turns out that they used to be together, but they broke up. Their assistants, Nora and Pez, have come up with a plan to get them together - mainly to make their own jobs tolerable. But Alex and Henry are working through a painful past, and things are not always as they seem. I was snorting reading the most recent chapter - this one is just fun, joyful, and hilarious. Plus there are some flashbacks to their relationship that make you feel all the feels. Can’t wait to see how the author gets these two together!

Break Out by @cricketnationrise (book/movie-verse)

@na-dineee: Ice hockey is the perfect setup for an MLM romance, right?! Novels like Time to Shine are a prime example, and there are already some amazing firstprince x ice hockey AUs out there. And now, cricketnationrise started one too – yay !! Humor, fluff, and eventual smut – ok, enough said, I’m in!

i'll be riding shotgun by @callmevenji (book-verse)

@na-dineee: As with ice hockey, road trips are just as popular setups for many beautiful rwrb fanfics. With this one, I’m able to tick off some of my favourite tropes, like enemies to lovers, oblivious Alex with abandonment issues, or found family. The author’s previous fics have always amazed me, and I’m sure this one will be no different – the setup is just too good!

tis the damn season by @littlemisskittentoes (book-verse)

@na-dineee: I think this is Sarah’s first multi-chap fic? Alex and Henry were childhood best friends, a friendship that meant the world to Alex. But that’s all in the past. Still, Alex’s stubborn heart never stopped loving Henry... The WiP is posted about halfway through, and it’s as beautifully poetic as you’d expect from Sarah. The small town setting gives off such cozy vibes – it’s just so lovely !!

The Love Lasts So Long by @chaa-kiao (book-verse)

@na-dineee: The Foxes are close friends of the Claremont-Diazes. However, Alex can’t stand Henry. Like, not at all !! Naturally he's kind of shocked/annoyed to find out that Henry will be spending Christmas with them. As usual, Alex is totally oblivious to his feelings, but they'll get there, won't they?! I love this author, and am so glad that they're posting again. A story about falling in love, discovering their feelings, and the magic of Christmas - even in January just perfect.

The Final Rose by @tinyarmedtrex (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Alex is the new Bachelor, and it's Henry's job to keep everything running smoothly. Of course, the whole thing gets off to a rocky start. Henry can't stand Alex and his easy charm, but as he gets to know him, he starts to warm up, realising his feelings are anything but professional. Are we here for this?!! Yes, we are, aren’t we?!

Sweet Little Lies by @celaestis1 (book-verse)

@dot524: Canon divergent AU where Alex misses the royal wedding and Cake-gate never happened, but a flirtation between June and Henry and a lavender relationship did instead. Alex is still obsessed with Henry and has to confront his own feelings as the situation unfolds. So excited to see where this goes, especially since I’ve loved this author’s other works!

Driven to Distraction by @happiness-of-the-pursuit (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Since last year’s photos of TZP and Nick at F1 events, we’ve all been waiting (okay, maybe just me … but you too, right?!) for this AU. And now it’s here, written by none other than happinessofthepursuit. It’s going to be 10 chapters, rated E, Enemies to Lovers—and chapter 1 already leaves you wanting more.

Married at First Sight by @omgcmere (book-verse)

@myheartalivewrites: If you heard squealing across the oceans on Sunday, it was probably me when I saw the email notification for this beloved author publishing her first fic in 3 years. Alex and Henry sign up to do a reality show (if you haven't watched it, don't worry. I haven't and I'm enjoying it all the same!) in which they are supposed to get married to a complete stranger--except it turns out they already know each other, and Alex has been nursing a grudge for years. We're only a chapter in but the tension has already built up to an excellent level and I can't wait to keep reading.

check out our past WIP recs here ❤️

[happy74827]

In The Eye of The Storm

[Troy Otto x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When your refusal to harm the living puts you in a life-threatening situation, you find yourself saved by the one person who embodies everything that you can’t bring yourself to become.

WC: 1446

Category: Slight Angst {Innocent!Medic!Reader, TW: Death, Hints of Assault}

My first fic of 2025!! As a New Year resolution (not really), I finally started binging FTWD after finishing all the other Walking Dead shows. It's pretty good imo. I don’t understand why it’s so hated… but then again, I’m still only on Season 3 LMAO

『••✎••』

The world hadn’t ended in one violent explosion but in slow, agonizing pieces. You thought the worst part would be watching people you loved turn, but the truth was darker. The living had become worse than the dead, and sometimes, you wondered how long you could keep your ideals intact before they got you killed.

You clung to the idea of doing good, of helping others, even as society crumbled around you. You had studied to be a doctor back when the world was still standing, and for now, that knowledge hadn’t gone to waste—at least not yet. It made you useful and valuable even though, in this world, kindness wasn’t enough to survive.

Nick had tried to make you see that more than once.

"You’re gonna get yourself killed, y’know," he’d said after you patched him up for the third time in as many weeks. His tone wasn’t cruel, but it carried that edge of concern he tried to hide beneath his usual cynicism. "You keep thinking people are worth saving. Not all of them are."

You hadn’t argued with him that day, but you hadn’t agreed either. How could you when the instinct to help was ingrained in you? It wasn’t about naiveté or blind hope—it was about holding onto the last thing that made you feel human. If you gave up on that, what would be left?

Still, Nick wasn’t the only one who had warned you. Even Madison, who had once praised your level head, had pulled you aside after one close call and made it clear that mercy wouldn’t keep you alive. And Troy—well, Troy never passed up an opportunity to remind you just how weak you were.

"You’re soft," he’d told you once, his voice laced with that infuriating mix of disdain and amusement. "The world’s gonna chew you up, spit you out. You know that, right?"

It had taken every ounce of self-control not to snap back at him. Troy didn’t care about you in the way Nick or Madison did. He wasn’t trying to protect you—he was observing you, picking apart your flaws like they were things he could exploit. And yet, there had been something in his tone that day, something almost curious, like he couldn’t quite understand why you were the way you were.

And now, standing here, cornered by a group of men who saw you as nothing more than easy prey, you wondered if they had all been right all along.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your hands gripping the knife so tightly that your knuckles turned white. But it didn’t matter how hard you held it. You couldn’t make yourself move. You couldn’t make yourself do what needed to be done.

"Look at her," one of the men sneered, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Shaking like a leaf."

The others laughed, and the sound sent a cold shiver down your spine. You tried to steady your breathing and summon the courage to act, but your body refused to cooperate.

The scarred man at the front of the group took a step closer. "What’s the matter, sweetheart? Too scared to use that knife?"

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Every instinct you had screamed at you to run, but there was nowhere to go. You were trapped.

And that’s when you heard a calm, cold voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

The laughter stopped. All eyes turned toward the source of the sound, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

Troy stood a few yards away, his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder, his posture loose but poised, like a predator biding its time. His lips curled into a faint smirk, his pale blue eyes glinting with that dangerous, unreadable light you’d come to associate with him.

"Gentlemen," he drawled, tilting his head slightly. "This a private party, or can anyone join?"

The leader of the group—the man with the scar that came running down his jaw—snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Keep walking, man. This doesn’t concern you."

Troy’s smirk widened, his gaze flicking to you briefly. Something in his eyes made your heart race. Not out of fear, but out of a strange, twisted sense of relief.

Because you knew what Troy was capable of. You knew that these men had no idea what kind of storm they’d just walked into.

"See, that’s where you’re wrong," Troy said, his voice deceptively casual. "It kinda does concern me." He shifted the rifle off his shoulder, cradling it loosely in his hands. "She’s with me."

The scarred man’s eyes narrowed. "Bullshit."

Troy didn’t miss a beat. "Try me."

It was strange how your fear shifted from terror at the threat before you to unease at the prospect of what Troy would do. Because there was no doubt in your mind that he would kill these men, and you didn’t know if you could handle the aftermath.

The poor irony was that these… men, they didn't even recognize their own danger. You saw the way the leader of their group sized Troy up, the way the others fanned out in a flanking position. They thought they had the upper hand.

Numbers come across as intimidating in the long run, but in truth, the numbers are only as good as the skill of those wielding them.

So, from a glance, it was three men against one.

But in reality, it was three men against an unstoppable force of nature.

"Don’t." You said quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Troy, don't—"

You didn’t know why you were trying to stop him. They would have killed you … or worse, without a second thought, and the fact that Troy was actually willing to stand up for you was something you weren't expecting.

And yet, a part of you couldn't stand the thought of him taking a life—even the lives of men like this. You couldn't stand the thought of blood being spilled, all for the sake of defending you.

You knew what he would say: that it was the way of the world. That it was necessary. But you couldn't bring yourself to accept that.

Troy didn't answer, didn't even look at you. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the men, his grip tightening on his rifle. That… you suppose, told you that his ears had heard, and he was choosing to ignore.

The man with the scar glanced over his shoulder, meeting his companions' gazes. They shared a silent exchange, a silent debate, and then the man turned back to face Troy, his expression darkening.

"Let's see how tough you are, pretty boy."

It took about two minutes. Maybe three.

By the end of it, the ground was soaked in blood, and the air was filled with the sharp smell of iron.

The leader of the group had been the first to fall, his skull shattered by a well-placed shot. The others hadn't lasted much longer, their bodies littered with bullets from Troy's rifle.

You'd watched it happen, too stunned to move. It had been like watching a hurricane, powerful and destructive and utterly unstoppable.

When the last man fell, Troy turned to face you, his expression inscrutable. "You're welcome."

You should have thanked him, should have acknowledged his help. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Not when you'd seen the cold, calculated look in his eyes, the way he'd relished in the violence.

So, instead, you looked at him, your voice wavering with emotion. "I didn't want this."

Troy snorted, rolling his shoulders as if to release the tension. His rifle slid back over his shoulder, the barrel still warm from the discharge.

His gaze held yours, a challenge in those pale blue eyes. After a moment, he spoke, his tone calm and clipped. "Fine." He nodded his head slightly towards the dead men. "Next time, I'll leave 'em to you."

With that, he turned and started to walk away, his strides confident and purposeful. He didn't look back, didn't seem to care if you followed.

And in that moment, you hated him. Hated him for his coldness, his ruthlessness, his refusal to see your point of view. But most of all, you hated yourself because despite everything, despite all the death and bloodshed and destruction, you were grateful.

Grateful that he'd been there.

Grateful that he'd saved your life.

And no matter how much you wanted to deny it, you knew the truth.

Troy Otto was right.

You were soft.

Weak.

And no matter how much you resisted, no matter how much you pretended, sooner or later, the world was going to swallow you whole.

And no storm could save you from that.

[bloodyfries]

Epic songs that fit Svsss characters/moments

Epic and scum villain are currently my favorite fandoms (not counting tgcf) so I wanted to make this list. Also please give me any epic x svsss fics or art, I'd greatly appreciate it (I've already read the suffering fic)!!!

Just a man: This was actually what inspired this list and the idea for an animation won't leave my head. This is Shen Qingqiu during the abyss scene. This is him trying to rationalize pushing Luo Binghe. The whole first half of the song is him saying how he couldn’t possibly do it. You'd replace "Deep down I'd trade the world to see my son and wife" with "Deep down I'd trade almost anything to save you from this fate" (yes ik it doesn't sound good or rhyme but I'm terrible at anything music based or poem based). The silent beat between "I'm just a man" and the "but when dose a comet become a meteor" is the system reminded him of how many points he'll lose (and maybe how many he has), so he get that final push to turn his sword onto Luo Binghe.

Luck runs out: OK, this one is not even close to cannon but I'd love if this happened even if it's slightly occ. Also this isn't nearly as long as just a man bc that one actually has been haunting my brain like Christmas in October. I can see this is moment between Shen Qingqiu escaping the water prison and self destructing where somehow Shen Qingqiu runs into Shang Qinghua. I think that it would be more likely to happen if they were a bit closer and if Shang Qinghua wasn't fully sure that the mushroom bodies would be ok. I think it could sort of be Shang Qinghua trying to get Shen Qingqiu to flee the city (this gets shut down either by Shen Qingqiu telling him about the blood mites or Luo Binghe almost having qi deviation)

Wouldn't you like: Doing time jumps because I'm going in Epic order. This is literally just some sort of knowledge person rewarding Luo Binghe for helping them. So they tell him about Xin Mo and how all of his enemies (or monsters), that will kill him if he doesn't become stronger, will be easily defeated with Xin Mo

There are other ways: A woman who was supposed to be a wife trying to get out of a lost fight. Of course Luo Binghe doesn't care so instead she gives him information about a prophet that can help him escape in exchange for mercy.

No longer you: I would talk about this but there are already at least three animations on YouTube on this, they're both so good. [animation 1] [animation 2] [animation 3]

Monster: Luo Binghe finally "snapping" or coming to terms with his blackening (in the abyss)

Suffering: Sirens that were either a wife plot or wives themselves originally, probably both. Luo Binghe trying to get info out of a siren that looks like his beloved shizun, thats it. There is also a really cool animation of this on YouTube. [Animation]

Legendary: this on is only being added because the same creator at the suffering did one if legendary and it opened my eyes. It's pretty much white lotus Binghe talking about wanting to be great then cutting to black lotus (during the five years) wishing for his shizun back. [Animation]

Little wolf: Kind of a stretch but Meng Mo training a young Luo Binghe. This would not be a real fight but old fights that Luo Binghe lost and is reliving in his dreams to see what he did wrong. The only problem would be hurting the mind by hurting someone in a dream. Alternatively: Shen Qingqiu silently cheering on Luo Binghe during his "fight" with Ming Fan. Quick thought would just be the leaves being shot

Not sorry for loving you: I already made a post about this and as you can see by the dwindling lengths of these descriptions, I'm getting really lazy (plus it's late) so just read the post please. [Post]

I can't help but wonder: This just feels like something post cannon where BingQiu finally talk about everything. Luo Binghe probably says something about how he's a monster and has done terrible things and Shen Qingqiu is practically offended that Luo Binghe would suggest that Shen Qingqiu wouldn't love him because of that

This post was too ambitious for one sitting, especially this late but I did it. I might add more when my thoughts are more coherent and I'm not just throwing the pink slab of meat in my skull into the post

[fiyaerrigan]

First lines of 2025!

Got tagged by @perfectlysunny02! (ik this was FOREVER ago but bless youuuuu 4 thinking of me!!!! unfortchy my life has been. a little a lot chaotique since getting tagged lol)

(tECHNICALLY these are the lines that RESULTED from my first lines of 2025; the actual first lines are uh. being saved for a rainy day bc i do not like them in the context of this little fic. I've been uh. more self-critical than usual lately. bear w me.)

p.s. this is sort of kind of a fleshing out of the very first bucktommy brainworm I ever had??? it's a soulmate AU of sorts. enjoy?

Come on, Buckley. Tommy thinks, You can move quicker than that.

Normally, Tommy isn’t so snippy—but then again, Evan isn’t one to take his time—Not in moments like this. When they happen to have time free in their plans, Evan is precise and to the point, wanting to make sure not a second is wasted. Yet for all his eyes are on the clock, his mind is dead-set on Tommy, trying to get as close to him as possible in the spare five to ten minutes they have between meeting up and making it to their destination of the night. The laser focus Evan has in those races against time kills him in all the best ways.

Which isn’t to say that slow is unwelcome—Evan’s backed him into the corner by threshold, his hands gentle and warm as they wrap around Tommy’s waist. His pace slows to something almost exploratory, and just when Tommy thinks he’s about to lean closer for a volley of kisses on his neck, there’s instead a thump as something hits the wall. 

Tommy’s about to ask if Evan’s okay, but before he gets the chance, the other man pulls away. He’s about to turn around, see if one of the knick-knacks on the wall fell after one-too-many makeouts gone rough, when Evan finally speaks:

“Wait—” he croaks. “Stay there for a sec.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s been brained by a wayward picture frame, so Tommy gives him the benefit of the doubt. One of Evan’s hands grips his shoulder while the other makes its way upward. His fingers run through the hair on the back of Tommy’s head, but it’s not exactly a caress. Tommy’s not sure what it is, but he feels like he’s getting inspected for lice by the school nurse. It’s unsettling, yet somehow not the weirdest situation he’s been in with Evan. The moment is bizarre and awkward, and yes, Tommy would rather Evan make out with him than do his best impression of a grooming chimpanzee—Yet Tommy stands there like a dumbass, content to let his boyfriend continue his ministrations and maybe even smiling a bit about it.

Because if Tommy’s learned one thing from this relationship, it’s that weird is shorthand for unbearably endearing, but hell if I know why.

He’s sure Evan has a good reason for this. Tommy probably won’t understand it in the slightest, but he’s sure that—at least to Evan—everything here makes sense. That’s reason enough for Tommy.

And yeah, maybe he is too far gone on his boyfriend, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

Not that he wants to think about that bridge in the slightest. And thankfully, he doesn’t have to, because Evan abandons the strange ritual and spins Tommy around to face him.

“If there’s been a spider on my head this whole time, I’ll be really embarrassed,” Tommy deadpans.

“You haven’t had any pumpkin guts thrown at you recently, right?”

“No, Evan. Some of us seek medical care when exposed to strange substances.”

“So you haven’t been on any calls with freaky plants, or exhumed any cowboys without telling me?”

“Scout’s honor; Billy’s grave is undisturbed—Besides, flying helicopters into greenhouses isn’t really in my job description.”

“Neither is flying into a hurricane.”

“What’s got you so worked up?”

“Well, it all sounds kind of stupid now, but there’s this…  scratch, back there? Not, like, an open wound or anything! It’s just a little red, like a rash? I saw it a-and I, uh… I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

not sure if i should tag anyone in this bc iirc literally everyone and their mother has given it a go already??? i am simply 🐢 la tortuga

[lassofics]

Bloody Nightmares

Word count: 683

Timeline: Post Season 3

Warnings: None? Trauma, maybe.

Summary: Roy/Jamie. Jamie has a nightmare.

Notes: This fic was created and is being published as a part of #Whumpuary2025 !! I used the prompt Sleep !!

Watching Jamie Tartt sleep is one of Roy’s favorite things to do.

Okay, that sounds fucking creepy. Roy quickly shakes that thought out of his head. Not in a creepy way.

It’s just that Jamie looks so fucking peaceful, so fucking adorable, so fucking effortlessly beautiful when he sleeps. He’s curled up in Roy’s arms, his head resting on Roy’s chest, his breathing soft and gentle, his hair sprawled out carelessly. He’s got fucking long eyelashes, Roy notices.

Jamie stirs slightly, as if he can somehow hear Roy’s thoughts. Roy thinks nothing of it; people stir in their sleep all the time, don’t they? His hand comes up to rest on Jamie’s back, his thumb idly stroking the base of his spine.

Another stir, and a little noise. Roy realizes he might be doing more harm than good, and he doesn’t want to wake Jamie, so he stops the rubbing and keeps his hand still on the striker’s back.

Falling in love with him had been so easy. Roy isn’t even sure how it had happened; all he knows is that he never wants to sleep in a bed without this prick ever again.

His train of thought is cut off by a sudden whimper, and Jamie suddenly curls in on himself. Roy shifts to get a better look at his face. He freezes, because Jamie no longer looks peaceful.

He’s tempted to say something, but he doesn’t want to risk Jamie waking up if nothing’s wrong. So, instead, he starts to gently card his fingers through Jamie’s hair.

He doesn’t have his hand there for more than two seconds before Jamie jerks away from his touch, as if he’s been fucking electrocuted.

Roy removes his hand immediately, not wanting to cause Jamie any more distress than he’s already in. That sharp flinch combined with the look on his face tells Roy everything he needs to know: Jamie’s having a nightmare.

Roy doesn’t want to touch him if he’s gonna freak out again, so he just shifts on the bed, hoping his movement might rouse the younger man.

“Jamie?” he murmurs quietly. Jamie doesn’t respond.

“Jamie,” he repeats, a little louder this time. He’s tempted to just grab Jamie’s shoulder and shake him awake, but he’s too worried about Jamie’s mental state to do that right now. “Jamie, it’s Roy. Wake up.”

Jamie whimpers again, a little louder this time, and hugs his knees to his chest. His eyes are still closed, his face the picture of distress. He’s trembling.

Against his instincts, Roy finally reaches out with his hand, gently grabbing Jamie’s shoulder. “Jamie. Babe. It’s okay, you’re just dreaming. Wake up. I’ve got you.”

Jamie flinches again at the touch, which breaks Roy’s heart, but he doesn’t let go this time, softly beginning to shake him. “Jamie, it’s me. Please wake up.”

After about ten more seconds of this, Jamie opens his eyes, still trembling. Roy immediately stops shaking him, letting go of his shoulder, not wanting to push anything.

“Roy?” Jamie whispers, still curled in on himself like a scared child. Roy internally curses, but keeps a calm exterior.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Roy says softly, gazing down at Jamie. “You okay?”

Jamie doesn’t say a word. Instead, he just whimpers again. Only this time, he throws an arm around Roy’s waist and curls into him, seeking comfort.

“I’ve got you.” Roy immediately pulls Jamie into his chest, cradling the back of his head tenderly with one hand. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Jamie nods, breathing shakily but clearly starting to calm down. Once Roy’s arms are around him, it doesn’t take long for him to stop shaking.

“Bloody nightmares,” Jamie eventually mumbles, sounding almost… embarrassed. He buries his face in Roy’s chest.

Roy just cards his fingers gently through Jamie’s hair. “I know. But you’re safe. Mmkay?”

Jamie relaxes instantly. They both know damn well how relaxed he gets when Roy strokes his hair like that. With a soft sigh, Jamie closes his eyes once more.

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, practically already starting to drift off again. “Safe with you.”

[himluv]

A Second Miracle (too much to hope)

Chapter 24 of my Rookanis fic Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! Find it below, or read from the beginning on AO3!

a/n: This chapter is an emotional doozy, and also structurally a little strange, but I love it. I hope you will too.

Cold. Lucanis is so cold. Frozen in place, frozen by fear. With indecision. 

–Illario. What have you done? We were brothers. We were like brothers! What am I to do with you? If I go after you, you might kill Caterina – are you that afraid of me? Do you hate me that much, after everything? The three of us are all that’s left. How could you do this?

What am I to do?–

Around Lucanis echoes Calivan’s voice, taunting him. “Useless. All of this, utterly useless!”

Useless. He’d never been useless before this place. He was a master assassin, the best Crow in the guild’s best House. The prodigy child destined to take his place in his family’s seat and rule Antiva from the shadows. Never mind that he’d never wanted it. 

Another voice, one of the many that had whispered to him in the Ossuary, said, “And you are raised to the heavens to join the gods. Perfect and exalted. A murder of crows at your feet. “

Just like his cousin, Zara had been desperate to control the Crows. Had she truly loved Illario? Or were they playing each other, doomed to betrayal from the start? Lucanis didn’t think she’d been capable of love, but he also would have never thought Illario would debase himself so thoroughly by sharing that Venatori witch’s bed. 

–what were you thinking, cousin? That the Venatori would help you take the seat from Caterina? Did you think she would give up without a fight? We almost lost everything to House Velardo (I lost everything). Did you think she would not be willing to lose you, too? That there was any line she wouldn’t cross to keep our House? What will she do now? One grandson a traitor and the other an abomination. What will come of House Dellamorte now?–

A new voice, strong and warm. The words come to him like a summer breeze. “Lucanis may have changed, but he’s still the little boy you loved, and raised.”

He knows that voice, but it doesn’t belong here. Rook can’t be here. She saved him once, pulled him from these depths, but it’s too much to hope for a second miracle. 

“You would never think of rejecting him, whatever happened. Would you?”

So much patience. So much love, given freely. He’s never known such endless warmth, such affection promised without demanding something in return. She cannot be real. And even if she is, he does not deserve her. 

Zara’s voice echoes again, driving all warmth from Lucanis. “What trouble you’ve been. What are you hiding, little demon?”

– Hiding. The demon. The soft boy I once was. Even the master assassin. Who is Lucanis Dellamorte, really? Does anyone know? What if there is no man left? Did I truly escape the Ossuary? Or has everything since then been an illusion? Another pleasant fantasy created by my demon so that we might survive? What if there is nothing left of the man at all, and all that remains is Spite?–

“After a year in the Ossuary, you might believe that. But you’re no demon.” Rook again, her words like sunrise in Treviso. Bright and warm. “You’re the man you were, Lucanis, even buried in this pain. No demon would punish itself like this.” 

That… makes sense. How does she always know what to say? Why does she keep trying when he’s only going to let her down?

“I trust you, Lucanis, and I trust myself to get you home. Let me.”

As if it were that easy. She makes trust and affection look so easy. None of this – people, attachment, love – has ever been easy for him. Why can’t it ever just be easy for him? 

Illario’s voice, low and purring, echoes around Lucanis. “How long are you going to keep doing this?” His cousin’s voice is warm, but it raises the hairs on the back of Lucanis’s neck. There’s a threat in those words – how did he not hear it the first time?

“Envy is the rarest of all demons.” Zara again, her voice twining through the space left by Illario’s sensual tones. “And the most challenging to cultivate. The conditions must be perfect. “

Envy. Had Zara even been speaking about Lucanis when she said this? Or was Illario part of some grander scheme? Did his cousin even know what his amatus intended for him? Could anyone truly know the heart of another?

–I knew Illario once, and he knew me. What changed? What happened? Could I have done anything different to keep this from happening? Could anything short of my death have made Illario happy? And what would make me happy? Because I wasn’t happy before. Content, maybe, but not happy. But does that even matter when so much of our lives has been decided for us?–

“Lucanis always has a choice. If he can’t see that, I’m here to show him.” Rook, always helping. Always offering her hand. How many times would she reach for him? How many times could he deny her and still count her as his friend? How many times could he fail her completely before she finally gave up on him? A part of him thinks that might be for the best, that she should take her heart and give it to someone else. Someone better able to care for it.

Someone who doesn’t need so much help. 

“I think it’s time you stood aside and let me try.”

Could he do that? Stop balking and take her hand? And if he fell off the ledge he is always walking on, would she catch him? Or would he be her downfall after all? 

“Cousin, stop. You can’t dwell on this. It’ll drive you mad.”

In this, Illario is right. All of Lucanis’s thoughts spiral when he thinks about Rook. About being with Rook. She upends everything he thought he knew about himself. About the world. Being around her makes him feel at odds with the person he is and the person he wants to be. Like he might actually be able to choose. But doesn’t she have enough on her plate without adding his troubles?

Maybe she should forget about him. Maybe then, they would both be better off. He could go back to the way he’d always been – stoic, controlled, alone – and she could find someone who deserves her. Who could love her the way she deserves to be loved. Confidently, boldly. Free of doubt.

“Lucanis, you don’t owe Illario a second thought, much less a supporting role,” Rook says. Still pushing. Still so determined. Why doesn’t she just give up already? Doesn’t she see what will happen if he lets her in?

It will only hurt them both. There will be only grief.

“I think Illario will be feeling that grief. Right, Lucanis?”

-we both will. There is nothing I can do to my cousin that won’t hurt me just the same. We’re brothers. The last of the Dellamortes, born only months apart. We were always closest –in age and hearts – and now he has done this? He has sacrificed his heart to become First Talon, and so my heart shreds at what I must do.–

“There’s no alternative.” Rook’s voice is sad, but sure. “There’s going to be a confrontation, and it’s not going to end well.”

How could it end well? Perhaps the Dellamortes were doomed ever since the night House Velardo moved against them. Cursed to destroy what little remains. Illario, whether intentionally or not, sent him to this prison. His cousin, the person he loved more than anyone else, is the reason he spent a year in darkness. The reason he is more demon than man. And now that he’s free he has to kill the only family he has left?

How could he be anything but cursed? How could anything good come from his blood-soaked hands? No. With him, there can only be pain, bloodshed, and heartache. Rook would be wise to leave him far, far behind. 

“You’re an Antivan Crow, Lucanis. A professional. Trained to avoid collateral damage and go after the real enemy.”

True. But can he trust that training when the enemy bears his cousin’s face? What happens after, when he looks in the mirror and all he sees in the crook of his nose and the sweep of his cheekbones is Illario? When the blood never comes off his hands, no matter how hard he scrubs? Illario must face the consequences of his betrayal, but what consequences will Lucanis face?

“Whatever they are, Lucanis, I’ll be there to help you.”

Illario’s voice, soft and sad, brushes away Rook’s warm assurance. “Even if it kills you.”

–No. NO! I’ve come this far. Survived a year in this awful place out of sheer spite. I don’t want this. I don’t want to kill my only family. I don’t want to drag Rook into all my messes. If I just stay here, maybe nothing has to change. Maybe, if I pretend long enough, things can go back to the way they were.–

The air around him shimmers, like a mirage on the canals in the height of Trevisan summer. Warmth, banishing the damp, frigid air of the Ossuary, and getting closer to him. And, when he finally sees the person standing in the center of that shimmering warmth, he’s still surprised. Even though he knows he shouldn’t be. 

When has Rook ever failed to help him?

He stares at her, the only source of color in the muted Ossuary of his mind. Her hair that bright auburn, her Dalish leathers dyed in rich, autumnal colors. She exudes warmth, and in this cold place he is helplessly drawn to her. But he holds fast and keeps some distance between them. Her touch unravels him at the best of times – he doesn’t want to know what will happen if she touches him here.

“What are you doing here, Rook?” He wants to ask how she managed to reach him, but does it matter? It seems Rook can open any door. Can punch a fist through any wall, only to open it into an offered hand after. 

“I had to find you,” she says. There’s that familiar shade of concern in her crystal grace eyes. “If anything happened to you…” she shakes her head. “I can’t even think about it.” 

Mierda, she cares so much. About the world. Her friends. Him. It’s too much. “You should go. It’s better I stay here than risk losing you.”

Spite is with her, steaming dark purple and agitated. “You see? He breaks. Our agreement. His mind. Is still here. He wants. To stay here. So he keeps. Me here!”

“Mierda! Why would I want to stay? Even in my head, this place is a nightmare!”

Rook looks down at her feet, her brow furrowed. “Right, but… it’s a nightmare you already defeated.” She looks up at him, her eyes so sad. “I get it now. As bad as the Ossuary was for you, it was better than the alternative.”

“What alternative?” He growls. What is she talking about? And why does he feel so threatened by what she’s saying?

“The Ossuary, Zara – you could solve those problems with a blade.” She shakes her head. “But healing again? Living as an abomination? There’s no simple answer there.” Rook gives him a tender, knowing smile. “And if you fail, you could hurt the ones you love.”

“No! I… this is not…” Is she saying he would rather stay in the Ossuary than face life after it? Immediately his defenses are up, he’s angry. Furious that she would imply such a thing. Make him pick at the festering wounds to be sure it’s not true and– he growls, “damn it, Rook!”

Spite looks to her, a mirror of Lucanis’s own impotent rage. “Make. Him. Leave.” 

As ever, when faced with anger, Rook meets it with patience and understanding. “He’s trying to leave, Spite. It’s…” she glances at Lucanis, then back to the demon. “Complicated. Mortals can’t just change ourselves. It takes a lot of time.” 

The demon gives a little growl of disappointed frustration, but says nothing more. 

Lucanis sighs. “Rook. You are right. There has to be a way through this.” She always finds a way through. “It’s just… so much. I cannot see how to begin.” He hears the pleading note in his voice, knows it’s written there on his face, but for once he doesn’t feel ashamed. If anyone can help him break free of this place, of this feeling, it’s Rook.

She looks to her feet, considering his words. “Start small, you and Spite,” she says. “Figure out a goal you can both agree on, then make it happen.“

The demon grins at him. “A contract?”

“Contracts are for clients.” Lucanis smiles. “Call this… an alliance. But on what terms?”

Rook shakes her head and gives him a rueful smile. “Didn’t you just learn your grandmother was alive? What are you waiting for? Go rescue her!”

“That’s true…” Could it be this easy?

“Fighting Crows?” The demon asks.

Lucanis nods. “And anyone else that gets in our way. Do we have a deal?” For the first time in months, excitement bubbles up in his chest. “We free Caterina together?”

“Together. We will fight!” 

–I can do this. WE can do this. Me and Spite and Rook. Together.–

Only now can he close the space between himself and Rook. He steps toward her, their eyes locked as he stands beside her, where Spite stands. The last thing he sees before the prison fades out around him is the gleam of hope in pale, violet-tinged eyes. 

[resident-idiot-simp]

I don't know if you do requests but what if- now here me out.

What if in some universe Victor had raised Laura after Logan was gone?

What if that blonde menace to society took an oath years ago to protect Logan's kits and despite how much he's glad the old fuck is dead, Laura didn't do anything wrong and theres still time "To teach her how to let 'it' out" it being the feralness and the "wild" as he calls it.

What if wade had met the one raised by sabretooth to be a cold blooded killer? Because obviously this wouldn't be right, so she would get pruned with the other sabre but- BUT.

What if, just for a second, Wade makes her feel understood. He's not angry at her for growling and biting him. Scratching or her following her insticts to kill first ask later?

What if for the first time, someone other then her father and her "uncle victor" seen her as more then just a wild child and more of someone who deserves love just for being who she is?

And yeah, Laura gets the Nickname Runt Jr? Sometimes just Runt, sometimes cupcake, or other demeaning names. But for once someone calls her sweet things because they want her to feel safe.

Sweetheart isn't an insult anymore, but a pet name (not that shes a pet or anythint NOsirey!)

Darling is genuienly said and not growled at her or teased.

And if you really REALLY wanna break some hearts? Have this universe's Wade remember Origins James and how similar Laura and him are. That would really hurt.

Someone needs to be here to hold this little girls hand when she grows up. And clearly Logan cant.

Anyway! Bye!

I kind of do requests. If it's something I feel I can actually elaborate on or write I usually do. For this I don't feel like I can I am sorry. I feel this way for 2 reasons

1) My interpretation of Victor (blame this fic) is not someone who should be around Laura. Or really anyone for that matter and especially not Logan.

However I feel that this is a perfect starting point for a different interpretation of the character than my own. I would genuinely love to read this if someone wrote it.

2) I have written them interacting before and Laura has more of an on-site thing with him. I think even as a child she would attempt to murder him. She read the comics and has opinions.

Anyways break down of what you did write:

I love the idea that even as fucked up as their relationship was and maybe how much they hated each other they did have an understanding. If it came down to it they would protect their own if they ever had kids and couldn't themselves take care of them.

Probably some pack mentality that was left over. Also the fact that no mutant child deserves to be by themselves let alone a feral.

I also agree that Victor would make everything much worse with her Logan is definitely the more tame of the two. Thus Victor would have no qualms teaching her to not be as reserved.

I love the idea that Wade has to deal with this because he would know what a typical Laura would be like so this would take him by surprise. There's no way he isn't charmed I don't feel like it's possible.

He would get it I mean considering he kills for a living so they would find a kinship in that, but also the fact that he just isn't afraid. Everyone else fears her except for this one maniac who just makes jokes.

She's never met anyone like him how could she not be enamored?

Wade being the first one to treat her with genuine kindness is fascinating. The idea that Victor is not doing anything other then the bare minimum treating her like he would almost treat Logan.

The idea that even if Wade didn't know who Laura was he would know immediately because of how much she acted like James is adorable. That is heartwarming and heartbreaking. Bravo bravo my friend.

[silkenwinger]

part 2 of TA Gaz. MDNI!!! also for clarification, gaz isn’t much older than reader is. think max 2-3 years. one day i will write a proper teacher fic but not today

you kind of regret doing all of that.

not that you don’t enjoy spending time with gaz! he’s the best! your meetings and study dates are awesome and all, but…

simply put, you wanted to fuck your TA, and instead of having that you’re going through 70s newspapers, staying up late nose deep in books, and having to see price more days than you really feel comfortable with. 

(he’s actually kinda chill off class, seeing you and gaz more like partners in crime than students anymore. but the crime involved is just researching, researching, researching, oh we found something! oh nevermind…)

this was just a mandatory class, not necessarily the major subject you were looking forward to the most when you started uni, and you’re really, really feeling that now that you’re way more involved with it. it’s still interesting, just not something you wanted to spend weeks on.

despite your dissatisfaction with the project itself, nothing can take away from the additional time you get to spend with gaz.

but there’s one thing bothering you about everything…

it’s all so impersonal. when you exchanged numbers with gaz, you told yourself you were going to ask him out. real shit. making your intentions known, so to speak. but when you both showed up to the cafè, well. you two just proceeded to talk about the project. an hour sipping macha and you didn’t even discover what sports he does to keep this fit (you think he just lifts). he seems to be expediently dodging any of your attempts to get to know him for real. your tactically chosen cleavage shirts do nothing to make his eye wander. your beautiful skirts get you enough attention from old slimy men on the bus but not from gaz. 

but he’s not necessarily cold, either… and when you don’t see each other for a while, he actually hugs you when you meet. 

you know what this sounds like. completely delusional, per your friends again.

maybe he’s gay, says the most positive. maybe he’s just not into you girl, move on! exclaims the realist one. you don’t lose hope. you’re made of sterner stuff.

but god keeps testing you.

one day at the cafè with gaz you’re engrossed reading a new excerpt he just sent you when you hear a noise. a second later, you realise it’s a voice. a scottish one.

“ay, gazzie, what’re you up to? oh, got a new girl to tutor this semester?” says a laddish sort with blue eyes and a mohawk (?).

what?

new?

you freeze. gaz is smiling, beautifully, as he introduces you to his friend soap as his project partner. that does have a kick, but you’re still stuck on the new. so he does this often. seeing girls.

and when you’re done with the project, you will never see him again.

because you’re not friends enough for that.

you go cold a bit.

you don’t stop working on the project, of course. but you limit to the minimum indispensable not to draw suspicion. it draws it anyway, and gaz often asks if everything is okay when you’re not nearly as chipper as you used to be in your sessions. even price, despite his usual no-nonsense approach, once tells you you can talk to him about anything that bothers you. but you can’t tell him hey so i kinda had a big crush on a guy and i just realised i realistically have no chance so i’m kinda mourning the lost hours of my life doing something i don’t enjoy (in your field of interest).

it’s cool. it’s still been a learning experience. the project is only meant to last another week and then you’ll be free to metabolize the biggest unresolved crush of your life without getting directly rejected. again, it’s cool.

you just finished setting your tinder account when you receive a message from gaz.

hey. would you like to hangout tomorrow night? not related to work dw.

oh. well.

i mean…

sure x

you’re at his flat. holy shit, you’re at gaz’s house! you almost balked when you saw his huge ass roomate come out of his room, face mask and all, but it’s a cozier space than you imagined guys in their 20s could live together in.

“do you want something to drink? we’ve got, uh, beer and tap water?” he’s dressed much more informally than usual. a grey hoodie that looks particularly comfortable.

“i’m good, thanks,” you smile nervously. he closes the fridge and makes a gesture to show you to his room.

you both sit on his bed. you can feel cold sweat on your back. but unfortunately, you have a bad feeling.

“so, i just noticed that you’ve kinda changed this last month,” he starts. oh god. the worried talk from your crush might actually send you straight to intensive care due to sheer embarrassment. 

“you have a sad aura about you, and you’re not nearly as enthusiastic about our work as you used to be at the start. i wanted to ask if me or professor price did anything that you disliked or-”

“no, not at all,” you interrupt him for what must be the first time ever, irritated by the whole ordeal, “and did prof price set you to this?”

“what? no!” he justifies himself, “i did this by myself.”

“so you could organize this,” you offhandedly gesture to his (incredibly tidy, ugh) room, “but couldn’t ask what was wrong with me seriously any other time we saw each other?”

“w. what is wrong with you?” he asks, and for the first time he registers as someone who is your peer, and not particularly wiser or experienced than you.

you just sigh. it’s out of character for you. you’ve played the part of the ever available sweet girl, but it’s just so much. a trained animal does need its treat.

gaz is reading your face with a concentration you’ve usually seen him display only in studying and not in casual settings. with a start, you realise this is by far the most intimate conversation you two have ever had.

“i just lost passion for the project a bit.”

silence hangs in the room after that. it gets broken up quickly by gaz, though.

“i knew you didn’t give a shit about price’s class. i could see it in your eyes,” he whispers to you, like he’s revealing some kind of world secret scoop.

you roll your eyes, a bit peeved by his directness. he’s never been this pungent with you.

it feels new. it feels exhilarating.

 “so? i’m not the first nor the las-”

“maybe try telling a dude that you like him before you give him the silent treatment?” he retorts.

“you won’t even talk about yourself!” you exclaim, but you can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks.

“i need to keep official uni stuff and private stuff separate.”

you laugh, genuinely and heartily. fuck trying to be demure about it.

“what are you, bond? mate, we do our work in starbucks. it couldn’t possibly get anymore casual than this.”

“oi, chill it with the cheek. some of us actually care about our academic record.”

“oh so you think i don’t– hmmph!”

is this really happening. is kyle fucking garrick kissing you. and not chastely either. his kiss is passionate and fiery, like he has been desiring, wanting you as you have him. which is just unthinkable, right? his hands on your shoulders release their hold on you only a bit when he stops for air.

“i knew it. i knew you liked me.” he says, tone arrogant and know-it-all.

“good job einstein, you want a prize for that?

“nah, your pussy will do,” and you gasp at that. you should be outraged. where’s the sweet man you’ve daydreamed about in class? until you realise you’re actually seconds away from fucking your crush, which sobers you up quickly. who gives a shit what image he projects at school? what matters is you’ve hung out with him enough to get to see him in bed, which was the intent of your whole operation.

“you’re a fucking fiend,” you tell him, but start to remove your shirt anyway. to your joy, you notice the slightest tremble in his fingers as he looks for a condom in his nightstand. maybe he isn’t truly the nonchalant fuckboy he’s trying to project here, either… 

that’s how you end up riding him in his own room, the first time you kiss, the first time you really get to unmask in front of each other. behind a seemingly warm smile, a careful thought process, months of planning. courteous interactions hiding heat.

his long cock spears you on him with no chance of escaping. but he’s offering himself to you, his only control his hands on your hips, softly guiding you. you fuck yourself on him in haste and almost anger, the feeling of rejection dissipating with each stroke in and out. when his long fingers come to rub your clit, you almost blank out. you kiss him out of gratitude and restiveness, the vibration of his own moan reverberating through your body. when you go limp after coming, he chases his own release by fucking you from under, his groan tight against your neck. 

“if you try to ghost me after today or after the project is done, i’m stapling pictures of your face with fake measurements all over uni,” you tell him while he’s still inside you, caging his face between your arms.

“damn, girl, i got it,” he laughs, not intimidated by your threat in the slightest. you huff a bit at that, but lay down the sword for now. you get off him to lie next to him in bed, still in disbelief over what just happened.

“i liked your cookies, by the way.”

“what?”

“the ones you made for christmas.”

“ah. i’m not really much of a cook, i thought they weren’t sweet enough.”

“nah, they were great. and i also like your part in the project,” he turns to fully look at you, “do you really not enjoy it?”

now you feel bad. why is he being so nice again?

“that’s not true, it’s just– it was kind of accidental. i got so good because i wanted to talk to you. but i don’t dislike what we’ve done so far.”

“well, consider me impressed,” he smiles as he kisses you, and you feel it again. that absolutely punch to the gut that renders you completely powerless.

you’re done for, definitely.  

a/n: i was informed TAs do not actually exist in british universities. this is very sad for the realism of my fic (???) but please imagine that they do and that they look like gaz. nice right. 

BONUS:

you’re not clueless to the concept of a walk of shame. it’s alright. everyone has been there. the problem is that the morning after you leave in a hurry after kissing gaz on the cheek because you’ve both got different places to be, and he’s still dressing in the bathroom. when you leave his room, you immediately get a weird, oppressing feeling. it only gets worse as you make your way through the corridor. you have to pass the kitchen before getting to the main door. 

there, the huge ass roommate is eating his cereal milk by himself. 

it’s him. this is who is cursing your existence from here to eternity. maybe you should have been more careful about the noise…

the teaspoon looks far too small for him as he eats his breakfast. his dark eyes pin you in place as you fix your bag on your shoulder.

“good morning…” you let out, scared shitless. you don’t even wait for his reply as you open the door and get out of there.

“fucking hell,” is all simon says. now even gaz has a bird. he should probably hang out with johnny more.

[marauder-misprint]

Hello to you lovely human being! Happy 500 followers its my first time requesting so forgive me if anything is formatted weird :p im always updated on ur fics and now im finally requesting something:DDD ok so could u please write something like coworker james x reader when theyre both stuck at for a new years party with this prompt ⁴⁾ “i’m still in the market for someone to kiss at midnight, if you’re up for it.” and this scenario? ¹²⁾ being stuck at work for the night, watching everyone else celebrate from afar :D i'd love for u to write it but its definitely okay if u dont want to

Thank you! and thank you for the request ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ I love love love writing cutesy things like this. Hope you enjoy!

Working New Year's

coworker!James Potter x reader

1.0k words

cw: fluff

You had drawn one of the short straws. The restaurant you worked at had been booked for a New Year’s Eve party and you were working it. You knew you were missing getting hammered with your friends in some random bar, but you tried to look on the bright side: at least it was holiday pay and your coworker was not the worst. 

Yes, “not the worst” was probably the best way to describe James Potter. He was attractive and he knew it, flirting with guest after guest. The old ladies who came in would request him. He was arrogant and overly confident. But, he was a hard worker. He got the job done. You knew that you’d be leaving no later than 1:15 a.m. after the party cleared out and you did your closing duties. 

It wasn’t anywhere near 1 a.m., though. Midnight hadn’t passed yet. It was barely 11 p.m. and you were refilling a tray of desserts. James was mixing drinks as guests came up for refills. He had been pleasant all evening. You think he picked up on that you’d rather not be there. Once everything was restocked, you went over to his station and leaned against the wall. 

“Where would you be tonight if you weren’t here?” James asked as a guest returned to the main party with a new drink. 

You pulled out your phone to check your friends’ groupchat.

“Looks like my friends are at The Chimera,” you sighed. “What ‘bout you?”

“Home,” he said, throwing his towel over his shoulder and then pushing his glasses up his nose. 

You tried not to laugh. James didn’t seem like a homebody to you. 

“What?” he asked, almost sounding insulted but the smile on his face told a different story.

“Sorry, but you? You don’t seem like a watch-fireworks-on-the-telly kind of bloke.”

He leaned on the counter between you. “What kind of bloke am I then?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek as you thought. 

“Hmmm, two options, I suppose. One, at some house party with your girlfriend. You wouldn’t be hosting. Or, dancing the night away in some club with some random girl you’ll never see again. You know, just a face to kiss at midnight. You’d probably exchange numbers but never text or call. I bet you have a few numbers in your phone now that are saved as New Years Kiss 2020 or something.” 

James laughed. “There are no numbers saved like that, I guarantee you, love. House party wouldn’t be bad and you’re right, I wouldn’t be hosting. Flat’s too small for that. But alas, no girlfriend.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “You could say I’m still in the market for someone to kiss at midnight, if you’re up for it.”

You raised your eyebrows with wide eyes. You had come to peace that you’d be without a New Year’s kiss this year. It had actually been years since you were without one, always either having a boyfriend or finding a friend or stranger to kiss. You cleared your throat, unsure if his offer was genuine.

“Should I be honored or did you tell Joe the same thing?” 

Joe was the manager who got stuck with the party. He had locked himself in his office to do “paperwork” but you both knew he would be watching a movie or something. 

James shook his head, laughing a bit harder.

“I’ll have you know that I have absolutely no desire to ring in the new year with Creepy Joe. You, on the other hand…”

You looked over at the party as his voice trailed off. You really wished you were out with your friends, mimicking the kind of revelry that was occurring before you. 

“Hey.” James’ voice was softer but now much closer to you. He had come out from behind the counter to stand right next to you. “Was that too straightforward?”

You didn’t say anything, still looking at the people dancing and laughing. 

“Not straightforward enough?”

You scoffed. “We’re at work, Potter. I don’t think we’re allowed to have a New Year’s kiss.”

“What’re they going to do? Fire their best employees when their manager isn’t even doing his job?”

You chuckled and turned to see James smiling at you. He knew he got you. And then the countdown started. You didn’t look away from him. His movements felt like they were going in slow motion. His step closer. An arm around your waist to pull you closer. Him leaning down, bring his face closer to yours. 

“Zero! Happy New Year!” echoed around you.

James’ lips crashed into yours. It was firm and lasted longer than you had expected from him. Even if he had been actually flirting with you, in your experience, New Year’s kisses were either the briefest thing or they turned into full-on snogging. James, however, lingered. He waited for you to pull away, and when you did, you felt the urge to reconnect your mouths again. His grip on your waist didn’t loosen, holding you close. 

“Happy New Year, love,” he whispered, letting his warm breath fan your face. It smelled of peppermint. 

“Happy New Year, James. And I know your resolution,” you said, unable to rid yourself of the smile that had appeared. “To stop stealing work mints!”

“What? Am I just supposed to ask a pretty girl to kiss me when I have bad breath?” he laughed. 

You shook your head as you slowly pulled out of his hands. “I already kissed you. You can drop the compliments.”

You gasped as he brought you back in closer to him. Your heart was pounding in your chest from the prolonged proximity to him. It also didn’t help that you could now focus on his muscular arms as they held you with no imminent traditional kiss. 

“What if I don’t want that to be our only kiss?” he asked in a low voice. His eyes were searching yours for an answer. “You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything.”

“I-I… I… James,” you said, deflating slightly. You pushed away from him.

“Love,” he sighed as he let you go.

“Potter, we need to start cleaning up if I’m coming back to your flat after this,” you told him as you walked away.

“Wha-OH!” he exclaimed. You heard him stumble back behind the bar to start his closing duties. “On it.”

As you did your own closing duties, you thought that maybe his arrogance was well earned. 

[yandere-paramour]

I was wondering how yandere would react if their loved ones were calm people in everyday life, but in bed they became fucking perverts? I can already imagine the shocking and uncomprehending expression on Atalanta's face when her chosen one, with a breathless and reddened face and eyes full of excitement, tells how much she likes bloody kink and bdsm.

Atalanta frankly looks almost green at your... very descriptive fantasies. She's not cut out for this, she's really just not the kind of person to really get into this shit. She likes kissing, cuddling, dicking you down in a few positions, and then going to bed with you in her arms. She's not cut out for blood, BUT I think if you approach this in the right way, you could get her to try some things like bondage, submission, mild sensory deprivation, edging, biting, maybe even a forced orgasm. You have to tread lightly though, she's a scared little kitten and liable to bolt.

Vivien would be surprised, definitely surprised, but kinda interested. He loves his thoughtful, loving, romantic intercourse with you, but he's willing to get freaky too. He's intrigued, and he's willing to try almost everything once. He doesn't want to get his plants involved though, his plants are sacred and he doesn't want to have to apologize to them for getting semen all over their leaves.

Noelle has an upcoming BDSM fic I'm struggling to write and that's all I'm gonna say about that for now.