#like why that happened. what it meant. why they did that

[felassan]

David Gaider on Dorian, under a cut for length:

"Now this is a fun one. It's no big secret I have a lot of feelings about Dorian, not least of which because he was my first (and only) gay male companion. There's a lot more to him than that, of course (as there should be), and it was quite a trip. So let's go! Now, DAI is a story all its own, but I'm sticking to the characters. In this case, back at the beginning, the writers were going to try something new: we were going to let the artists take a more active role in the companion creation process. Why? Because not doing so had caused a lot of problems. See, here's the thing: writers and artists speak two different languages. When talking about characters, we talk about their story. Who they are. What they want. We'd write up these briefs, huge and full of information... but it was never the information the artists needed. They wanted visual cues. I don't mean describing their appearance. Sure, we'd usually provide that, especially if there was a story case to be made, but often the artists vetoed us on appearance stuff anyhow so meh. No, I mean they looked for visual language while we tended to only talk about who the characters *were*. What would happen is they'd hone in on something visual in our write-up not intended to be a focus. The first write-up for Anders in DA2, for instance, mentioned he was "haggard" after his journey... and the first concept we got was this pale, shriveled man. "What... is this?" "YOU SAID HAGGARD!" 😅"

"That was the other trick: sometimes when we DID try to be more descriptive, we had to be extra cautious because the words could be interpreted very differently. You encounter this recording VO, too. A VO note says "hysterical" and you *meant* "really upset" but the actor read "scream like a banshee" Thus this caused problems, like I said. The artists would struggle, sometimes conjuring details just to give the character *something* but which would change the character... and, to us, the character was created. Done. We were already invested, probably already writing them. Something had to give. So this time we wrote a bunch of character briefs - but short. One paragraph. We stuck to vibes and the *emotions* we wanted the concepts to evoke. And we didn't name them. They got titles like "Slick Con Man" or "Ice Queen", so we wouldn't get too attached. Then we handed these off to the artists. And it worked nicely. The ones that just weren't inspiring we'd discard, no problem. The others had juice... and the artists felt free to play and offer lots of variations because we weren't set on anything yet. A lot of times, what they produced ended up inspiring US. It was a neat back-and-forth."

"This is what led to Dorian, in fact. He came from a short write-up entitled "Rock Star Mage" and it really boiled down to "I'm cool and I know I'm cool, so take that you cretins". And just like that, the first sketches (by Casper Konefal, I think? I bet I'm wrong) were all amazing. Instant fire. Me: "He looks kind of like... Freddie Mercury?" Him: "Is that bad?" Me: "NO ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS AMAZING" Plus there was a monkey. Sadly, we had to lose the monkey. There were iterations to come, but this was really where Dorian was born: Tevinter mage, noble, savant, and too cool for school."

"When did he become gay? Not right away. Like I said elsewhere, we didn't talk romance and sexuality until after the concepts were more in place. But as we were brainstorming about why this hot shot mage left Tevinter, the idea DID come up that maybe it was because he was gay. Not directly, however. Homophobia isn't really a thing in Thedas, after all, so at first blush I didn't think that could work. "Rich kid gets kicked out of the house for being gay" wasn't a trope I wanted to explore. But, then again, magister families in Tevinter are *obsessed* with the appearance of perfection, so...? Any deviation from the "norm" is considered scandal-worthy. It said weakness. It said you couldn't control your house. Now... THAT had real promise. The writing pit discussed it a lot. So I think it's fair to say that the gay fairy was already circling Dorian even before we got to the romance talk. I think it's also fair to say that the rest of the team realized I low-key wanted to write him, because when everyone started calling dibs, who was left standing for me? (I pick last, remember.) I gleefully snatched him up and got to work... ...about six months later. I was very busy at the time. 😅 That late start meant I had to design and write VERY quickly. And I did. Somehow, though, this one... it came easily. "Catty gay man" isn't digging very deep, no surprise to anyone who knows me, and it had an extra layer of being so fun because Dorian was confident. He sparred verbally. I loved it."

"There was more to it, however. The conflict between Dorian and his father... ugh, how do I say this? Let's be clear: Dorian's story is not MY story, but it's also not far off. I wrote the entire confrontation scene in one go. After I was done, I probably cried harder than I ever have in my life. 🫠 I was unsure whether it was any good, however. I just didn't feel objective. I passed it over to Cori May - my friend but also Dorian's editor - and asked her to please tell me and be honest. She read it. She walked into my office after, tears streaming down her face, and just nodded. "It's good." Here's the thing. Not everyone is going to agree with this, but: I don't think a writer NEEDS to be a minority in order to write a minority. Sometimes those characters should simply exist, and we want them to. But if that character's story is ABOUT their experience as a minority? That's different. Dorian's story didn't need to revolve around his sexuality - and, honestly, it only did so as a tangent to his family issue, but they're so bound together it's probably irrelevant to split them - but my writing him meant it could be. It allowed me to SAY something. That felt good. It felt right. Ramon Tikaram came on board after a lengthy casting process (so many British Indian accents, oh god). I sat in on a few recording sessions... the confrontation scene, though? Ramon: *says line* Me: (curled up on a nearby sofa in fetal position) *shaky thumbs up* Caroline: "Yep. Great work, Ramon!""

"Dorian's sexuality isn't all he's about, but that's certainly how some viewed it. When the character was announced in 2014, his being gay was mentioned as the last of a number of points, and the instant response from some gamers was to act as if we'd called a press conference just to say THAT. 🙄 It was annoying. Still is. Overall, however, the reaction to Dorian was very positive. The number of straight men who said they romanced him still pleases me. The number of fans who privately contacted me who'd been through conversion therapy, some who said Dorian helped them survive? Well. Gosh. 😭 I did write him for Trespasser - though I hear that a late scope cut meant every conversation had been chopped by 1/3rd or more, and that meant a lot of nuance lost. Which is sad, if true, because it sounds like the result of that left some Dorian romancers a bit cold. Such is how game dev rolls. 😔 If you need more proof of how it was hard for me to let go of him, a short story I wrote after Trespasser came out where Dorian has a bit of closure with his dead father: medium.com/@davidgaider... So yeah. He'll always be my boi. And I'll always be thankful Bio gave me this opportunity. ❤️"

[source thread]

User: "I'm not going to lie, it's hard to take my mind off Dorian almost having a monkey." David Gaider: "If by “almost” you mean there was a picture of a monkey that the concept artist put there as a whim, and which would almost certainly have taken more cinematics and modeling time to put in than we could ever afford… then yes. 😉" [source]

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake’s Unhinged Power Move (ft. Marriage, Ra’s al Ghul, and an Uncomfortable Batfamily)

No one really understood how it started. One moment, Tim Drake was Red Robin—tired, overworked, and fueled by caffeine. The next, he was dropping a bombshell in the middle of a routine debrief:

“Oh, by the way, I married Ra’s al Ghul.”

The room froze.

Dick’s dumbbell hit the floor. Jason choked on his beer. Damian’s sword slipped from his hand. Bruce, staring at Tim like he’d grown a second head, barely managed a strangled, “Tim. What did you do?”

Tim took a sip of his coffee, utterly unfazed. “It’s a power move.”

Jason, wheezing with laughter: “Oh my god. You married Ra’s out of spite? Replacement, I’ve never been prouder.”

Tim smirked. “Something like that.”

-----------

It wasn’t really spite.

Ra’s had been obsessed with him for years. The offers of succession, the constant attempts to lure him to the League—it was never-ending. Tim was tired. Tired of being hunted, tired of the games. So, one day, he called Ra’s’ bluff. If Ra’s wanted him so badly, he’d have to deal with all that came with it. Including Tim’s unrelenting need for control.

Ra’s agreed.

And just like that, Tim Drake became the most terrifying in-law the batfamily had ever seen.

-----------

Talia didn’t know what to think at first.

She’d seen it all before—people manipulated by Ra’s, twisted into tools for his will. But Tim? He didn’t play by those rules. He sat at Ra’s’ desk, sifting through League reports like they were Gotham case files. He didn’t bark orders; he made suggestions. And then, the soup happened.

Talia returned from a mission, bruised and exhausted. Tim, barely looking up from his paperwork, said, “Sit. You’re hurt.”

She scoffed. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s soup.”

Talia stared. “Why?”

Tim shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.”

It became a routine. She’d return from missions, and Tim would be there. Not with judgment. Not with manipulation. Just quiet support. He listened. He offered advice. He treated her like a person, not a pawn.

Somehow, they started having regular bonding time. Shopping trips. Quiet conversations on the balcony. Tim became a person Talia could trust—a concept she hadn’t believed possible.

-----------

Damian was losing his mind.

“Drake!” he hissed, cornering Tim in the Batcave. “You’ve… corrupted my mother!”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Corrupted? She’s thriving.”

“She smiles at you!”

“I’m very charming.”

Damian’s finger trembled as he pointed. “This makes you… my grandmother.”

Tim smirked. “Respect your elders, grandson.”

“I REFUSE!”

-----------

Bruce was spiraling.

“Tim, this is dangerous.”

“Relax,” Tim replied, sipping his coffee. “I’ve got it under control.”

“You married one of our greatest enemies!”

“Think of it as an undercover op,” Tim said, voice calm and unyielding. “I’m playing the long game.”

Jason, from the sidelines, grinned. “He’s playing 4D chess, and you’re still on checkers.”

-----------

The Real Chaos?

Tim didn’t marry Ra’s to make him happy. Hell no. If anything, it made Tim sick to his stomach knowing Ra’s was smug about it. But if putting up with Ra’s al Ghul meant protecting Talia, stabilizing the League, and giving Damian a family that didn’t break apart at the seams?

He’d endure.

Because Talia was healing. Damian’s mother was smiling. And Ra’s… well, Ra’s thought he’d won.

But the real winner? Tim Drake.

Gotham’s most unhinged vigilante had just become the League of Assassins’ terrifying step-parent. And honestly? It suited him.

-----------

Damian, whispering to Alfred: “I need… therapy.” Alfred: “We all do, Master Damian. We all do.”

[nightingale-prompts]

Pre-wedding Blues-Beholder AU- DCxDP(Danny x Tim)

Beholder series

Tim fucked up. Like he fucked up bad. But he knows he fucked up.

He...um...

...Slept with Danny..

But not before...

...Kissing Phantom.

And all in one night so bravo.

This was a B level fuck up. This family must be cursed with terrible relationship skills.

Before you say anything there is a perfectly resonable explanation.

Tim had a late patrol. Not because he was too nervous to return home now that he realized he had feelings for his unofficial roommate. No he was just making sure the city was free of rouges. He certainly wasn't brooding on a rooftop trying to push down his feelings because feelings were uncomfortable and weird. He doesn't brood, that's a B or Jason thing.

Then Phantom flew by so he chased. And then a very dumb thought came to mind when he caught up. Maybe he didn't have feelings for Danny. Maybe he just thought Danny was attractive and Phantom was attractive too. Maybe he had a type for mysterious and dark men.

So they bantered a bit. He knew Phantom thought he was good-looking, so he went for it. And yeah, he liked it. Phantom must have, too, because for a moment, he leaned into the kiss. However, Tim felt like shit when he saw the fury in Phantom's eyes. Tim escaped after Phantom tried to rip his head off and knew if the ghost ever saw him again, he was as good as dead.

Tom knew he fucked up. He knew that Phantom like someone else and that someone was likely Danny. But should he care if he also liked Danny? But if he liked Danny why would it feel good to kiss someosne else knowing that it wasn't honest? Did he really like Danny then?

The questions swirled in his head as he opened the door to his apartment and saw Danny looking disheveled. He didn't even look at Tim as walked to the kitchen and poured himself a drink.

"Danny is everything-"

"Its fine!" He said immediately as he took a shot.

It wasn't fine. Something happed. Was it connected to Phantom? Maybe a breakup? Tim couldn't be that lucky.

Even thinking that felt shitty. He shouldn't hope that Danny was hurt. But he still did hope Phantom would be out of their lives.

Says the person who kissed him as an experiment.

Danny paced mumbling to himself and cursing. Whatever happened it got him riled up.

Tim tried to get him to talk and then they sat down and had a few drinks and...

Well, Danny kissed him. A desperate needy kiss like it was the last one he'd ever have. And then one thing led to another. Tim still wasn't sure if this meant he was actually in love with Danny or was this was just him using another person. He had already betrayed the feelings he thought he had and now he was taking advantage of Danny's sadness.

But fuck, it felt so good.

In the morning he felt like he had grown devil horns and a tail. He was awful. There was no excuse for this. He had taken advantage of two people. He used Danny, his friend who trusted him because he couldn't control his feelings. He used Phantom in hopes to elevate his guilt for liking his friend by convincing himself that his feeling weren't real.

Where does that leave him now? Sharing his bed with Danny knowing he can't tell him any of this. What does that make them now? Friends? Friends with benefits? Boyfriends?

Whatever this was felt good but I also felt so wrong. Like he took a shortcut on a marathon route and still got first place.

Tim pushed these discorded feelings down as deep as he could manage. He wanted this right? Just yesterday we wondered what this would be like and now he had it and he had the nerve to complain.

Danny wanted HIM. He never mentioned Phantom so Phantom doesn't matter. Danny was sad and upset and Tim was there like a good friend comforted him. This is perfectly normal.

These thoughts were like the voice of a smiling devil on his shoulder telling him not to worry.

Tim thinks that this is probably what Dick calls a crisis and "needs brotherly advice". Tim hates to admit it but he needs to talk to someone even if its one of the chucklefucks he calls his brothers.

*****

On the otherside of the bed Danny was having a crisis of his own.

He was kissed by Red Robin and he even kissed back. How could he? He had a fiancé, a wonderful one at that. Had he really cheated on Tim?

They hadn't even kissed yet but there he was locking lips with a vigilante. He even had the nerve to wonder why Red Robin was so willing but his own love hadn't tried.

Danny wanted to kill that little punk for this but he knew he didn't want the Bat clan hunting him after. Still, it would keep what happened a secret.

Maybe this was his fault. He had playfully flirted with him in the past. So maybe he got the wrong message.

Danny retreated back to the apartment where he began tieing himself in knots trying to figure out if he should tell Tim. Tim didn't know Phantom but he should still tell him about the kiss. That would be honest, but if Tim knew he kissed back then that would hurt him.

By this point, a bit of alcohol told him the answer. If he's so worried about how unfair it was to Tim that he kissed someone else first then he should make it fair. Be bold and go for it. If he gives Tim everything then one little kiss is meaningless. Problem solved.

Isn't that how cheaters think though?

Of course not. Danny didn't even like Robin like that. Robin was cute and funny but his heart belonged to Tim. Plus Robin kissed him not the other way around. He's a victim in all of this. He can just overwrite this little mistake and make sure that Robin never breathes a word of this. Maybe send one of his ghosts Robin's way to remind him not to cross Danny. How else can he protect his future marriage?

The words felt slimy as they crawled to the surface of Danny's brain.

This was exhausting. Can't he just enjoy being with Tim without all this bullshit in the way? Seriously nothing can be easy in his life. He should talk to someone. Jazz always gives sensible advice but she gets so overbearing. OG Vlad gives the worst advice and the new one is only marginally better. Mom and Dad, no.

Danny needed someone older and wiser.

(a healthy dose of angst)(for flavor)

(Sorry no smut here. I'd have to write an alternate chapter for it for those who want to see it vs those who like this series light and fluffy.)

[cornflowersisblue]

To the Bathroom, Without Me?

Mr. Gap X Fem reader Tags: Lovesickness for a dark-haired boy from another world with p#rnographic c#ntent. Words: 2000

Full version on AO3 You let out a tired sigh as you sank into the hot water, feeling the tension of the long day begin to melt away. Warm steam rose into the air, settling on the tiled walls and creating a soft mist around you. Your day at work had been utterly exhausting, so when you returned home, you couldn’t even follow your usual routine and simply tossed your things on the bathroom floor as you undressed. Your eyes closed as you took a deep breath, enjoying the long-awaited warmth. It had been a very cold day for November, and you were freezing on your way home. That’s why the water in the bath was hotter than usual.

But suddenly, a strange chill ran through you, as if a cold wind slipped into the room. You opened your eyes and flinched when you saw Mr. Gap right in front of you. His sudden appearances were something you could never get used to, no matter how often they happened.

Mr. Gap didn’t seem to care about anything. He enjoyed simple things like watching lazily or teasing someone now and then. He didn’t feel tied to anything. He was lying right in front of you now, shamelessly stretched out between your legs. His dark hair fell forward, covering his left eye, while his right eye studied you closely. He rubbed his cheek against your damp leg, his hair slightly wet and sticking to his pale skin.

He was also pleased that his body was restored, with all its parts in place. Though out of old habit, or maybe because it was more comfortable for him, he only showed his head. In moments like today. You saw him in the reflection of your office window. His ghostly face and a grin from ear to ear scared your boss so much she turned pale. She stopped scolding you, even though she clearly had a lot to say, and quickly left the office. Did Mr. Gap do it on purpose? Or was he just having fun?

His dark lips curved into a smirk. Now he appeared fully, pressing down on you with his weight. In the soft, warm light of your bathroom, he looked almost harmless. His face was strangely handsome, with a slightly upturned nose and a sharp chin. Of course, his large light-gray eyes, framed with thick black lines, stood out sharply against his pale skin. Long, slender fingers with black nails lazily trailed across your stomach, leaving behind a familiar faint chill. Your eyes followed his hand, drawn to its slow movement, as though he was lost in his thoughts too.

"Warm," he said softly. His voice was pleasant, with a slight rasp, like that of a young man—not too deep, but not high either. "It’s cold... out there." He lifted his head and nodded toward the small bathroom window. It was fogged up from the steam, making it hard to see through, but you knew it was still snowing outside. You gave a slight nod, understanding what he meant.

"Give me your finger?" he asked, raising his eyebrows with such a fake and innocent expression that it was almost pitiful. His face always vividly conveyed every emotion, and he knew how to use that to his advantage.

You lifted your hand out of the water and offered it to him. You remembered your first meeting with him. There were two identical gray doors in front of you, and without thinking, you reached for the one on the right. Behind the handle was his face. It was terrifying. You slammed the door shut right in his face with a loud bang and ran away, hoping he wouldn’t follow. But the longer you stayed in that strange place, where everything seemed to want to kill you, the more you realized you needed help. You knew nothing about that world. You just ran aimlessly from room to room, from hallway to hallway, your heart sinking at the thought of what might be hiding behind the walls. Or above you. Or under the floor. Then you remembered a book. It had a strange illustration that stuck in your mind: the eye of a creature peeking out from a crack in the wall. Creatures like that were described as watchers who didn’t cause much harm. They were said to serve as a reminder to take care of your home.

Yeah, right. A real spirit of cleanliness who loves water.

You smiled as he leaned closer, his thin fingers wrapping around your wrist and lifting your hand to his face. His lips curled into a thin smile every time he got what he wanted. He bit the tip of your finger with his sharp teeth, then ran his tongue over it. You brushed your thumb against his lower lip.

"Hello, Mr. Gap," you finally said, running your hand through his hair and letting your fingers slide down his back. He let go of your hand, shifted slightly, and made himself comfortable.

"Am I your pillow now?" you asked with a small smirk.

He reached out, stretching for something behind your head.

"Not understand your language," he reminded you. His fingers closed around a red candle. He turned it over in his hands, studying it for a moment. Then, pressing two fingers together, he lit the wick. The flame flickered softly, its warm light reflecting in his pale gray eyes. Continue reading on AO3

[reidgenius]

Low Pain Tolerance | S.R. x Reader

image by reidgif <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Word Count: 1.4k Category: angst, hurt/comfort? Warnings: commitment issues, wildly insecure!reader (it's really just me) A/N: I haven't written for Spencer before, so please excuse any OOC inaccuracies and be nice okay! I am a long-time lurker/admirer of the lovely @pathologicalreid and am writing this for her cutesy margovember event :) Song Inspo: Low Pain Tolerance by Abby Holliday

You never enjoyed running.

Still, that didn't stop you from doing it often. Whether it be on the job or in a relationship, you ran.

To catch a bad guy. To catch yourself before you fall. To stop something terrible before it happens... You ran.

In this instance, you found yourself running from Spencer Reid.

"Would you look at me? Please?" he pleaded.

You knew if you were to turn around that you'd see his glassy doe eyes and be drawn right back in. You knew your weaknesses, and he was certainly one of them. The biggest one. That's why you stayed put, staring at his bedroom wall.

"I can't, Spence." You meant to say it with finality, but it came out more as a whimper.

"You can't look at me, or you can't-"

"Neither. Both."

As the holidays approached, Spencer had mentioned the idea of the two of you making a trip out to Vegas. "Just for a day or two," he'd promised. Though there wasn't much he treasured about home, you knew that his mother was there, and that was more than reason enough.

This evening, he'd brought it up again after letting you avoid the topic for weeks.

"It's only a matter of time before you figure it out," you admit.

"Figure what out?"

"God, Spence, that I'm only bringing you down!" you nearly shouted, though you hadn't meant to. The anxiety took over. "I'm like... gahhh! I don't know how to do any of this, I-"

To your dismay, he let out a laugh as you finally turned to face him. A real, genuine laugh.

"Bringing me down?" He looked at you with an earnest amusement. "Honey, I don't think you realize what you-"

"I'm scared. Okay? Is that what you wanted me to admit? That I'm scared of meeting her?" A single tear gushed down your cheek.

His brows knit in concern as he quickly thought of ways to disprove the common fears surrounding schizophrenia and it's manifestations.

"Baby, schizophrenia doesn't ma-"

"Dammit Spencer, it's not about that! It's- I..."

You found yourself stumbling over your words.

"I don't care about her diagnoses!" you laughed. (Of course, you did care, but that wasn't what was scaring you.) "I'm scared of this!" you said, waving your hands between the two of you. "I don't want to rush it. I don't want to get her hopes up..."

You let your legs give way to sit on the floor against the wall, your head in your hands, mumbling to the cold hardwood.

"I don't want to get my hopes up."

There was it. That was the truth.

You weren't used to it. You weren't used to someone asking you how your day was and really caring. You weren't used to the notion that a man would want to wrap himself around you at night and keep you close. You'd never been one to draw much attention from men. Or women. Or anyone, really.

Naturally, you figured that there must be something deeply and inherently flawed in you. Something Spencer had yet to discover.

So, being with him was... terrifying. You were constantly waiting and wondering when he'd conclude that you weren't as pretty as he initially thought, or as witty, or as intelligent, or kind, or...

And it would only be cruel to drag Diana into this. To have her think that perhaps her son had found his person. To have her thinking that she might be meeting her future daughter-in-law. It felt cruel to yourself, in some twisted way, to pretend that this was all going to last.

Spencer was typically a fast thinker, but your admission had the cogs in his brain working overtime. You were afraid of him? Of your relationship?

He padded over to join you on the floor, keeping a little distance so as not to scare you.

"Get your hopes up? You don't-" he gulped, "I mean... you don't think we're gonna- that this is gonna work out?"

Still speaking to the floor, you sigh, "I don't know, Spence."

You were exhausted. Incessantly feeling like you're on the brink of being "found out" can do that to a person. It's not that Spencer hadn't done all the right things. No, he was the perfect partner. But therein lied the issue. He was perfect. And, in your opinion, you were far, far from it.

You took a deep breath through your tears.

"I don't think I can keep doing this."

Confusion. Utter shock. Things had been going so well with you the past 8 months. Spencer immediately began to wrack his brain combing through all the possible mistakes he could've made. Did he raise his voice with you? Had he forgotten some big milestone? Was he not giving you enough?

"Honey I-" he gathered himself, placing a hand on your thigh, "I'm so sorry. Can I ask... what makes you say all this?"

Though you were reluctant, you figured that now was as good a time as any.

"Spencer. I am not good for you! Good enough for you!" With each point, you illustrated by raising a finger, "I am impulsive and I complain and I get weird sometimes when you touch me and I can be a massive bitch and I never know how to-"

"Woah, woah, woah-" He snuck up closer to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and placing his head atop yours, all while you kept rambling. "Why in the world do you say that? Not good enough for me? If anything it's me who isn't deserving of you..."

"No, you-"

He stopped you in your tracks just by saying your name in that beautiful way he does. Like its covered in honey and dripping with admiration.

"You are everything. You may think those things about yourself but I certainly don't." His thumb caressed your bare skin so carefully as he continued, speaking slowly so as to allow the words to really sink in. "You are the most generous person I've ever encountered. You care so deeply about people you love. You are courageous and willing to try all the weird foods I suggest even though you really don't want to." He smirked a bit at that one. "You have taken everything that life has thrown at you and navigated it with grace. You really are just... you're it. You're her. You're the girl - the woman - I've always hoped would come my way but never dreamed actually would. Honey, I've figured out everything I need to know when it comes to how I feel about you."

You sat there, warm under his embrace, pondering his words as he spoke. It's nothing he hasn't said before, granted, in much less grand and emotionally charged ways. But it was like you were really hearing it for the first time. You wanted so badly to believe him.

"I love you," he continued. "I love you so much that sometimes I am afraid of myself. Of what I'd do for you. You, god, you make me so much better."

"I love you, too. Too much," you squeaked out.

"No. Not too much." He leaned back to encourage you to look up at him. "You know I really mean all that right? Just the way you are. Quirks included?"

"I guess. And now I'm just self-conscious that I am so self-conscious..."

"You say that as if I'm not the exact same way!" he chuckles, trying to make light of what is clearly a shared wound. You'll deal with that later. Together, preferably. "Please, trust me. Do you trust me?"

And you did. You trusted Spencer with every cell in your body and hair on your head. There was nobody else you'd ever been so confident in. So, you nod against his chest as your tears begin to subside.

"Good. Now why don't we move this party up into the bed?"

"No offense, Spencer, but the last thing I want right now is to f-"

"No no no nooope! Not that, babe," he laughed. "Just wanna lay with you 'til this feeling passes. Is that okay?"

"Please."

And so, the rest of the evening consisted of cuddles under your massive comforter. Sweet admissions whispered in your ear. The tiniest kisses to your hairline and your shoulder and your nose and your wrists.

By the time you dozed into a worry-free slumber, you believed him a little more.

Perhaps you could let Spencer love you, forever.

[srslylini]

the way Arcane wasted character in season 2 is actually insane. They gave us good character design but no good character. Especially the new ones. Is there honestly ONE, one you genuinely cried over?

I cried over Mylo and Claggor. I cried over Vander in season 1. I cried over Powder screaming and sobbing after Vi in act 1 of season 1. I felt deep emotional pain over all of this because they gave me character and an understanding of the world we are in. And they did all of that in 3, THREE, episodes.

What did they do with Isha? Well I sure didn't cry when she died. Her character, while interesting just wasn't fleshed out at all. What I felt when they killed her was how idiotic the writers were for that because okay? like huh. They had 5 episodes with Isha and somehow managed to not make me care enough to cry. Not because Isha's potential wasn't there but because killing her was stupid and pointless, just to further another characters pain which could happen way more naturally without introducing a character to die.

What did they do with Loris? They tried to make him Vander (which okay weird why do that? especially if you want to bring Vander back anyway like uhm? what was the sense of introducing Loris as a Vander stand in and then bringing Vander back??). But he WASN'T Vander because they never showed him to be. They just told me he was. Which doesn't work. okay, he died. Did not care. The only thing I felt was rage again because it was so unnecessary and dumb, they could have made a lot with this character.

Maddie. Well Maddie is a whole other thing, isn't she? She was introduced in a way that already raised a lot of eyebrows. But in a "she is a cop" way and not she is on Ambessas side way. There is so much questions coming up with that. Had she been on Ambessa's side from the very start? Even when we first saw her on screen? Did she come with Ambessa? But how was she an enforcer then? Did she always live in Piltover but how did she then turn towards Ambessa? When she made that fist sign, was the plot between Ambessa and her already going, or did it happen after that? Why were we not shown any of this? this is NECESSARY to understand her character and why the end happened. We should have been able to feel betrayed as well but like? I did not feel betrayed I was just like "okay well, that happened off screen I guess."

Steb had not one talking line, like why was he here, was I meant to feel bad when he ran into The Grey, I can't even tell, help.

And then the side characters of Zaun, especially the Jinxers. The one woman who then died with Vi's hand in hers while wearing the uniforms of Piltover. Did not feel sad. Felt absolute huge amount of unfiltered rage. Her character should have MEANT something. I feel they tried to make her mean something but they failed there too.

Lest?? LIKE LEST COULD HAVE ALSO BEEN USED IN SUCH AN INTERESTING WAY. She just never came back. Okay. Great, at least she didn't die but like? Was I meant to get invested? Was I meant to care? Usually I should be able to tell if I should care about a character in a show or not but in Arcane s2 they tried to make me care and failed or if I cared well then they failed, too

anyways just the side characters especially were a huge disappointment this time around.

[youkaiyume]

I am back from Moana 2. Spoiler free initial thoughts:

While I don't think it was as bad as I thought it would be it also was not what I would call good? It was okay. I think the setup/lore is not very well thought out and it just expects us to accept a lot of it cuz things are happening. They really needed to spend more time worldbuilding. The songs aren't as memorable, but there were one or two that I think are solid. I think there are too many characters and literally Moana's crew is just a copy and paste of Buzz Lightyear's crew from Lightyear. Just as I predicted.

You could really tell though that this was meant to be a series. The narrative flow of it was not as smooth for a movie and I can break up each part as if it was "ah and now this is an episode and this is an episode." At some point I also felt like 'this feels like a video game level and I am meeting an NPC that just directs me to the next section.' So that wasn't great. I'm ngl there were some parts where I was bored or felt like it dragged on too long.

But what we ARE eating GOOD though is all that DELICIOUS Moana and Maui content. Their relationship and interactions are so sweet and when they're reunited again it's literally like seeing two puzzle pieces fit back together and they are well oiled machine. They worked so well together that it kind of makes painfully obvious that we didn't really need the other characters at all. Seeing them and their maturing dynamic was worth it alone.

Overall it was. Okay. I am still kind of nervous where they plan to take this franchise now cuz it's clear they want to do more. And why wouldn't they, Moana is probably the only few things keeping Disney afloat from their mediocrity streak. Did this break the streak? I can't really say it did, but it wasn't a bad time. Not like Wish or Frozen 2 was a bad time. But the possibility of seeing more Moana and Maui adventures is still a bit exciting.

7/10.

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 22

Bucky x reader AU

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: SMUTTTTTTTTTT

A/N: Okay so look I don't normally write smut. I've never done it before this is as good as it's gonna get. I apologize in advance xoxoxoxox 🫶🏻💅

The door to the apartment slammed shut with a force that rattled the frame. Sam, who was lounging on the couch with a beer in hand, turned his head fast, eyebrows raised.

“Whoa, buddy, easy there. We’ve got neighbors,” Sam joked, trying to lighten the tension.

Steve stood by the door, his hands on his hips, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon. He muttered, “Sorry,” before running a hand through his hair and stepping into the living room.

Sam sat up straighter, instantly on alert. “Okay… what happened? You look like you’ve just been through the wringer.”

Steve exhaled sharply, moving to the kitchen and grabbing a beer from the fridge. He twisted the cap off and leaned against the counter, taking a long sip before answering. “I ran into her.”

Sam blinked, caught off guard. “Her? You mean Y/N?”

Steve nodded, his jaw tightening. “Yeah.”

Sam frowned, setting his beer on the coffee table. “And?”

“And apparently Natasha asked her for space,” Steve said, his tone heavy with frustration.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Nat? Why?”

Steve’s laugh was humorless as he pushed off the counter and paced the room. “Because of me.”

Sam leaned forward, now completely invested. “What do you mean because of you?”

Steve stopped pacing, raking a hand through his hair again. “Y/N told me that Natasha’s in love with me.”

Sam choked on his beer mid-sip, coughing violently as he tried to recover. “I’m sorry, what?”

Steve’s expression was grim. “Apparently, Nat’s been in love with me for years.”

Sam blinked rapidly, trying to process. “I mean… I always noticed the looks, but I didn’t know it was like that.”

Steve froze, narrowing his eyes at Sam. “What looks?”

Sam raised his hands defensively. “The longing looks, man. Nat’s good at hiding her feelings, but every once in a while, when you’re looking at Y/N, Nat’s looking at you like…” He trailed off, shrugging. “Like she wishes you’d look at her that way.”

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line as he grabbed a chair and sank into it, cracking open the beer. He took another sip before saying, “That’s not all.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up again. “Oh, God, what else? I swear this shits gonna be the death of me.”

Steve stared at the table, his voice low. “I told her.. she shouldn’t be with Bucky. That she should be with me.”

This time, Sam didn’t just choke—he spit out his beer entirely, coughing and spluttering. “You said what?! Steven I—”

Steve ignored him, cutting him off, his words tumbling out in a flood. “I couldn’t hold it in, Sam. Seeing her with him, hearing about how they’re just together now like it was always meant to be—because apparently it is, but it’s just killing me. And I said it. I told her she should be with me.”

Sam stared at him, wide-eyed. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

Steve sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. “And then she said…” His voice wavered slightly. “She said we’re all leaving her. Nat, me, and apparently you.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Sam shifted uncomfortably, his beer suddenly less appealing.

Steve’s sharp gaze locked onto him. “What did she mean by that, Sam?”

Sam hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the beer bottle. “I was gonna talk to you tonight,” he admitted.

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Talk to me about what?”

Sam let out a breath, leaning back into the couch. “I got a promotion at work.”

Steve’s eyes lit up briefly with surprise. “That’s great, man. Holy shit, congratulations!”

Sam gave a small, bittersweet smile. “Thanks. But, uh… the thing is, it’s across the country, to Washington to be exact, I’ll be moving in two weeks.”

Steve’s face fell, and he let out a quiet, “Shit.”

Sam nodded, the weight of the confession heavy in the room. “Yeah. I didn’t want to drop this on you all at once, but I guess it’s as good a time as any.”

Steve stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m proud of you, Sam. Really. You deserve this. But damn…” He ran a hand through his hair again. “Looks like I’ll need to move.”

Sam chuckled softly. “Yeah, sorry about that. Maybe at the next farmers market Nat will buy you the rest of the farm ceramics you can move em into my room, start charging rent..”

Steve snorted, though the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their respective issues hanging in the air.

Finally, Sam broke the silence. “So… what are you gonna do about Natasha?”

Steve looked down at his beer, his expression conflicted. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not even sure I’m in the right headspace to do anything about it.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Fair enough. But you know she deserves better than waiting around for you to figure it out, right?”

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know,” he said quietly.

“And what about Y/N? What are you gonna do about what you said to her?”

Steve sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know. She probably told Bucky by now, and I’m sure he’s ready to kill me.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you really stepped in it this time, man.”

Steve shot him a look. “Thanks for the support.”

Sam shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Hey, I’m just saying what we’re both thinking. You’re gonna have to figure this out, Steve. Because right now? It’s a mess.”

Steve let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

They both sat there in silence again, the enormity of everything weighing heavily on them. Sam finally clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Look, no matter how much of a shitshow this is, it won't be like this forever man, its us, all of us.”

Steve gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Sam said, leaning back. “You’ve got some serious damage control to do first.”

As the weight of the conversation hung in the air, Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand over his face before shooting Steve a mock-serious look.

“Y’know, I can’t leave in good conscience if all my children aren’t okay,” he said, gesturing broadly as if addressing a group.

Steve frowned, confused. “Your children?”

Sam smirked, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Yeah, my children. You, Y/N, Bucky, Nat, Wanda—this whole dysfunctional friend group minus Wanda actually, shes just a saint, hallelujah! But you’re all like my unruly little kids, and I need you to get your shit together before I move halfway across the country. Otherwise, I’m gonna feel guilty as hell.”

Steve snorted, but there was a faint glimmer of a smile at the corner of his lips. “We’re not your kids, Sam.”

“Oh, really?” Sam raised an eyebrow, sitting up straighter. “Who’s the one everyone comes crying to when things go south? Who’s the one playing mediator when y’all start tearing each other apart? Me. I’m the glue holding this chaos together, Rogers.”

Steve let out a soft laugh despite himself, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize we put you through so much, Dad.”

“Damn right,” Sam said with a mock scowl. “You’re lucky I’m so patient. Now, can we please work on fixing this mess before I have to catch a plane? I’ve got enough to worry about without you and Natasha staring at each other from across the room like you’re in a sad indie film.”

Steve sighed, leaning back into the couch and swirling his beer. “I’ll figure it out, Sam.”

Sam gave him a look. “You better. ‘Cause I’m not above locking you and everyone in a room together and waiting it out.”

Steve laughed quietly, shaking his head. “You’re relentless.”

“And you love me for it,” Sam quipped, standing up and clinking his beer against Steve’s. “Now, get your ass in gear, Rogers. Fix it with the fam. And maybe don’t confess your love to someone who’s already taken next time.”

Steve winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, message received.”

Sam smirked. “Good. Now, can we chill for the rest of the night? Or do I have to keep playing therapist?”

Steve chuckled, clinking his beer against Sam’s again. “No more therapy sessions tonight.”

Sam grinned. “That’s what I thought. Now pass me the pretzels.”

Natasha slammed the door behind her, the sharp sound echoing through the apartment. She tossed her bag onto the floor and leaned back against the doorframe, her hands gripping the strap of her jacket like a lifeline. Her jaw was tight, and her eyes were red, like she was holding back the last thread of control she had.

Wanda poked her head out from the kitchen, her wooden spoon mid-stir in a pot of something fragrant. Her brows furrowed at Natasha’s expression. “Woah, what happened? You look like you’ve just walked out of a war zone.”

Natasha let out a bitter laugh, kicking her shoes off aggressively and heading toward the couch. “Might as well have.”

“Okay, uh is this serious?” Wanda abandoned her cooking, setting the spoon down and following Natasha into the living room. She perched on the arm of the couch as Natasha sank into it, her hands immediately rubbing at her temples. “Spill.”

Natasha exhaled sharply, her voice biting. “I snapped at Y/N.”

Wanda blinked, tilting her head. “About what?”

“About Bucky. About Steve. About everything.” Natasha waved a hand, her frustration clear. “She came to me asking for advice on Bucky. Apparently, he lied to her about going out for drinks with Sam, and she just wanted to talk it through. But instead of helping her, I completely lost it.”

Wanda’s face softened with understanding. “What did you say?”

Natasha hesitated, guilt flickering across her face. “I told her she was overthinking it. Being dramatic like always. And then… I told her I needed space.”

Wanda’s mouth fell open slightly, but Natasha wasn’t done.

“And then,” Natasha continued, her voice tightening with self-loathing, “I told her I didn’t understand why Steve was in love with her and not… not me, told her she wasn’t anything special.”

“Oh my god, Natasha…,” Wanda murmured, her tone gentle but disappointed.

“I know, i know…” Natasha said quickly, her voice cracking. “I know how shitty it was. But I couldn’t stop myself. She’s so… happy right now. With Bucky, finally. And I’m standing here, watching her and then watching Steve fall apart while I’m—” She broke off, running her hands through her hair. “I’m stuck. Just stuck.”

Wanda leaned forward, trying to catch Natasha’s gaze. “You’re not stuck, Nat. You’re hurting. But you’ve got to stop projecting that onto her.”

Natasha scoffed bitterly. “She said all she wanted was advice. Advice on Bucky, of all people. And I couldn’t even give her that without making it about me.”

Wanda’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Because it is about you, Nat. Not her. You’re angry with Steve for not seeing you the way you want him to. You’re angry with yourself for not saying anything sooner. And yeah, maybe you’re a little angry that she’s happy with Bucky while you’re feeling invisible. But you can’t blame her for any of that.”

Natasha’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “I know, I know, but it feels so unfair, Wanda. Why am I always the one standing on the sidelines? Why does it always feel like I’m waiting for something that’s never going to happen?”

Wanda sighed, sliding off the armrest and sitting next to Natasha. She placed a comforting hand on her friend’s knee. “Nat, you’ve spent so much time watching from the sidelines that you’ve convinced yourself you belong there. But you don’t. You deserve to be in the center of someone’s world, just like she is to Bucky.”

“And what if that someone is Steve?” Natasha whispered, her voice trembling.

Wanda hesitated, her heart aching for her friend. “Then you need to figure out if it’s worth the risk. But Nat… if you want Steve to see you, you have to give him the chance. You can’t keep hiding how you feel.”

Natasha wiped at her eyes angrily. “What if it’s too late? What if he’s too far gone on Y/N?”

Wanda gave her a sad smile. “Steve’s not too far gone, but before anything can happen, he needs to work through his feelings for her. And you… you need to figure out what you really want.”

Natasha nodded slowly, her voice barely audible. “I just don’t want to lose her, Wanda. Or Steve. Or any of you.”

“You won’t,” Wanda assured her. “We’re too close for that. But you’ve got to be honest—with her, with Steve, and most importantly, with yourself.”

Natasha leaned back against the couch, letting out a shuddering breath. “I’ll talk to her. Just… not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” Wanda agreed. She stood, patting Natasha on the shoulder. “Come on, babe. I’ve got pasta in the kitchen. Food always helps.”

Natasha let out a weak laugh, nodding. “Yeah. Pasta sounds good.”

The cabin looked exactly as you remembered it, nestled in the woods with its rustic charm intact. The wooden exterior was weathered but sturdy, and the scent of pine trees and earth filled the crisp air.

Bucky had insisted on carrying your bags, his easy smile making it impossible to argue. Now, as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, you were flooded with memories of your childhood and the countless weekends spent here with the group.

"Home sweet home," Bucky said softly, stepping aside to let you in.

The inside was just as cozy as you remembered - worn furniture, a stone fireplace, and the faint scent of cedar lingering in the air. A fire was already crackling in the hearth, casting a warm, flickering glow across the room.

"You did all this?" you asked, turning to him.

Bucky shrugged, a boyish grin tugging at his lips.

"Figured it'd be nice to have it ready for you."

Your heart swelled as you dropped your coat onto the couch, taking in the space. It felt so intimate now, just the two of you surrounded by memories and the quiet of the woods.

"Bucky," you started, your voice soft, "this is perfect."

His eyes softened, and he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You deserve perfect."

After getting all settled, which didnt take long thanks to Bucky already doing everything, the two of you sat by the fire, a bottle of wine on the table between you and an easy warmth filling the room. You couldn't stop smiling, leaning against Bucky's shoulder as you talked about everything and nothing.

"Remember the time Steve got stuck on the roof because Nat dared him to climb up there?" Bucky said, laughing as he rubbed small circles on your shoulder.

You giggled, the memory vivid. "And you were the one who had to help him down. He wouldn't stop screaming about how he was gonna die."

Bucky tilted his head back, laughing. "It was his own fault for taking the dare. Dumb ass."

The sound of his laughter filled the cabin, and you couldn't help but stare at him. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his head tilted slightly, and his hand stayed firmly on you, grounding you in the moment.

"Hey," Bucky said, noticing your gaze. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

You bit your lip, a flush creeping up your cheeks.

"Just... how happy I am. I didn't think I would have something like this, especially with you it feels surreal."

Bucky's expression softened, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "You and me both, I'm scared I'm going to wake up one day and not have you like this... but loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done."

Before you could respond, he stood and walked to the fireplace, picking up a small leather-bound book from the mantel. He turned it over in his hands, his fingers tracing the edges as if gathering the courage to part with it.

“What’s that?” you asked, tilting your head, curiosity softening your voice.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to yours, hesitant but filled with something deeper—hope, love, fear. He walked back, sitting down beside you and holding the book out. “It’s for you.”

Your brow furrowed as you reached for it, your fingers brushing against the worn leather. It felt warm from his hands, and across the front, your name was scrawled in his familiar, messy handwriting.

“It’s… letters,” he began, his voice quiet, almost uncertain. “Letters, things, random thoughts or things i just wanted to say to you but never did because I was a coward.”

Your breath caught as you opened the book, the creak of the spine breaking the silence between you. The first page was dated years ago, the ink slightly faded but unmistakably his handwriting.

You began to read aloud:

“Y/N,

Today, I saw you laugh at something Steve said, and it hit me how much I love that sound. I know I'm only 17 but I’d do anything to hear it every day for the rest of my life.”

Your voice broke on the last word, your eyes already filling with tears. You looked up at him, stunned, but he just gave you a small, nervous smile.

You flipped to another random page.

“Y/N,

I wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked tonight, but the words caught in my throat. I wish I was braver, wish I could just say it, but what if it changes everything? What if I lose you? I can't lose you.”

Tears spilled freely now as you flipped through the pages, each one a snapshot of Bucky’s heart. The dates led all the way back to your teenage years, to the very beginning of your friendship.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the weight of his words settled over you. “This is….”

He hesitated, his eyes searching yours. “Is it too much?” he asked softly, his vulnerability laid bare.

You shook your head, setting the book down gently before throwing your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. "No, its everything... its perfect. You're perfect."

His hands settled on your waist, holding you tightly as if afraid you might slip away.

"You've always been everything to me," he murmured against your hair, the words barely audible.

The air shifted, charged with emotion and years of longing finally laid bare. When you pulled back to look at him, his eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world fell away. Slowly, deliberately, you leaned in, and your lips met his.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as if testing the boundaries of this newfound vulnerability. But it quickly deepened, the years of pent-up emotion pouring out with every touch, every movement.

His hands slipped under your sweater, his calloused palms warm against your skin. The contact made you gasp, and he used the opportunity to pull you closer, his grip firm but careful, as though you were something precious.

"God, I love you," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with need and emotion.

Your heart swelled, and vou whispered back, "I love you too."

His forehead rested against yours as his breathing mingled with yours. His eyes searched yours, filled with unspoken questions and promises. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low, almost trembling.

"I've never been more sure of anything," you said, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart.

He smiled then, a soft, genuine smile that made you fall all over again. He kissed you deeply, his hands traveling up your back with a reverence that made your entire body hum.

As he laid you back gently against the couch, his lips never leaving yours, the world outside ceased to exist. His touch was both careful and consuming, his hands exploring every inch of your skin as if committing you to memory. Each touch felt like a declaration, a promise.

"You're everything to me," he whispered, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw. "I want to give you the world."

"You already have," you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down your neck.

When his fingertips trailed down the slope of your breast, a jolt of sensation arced through your body, making your breath catch in the back of your throat. Every nerve ending seemed to come alive at once, and your pulse quickened, pounding a wild rhythm that made your head spin. The featherlight touch sent shivers skittering up your spine, each one a thousand points of sensation that made every inch of you ache with hunger.

His mouth found the peak of one breast, his lips closing around it in a slow, languid kiss. You gasped at the wet heat of his tongue, at the way his lips pulled gently at the sensitive flesh. Your body arched into him instinctively, craving more, demanding it with a want so overwhelming that it eclipsed everything else.

“Bucky,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips like a plea. Your hands clutched at his hair, guiding him back up to your mouth where you could devour him in a kiss.

He moved with you, letting you pull him closer, urging you to take what you needed. When he rolled you onto your back, his body settling between your legs, you felt his hardness press against you. You wanted to feel him—his bare skin sliding against yours, the heat of him sinking into your core—but you also didn’t want to let go of the kiss, didn't want this moment of connection to be severed.

He seemed to read your mind because his lips never left yours as he guided your hands down his body. He let you unbutton his jeans, and the sound of his zipper coming undone sent another rush of heat through you. When your fingers found his length, a low groan tore from his throat, vibrating against your lips.

“I want you,” you whispered, the words almost lost in the wetness of the kiss.

His response was immediate—a low growl that bordered on a whimper. “Oh, God, I’ve been waiting so long for this, for you sweetheart” he muttered, his hand slipping between your legs. “You’re so wet for me.”

His words were like fuel to the fire, sparking a hunger so deep and primal within you that it hurt. You pushed against his touch, seeking friction, seeking anything that would give you the release you craved. He understood, his fingers stroking you with a careful precision that made your entire body clench.

You moaned, the word breathless with need. Your hips arched up, moving in tandem with his strokes. The pressure built, like something coiling within you, waiting to burst.

He gave you more, sliding a finger into you, then two, curling them deep as though searching for a sweet spot that would unravel you completely. You gasped when he found it, his gentle strokes hitting it over and over until you were trembling beneath him.

“Bucky, I—” The words died on your lips when he slid a third finger inside you. The sensation was almost overwhelming, his touch, his kiss, the need burning through you, all mixing together until it was impossible to focus on anything but him.

The world tilted, your body shuddering with a wave of sensation, and then you were flying, soaring above everything else as your release hit you like a tidal wave. Your head tipped back, mouth opening on a silent cry, the feeling almost too intense to bear. Every nerve ending in your body seemed to crackle with electricity, the pleasure like a thousand bolts of lightning exploding within you.

When you came back down from the high of your orgasm, Bucky was kissing your neck, his breath warm against your skin. He looked up at you, his blue eyes shining with a softness you’d never seen before, and the sight made your chest hurt.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Always. Forever.”

Your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him into another kiss. “I love you too,” you murmured against his lips. “So much Buck”

He smiled at you, and there was so much affection and adoration in his eyes that it threatened to overwhelm you all over again.

You reached for him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close as he settled between your thighs. He slid into you slowly, filling you, stretching you until you were full with the length of him. It wasn’t enough, though. You needed more—needed his breath to mingle with yours, needed his skin to be flush against yours.

When he pulled out, you whimpered in protest, but he just smiled down at you, a gentle smile that made your heart swell with emotion. He grasped your hips, pulling you into a sitting position as he settled onto his back. The movement brought him deeper within you, and the sensation was so overwhelming that you had to catch your breath.

“I want you on me,” Bucky whispered, his eyes holding yours as he lifted you, helping you find a rhythm that left you both breathless. “I want to see you.”

You started to move “Baby,” Bucky moaned, his eyes locked onto your body moving above him. “Oh, fuck.”

The words were guttural, filled with so much emotion that it threatened to overwhelm everything else. You could feel him throbbing within you, his length swelling, stretching you further than you thought possible. The feeling was almost too much to handle, yet at the same time, it wasn’t enough.

“Harder,” you gasped, your voice barely audible over your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Your fingers found Bucky’s, linking with them as his hips began to move faster beneath yours. “Deeper. Please.”

He groaned at your words, the sound dark and edged with desperation. “I’m close,” he warned, but you could tell he wanted to wait, wanted to ensure you reached your orgasm first.

You leaned down, pressing your lips to his ear. “Come with me,” you urged, your words a soft whisper that turned into a moan when he hit your sweet spot again. The feeling was so intense you felt yourself begin to unravel, pleasure flooding you until it seemed to spill over.

“Yes,” Bucky muttered, the word a dark growl, his hips bucking up hard as his length thickened, pulsing with an imminent release. “Oh, fuck..”

Your body tensed at the same time as his, the pleasure cresting until it seemed impossible to hold back the orgasm any longer. It hit you like a wave, pulling you under with such force that you were powerless to do anything but let it consume you.

Bucky’s mouth found yours, muffling your cries of pleasure as he began to come. You could feel him throbbing within you, warm heat spilling into you, filling you until the sensation was almost too overwhelming to bear.

Time seemed to stretch and compress all at once, the only sound was your ragged breathing, and his quiet grunts of pleasure as his body emptied into yours. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, making your lungs feel tight with the sheer force of the feeling.

Finally, your high began to ebb, leaving you both breathless and boneless, bodies trembling as though the pleasure had taken every ounce of strength you possessed. Bucky’s arms found their way around you, holding you close as though trying to absorb you into himself. When you looked up, his eyes were gazing back at you, filled with an emotion that stole whatever breath you had left in your lungs.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice a soft sound that seemed lost amidst the pounding of your heartbeat.

His smile was slow to form, but when it did, it lit up his whole face. His lips brushed over yours, the kiss warm and lingering. “Mine.”

“Yours.” You pressed one last kiss to his mouth, your lips lingering on the word.

[northern-embrace]

Out of sick curiosity, I read some stuff under the tag “anti sansa stans” and was astonished… look, I wasn’t surprised at all they see Sansa (and Elia and Alicent too 😑) were seen as passive women that were meek or helpless. Of course they grouped Daenerys, Arya, Val and Ygritte as fierce “warrior women” that took what they want.

I wonder how many of them ever really think hard about the situations Sansa and Elia and Alicent were put in. They all did their duty and were put there by their families and then placed in a hostile court, surrounded by many so-called knights controlled by their husbands/bethroted. They weren’t taught how to fight. So what? Like, there’s some weird pride or pleasure somehow saying they deserved to be treated disrespectfully and abused just bc they can’t hold a dagger (or own 3 dragons 🙄).

You can like the warrior women without having to disparage the ones who may not want that path. And all women deserve safety.

What astonished me was also that somehow liking Sansa (and her “traditional feminine role”) was somehow approving of patriarchy and the systems that these women were under: arranged marriages and birthing sons. Or that liking Sansa meant WE, Sansa stans, were the misogynists.

*shakes head*

There’s nothing wrong with girls who just want to sing and dream of romance and marriage or if their ambitions are to be a good wife and mother. There’s nothing wrong with liking sewing and singing and “gentle” arts.

It’s ok if they don’t want to fight or don’t know how to fight. There’s nothing wrong with them for enduring suffering or being helpless in the face of danger or not knowing what to do in situations over their heads. There’s nothing wrong if they bow their heads or submit under cruelty. And a lot of what actually goes on becomes internal for their situations and can’t voice their true feelings.

Find their characters boring? Fine. Can’t see yourself acting like them? Fine.

Sneering down on them? Hmmm, why? Like, why aim the hate at these “weak” or “passive” characters.

Also why must liking warrior-like or fierce women mean the other ways women live is somehow lacking or unacceptable (this works vice versa too btw, just adore the myriad ways women live!!!)

And as for those women specifically named:

Val and Ygritte are in a society where men regularly kidnap women. They normalize this and survival of the fittest is part of their very culture. Ygritte despises “weakness” and readily, easily chooses violence when she doesn’t get her way. Val is actually interesting in that she CAN be political and understand fighting isn’t the only solution— that said, she is constantly being fit into a “princess” role and uses it AND same time, being a warrior is not enough she becomes a potential political hostage.

Arya’s such a young character, she’s fierce and yes asshole adults like Septa Mordane comparing her to Sansa constantly absolutely scarred her. We never got a chance to see her reconcile her highborn status with adulthood. She gets compared to Lyanna— who was also willful and we saw what happened to her. (Not that Lyanna was at fault and we’ll never know her willingness to go with Rhaegar, but her fate is also there to remind readers consequences happen to highborn ladies (and their families) that want to escape their fate.)

Dany. Submission or death by dragonfire. Also, her power partly comes from her Dothraki army who pillage and rape. She takes a cut profit from slavery. So not really a symbol for empowering women.

Brienne is the most knightly, true warrior out there. And all these chivalric knights and highborn lords sneer at her for it. Even though she’s the heiress and legitimate daughter (so she should be considered a catch) of a powerful lord.

It’s not an easy path to be a warrior (hell that’s probably true for smallfolk farm boys in Westeros, but at least they won’t be looked at weirdly as a spirited girl would be).

It’s not an accessible path for a lot of women.

“Sansa Stark is everything misogynists hate in women and everything women are taught to hate in themselves.”

— @lianabrooks

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [ii]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Tara mistakenly puts herself in a relationship she thought would be full of love.

word count: 1822

warnings: (Tara's POV), mentions of abuse, violence, angst, swearing

a/n: ok hi guys this is mostly Tara's POV and won't really be focusing btwn her and r's relationship. the next part would probably be the last one too but im always up on doing head canons for this pic. anyways apologies for any inaccuracy for this part, if ya'll have any feedback or suggestions feel free to dm me or send anonymously.

part [i] |

Tara never meant for any of this to happen.

She first met Amber a year ago, at a party that invited everyone from both Blackmore and Woodsboro High. Tara went with you at first, but you quickly got caught up in the chaos of the event, drinking with friends to drown your frustrations over the rivalry, leaving Tara to wander through the crowd alone.

Tara glanced around the room, feeling a bit out of place without you. It was her first real taste of a high school party, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You were missing. Some were celebrating—laughing, dancing, and basking in the glory of their win over Blackmore—while others attended this party just for an excuse to get drunk, but Tara wasn’t feeling the same rush. That was when she noticed Amber standing off to the side, holding a drink and watching the crowd with a knowing smile.

Amber had been a wild card that night. No one expected her to show up, least of all Tara. But Amber’s reputation preceded her—everyone knew she was sharp, calculated, and, most importantly, she knew how to play the game. She wasn’t just there to celebrate; she was there to get ahead.

Tara’s initial impression of Amber was a mix of admiration and curiosity. Amber seemed to hold herself in a way that suggested she knew something no one else did. And that intrigued Tara, even if she couldn’t quite explain why.

As Tara wandered away from the chaotic center of the party, she ended up near Amber. The two of them started talking, mostly small talk at first—what they were doing after high school, the thrill of their victory, and the peculiar tension between Woodsboro and Blackmore. Tara found herself drawn to Amber’s cool confidence, the way she seemed to have everything under control.

But what started as a simple conversation slowly shifted into something deeper. Amber had a way of making Tara feel like she was the only one in the room, even when there were dozens of people around. Tara’s mind kept drifting back to the feeling Amber gave her: like maybe she could be something more, something beyond the quiet girl who never quite fit in.

And so, things began to unravel.

Tara never meant for it to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, just a casual connection. But somewhere along the way, Amber made it clear that she wasn’t just interested in Tara’s company—she had a plan, and Tara was a part of it. Tara hadn’t realized how deep Amber’s intentions went until it was already too late. Now, Tara was left to figure out how she’d let herself be pulled into something so complicated—something that, in hindsight, was far more than just a meeting between two people at a party.

Everything was bliss when Tara and Amber started dating. She was kind, gentle, and attentive—the kind of person who made Tara feel understood and like the most important person in the world. It felt like a dream. Amber would send her thoughtful texts, surprise her with little gifts, and always knew how to make her laugh. Tara felt safe, seen, and loved in a way she hadn’t before.

But as time went on, Amber’s true colors started to surface—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first.

It started with small criticisms. At first, they were disguised as concern, little comments about Tara’s appearance or habits that Amber claimed were meant to help her. "You know, if you ate healthier, maybe you wouldn't feel so tired all the time." Or, "I don’t think that outfit is really doing you any favors." Tara tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just Amber wanting her to be her best. But the comments grew sharper, more frequent.

"You always mess things up," Amber would say when Tara made a mistake, like forgetting to pick up groceries or missing a text. "Why can’t you ever get anything right?" Her tone wasn’t playful anymore. It was condescending, even cruel. Tara began to feel like she couldn’t do anything without Amber pointing out what she’d done wrong.

The verbal jabs escalated when Amber started to get possessive. At first, Tara thought it was just a sign of how much Amber cared. But Amber's jealousy started to feel suffocating. She'd ask Tara where she was going, who she was with, and why she didn’t tell her first. "You don't really need to hang out with them, do you?" Amber would ask, her voice dripping with insinuation. It would have been even worse if she had hung out with you. It was as if you were Amber's breaking point. "They don’t even care about you like I do." "I’m better than them; why are you still hanging out with them?"

Tara found herself apologizing constantly—for things she didn’t even understand; she would say sorry just to voice the tension. 

It was always the same cycle: Amber would get irritated for no reason, her voice would grow cold and sharp just to insult Tara. "You always do this; you always make everything more difficult than it has to be. Why can’t you just do things right?". The next day, Amber would be apologetic, trying to console Tara, making her forget everything that happened the day before. She said all the right things, but Tara couldn’t ignore the knot of anxiety that lingered in her chest. She had a way of twisting everything, making Tara feel like she was always in the wrong, walking on eggshells.

And soon, the emotional abuse turned into physical fights. One day, Tara had dinner plans with Mindy when Amber confronted her again, "You always do this," she snapped. "You always choose them over me." Her voice was cold, venomous.

Tara tried to explain, but Amber wasn’t hearing it. "You think you can just leave whenever you want? No, you’re not going anywhere." Before Tara could react, Amber grabbed her by the arm—tightly, her fingers digging into Tara’s skin. "You’re hurting me, Amber; let me go!" Tara shouted, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened. She twisted Tara’s arm painfully, forcing her to sit down.

Tara’s heart was racing. She didn’t recognize this version of Amber—this wasn’t the woman she had fallen in love with. The love they once shared felt like a distant memory, replaced with anger, control, and fear. Tara was terrified, but she didn’t know how to escape. Before the day ended, Tara made up an excuse to Mindy that she couldn’t make it. She thought about her friends. Chad, Mindy, You. How will she be able to explain herself? She’s embarrassed and ashamed of herself if she were to ever face either of you. 

There was once when Amber picked up Tara from school when she saw her talking to you, both of you giggling like lovestruck teenagers, like you were in love with each other. And Amber simply couldn’t have that. Once both of them got back to Amber’s house, she gripped Tara’s arm, demanding an explanation. "So you’re just whoring around your school with someone else? Especially them? You’re just a slut, aren’t you?" Amber seethed, her nails digging into Tara’s skin, leaving another mark on her skin. Tara stood there, tears streaming down her face, knowing no matter what she said, it would be dismissed, twisted, or ignored. "You’re mine, Tara. I’m not letting you go anywhere," were the last words she heard before being shoved down the stairs, undoubtedly leaving bruises all over her body. She knew the next day Amber would whisper apologies, giving her kisses and hugging her in an attempt to make her forget.

Tara began pulling away, distancing herself from you, from Chad, from Mindy, from Anika—everyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t care anymore, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Amber’s wrath falling on them, especially you. She couldn’t risk you getting hurt because of her, couldn’t risk Amber turning her anger on the people she loved. The more Tara tried to protect her friends, the more she isolated herself.

Every moment felt like a calculation; every text, every phone call, every plan made without Amber’s approval felt like a risk. Tara started to feel like a prisoner in her own life, like Amber was always there—watching, waiting for her to slip up, to make a mistake.

Amber had a way of making her feel like she was constantly under surveillance, always one misstep away from an explosion. Tara couldn’t shake the feeling that Amber was breathing down her neck, that every time she laughed too loudly with a friend or spent too much time away from her, Amber would find out. And when Amber found out, the consequences would be brutal. Tara had learned that the hard way.

It was like living in a constant state of fear. Tara’s heart would race whenever she saw a message from you or heard from one of her friends. She hated that it had come to this—that Amber’s control over her had stretched so far that she couldn’t even speak freely without worrying about the fallout.

But more than anything, she hated that the woman she loved, the woman she had trusted, had become someone she feared. Every day, she woke up wondering how much longer she could live like this. How much longer until Amber's control over her—and over everyone she cared about—was too much to bear?

Amber’s behavior spiraled even further. The emotional abuse had crossed into physical violence, and Tara was left unsure of where it would go next. Amber would apologize, beg for forgiveness, and then turn around and hurt her again. Tara began to feel like she was losing herself. She was afraid of what might happen if she tried to leave, afraid of what Amber might do. 

Though she would still post pictures of them together, of them being in a happy relationship for people to see online, the reality was far different. Behind the carefully staged photos, the smiles seemed forced, the laughter hollow. She knew the posts didn’t reflect the late-night arguments or the hidden marks on Tara’s body. Yet, there was comfort in the illusion, in maintaining a facade that everyone else admired. It was easier to keep up the pretense than to confront the discomfort of what was really happening—of the slow unraveling that no one could see. The attention, the validation from likes and comments, provided a temporary sense of relief, a distraction from the gnawing uncertainty she felt every time she looked at Amber when the camera was off. It became a blurred line for Tara to interpret what was the reality and the sick image she created of her and Amber online. 

But one thing was clear: this wasn’t love anymore. And Tara didn’t know how much longer she could stay in a relationship that was slowly suffocating her.

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

a/n: next update might be awhile bc exam season is coming up and im a chill girl that needs to rest so you'll probably hear from me in like 2-3 weeks :p

[weepingchronicles]

Hi! I saw your requests are open, so could you please do a Jinx x fem! Reader where the reader gets hurt badly after a fight (maybe after episode 6?) and almost dies? How would Jinx react? And make it angsty and fluffy please. Thank you! 🩵

a/n: aaa i didn't know if you wanted yandere or not but i did it anyways, i am very sorry if you didn't want yan!jinx. i didn't know if you meant season one or two but to be honest i couldn't remember anything anyways so this is just a made up fight! hope you dont mind <3

❝yandere!jinx x fem!reader getting injured❞

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Believe it or not, Jinx drops everything once she notices you are hurt, especially if it is critical. Of course, if she is distracted by the fighting and adrenaline of a fight, it might take her awhile to notice until you collapse or the fight is over. I imagine pre-shimmer Jinx would be more attentive and notices if you are hurt even a bit.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 But basically, she drops everything and would rush to your side nonetheless. She will kneel by your side, assessing your injuries. Oh god, that is a lot of blood. Since when did you have so many wounds?

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Thousands of thoughts swarm around her head. She is so scared of losing you, she can't lose another person she loves. She just can't. Voices of her adoptive brother's voice ring through her head and even Silco's. Saying things like how she just hurts everyone around her, this was bound to happen eventually. No wonder Vi didn't want her to come on the mission. She's a jinx.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Thankfully, the marching and yells of incoming enforcers awakens her from her delusions. She scoops you in her arms pretty easily and rushes home to save you.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 But as she is racing away with you in tow, she looks down seeing your colored eyes begin to gloss over and droop, your skin getting colder and colder. No.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Without much thought she rushes you to Singed. He helped Silco save her, why couldn't he now?

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Once you fully awaken you are not the same. The surgery was a success but your mind feels almost split into two. Your mind conjured the most horrible memories and distorted them into something worse. But Jinx was beside you through all of it.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You find your head laying in Jinx's lap, her painted nails twirling some strands of your hair between her fingers. She notices you, "Oh! You're awake!" She jumps and sit you upright. She is smiling but something in her face makes you believe she is worried, worried for you. Her motions are more jittery than usual.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She brings you a small makeup compact excitedly and open it up, showing your reflection through the small mirror. Your eyes were not the same color anymore. Instead they were a magenta color, something unnatural and not you. It almost reminds you of— "Now we match!" Jinx exclaims excitedly, as if you'd be happy.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "What did you do to me, Jinx?" You focus your gaze back onto her, feeling anger rising in your bones.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Jinx scrunches her face, "What did I do? I saved you!" she says, practically snarling at your accusatory tone. She stands, throwing the makeup compact harshly at you.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "You were going to bleed out in my arms so quit looking me like I'm some.. some monster!" Her voice breaks on the last note, showing her insecurity. You knew all about Jinx's past, about Vi.. Vander. You promised to never do the same thing to her.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You take a deep breath in. reassessing your situation. Yes, you were.. different but you were fine, right? Your wound were gone and in fact, you felt more alive than before. More hyper-aware, like you are a fresh eyed baby seeing the world new again.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "I'm.. I'm sorry, Jinx. I just feel so confused.. and different." You hunch over, cradling your own head in your arms.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Jinx's look pities, all tension disappearing at the sight of your struggle. She knew exactly what it felt like, how violating it felt.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She kneels down in front of you, looking up and gently removing your hands from your face. "I know, I know what you must feel. But I promise. . I wouldn't have done it if I didn't have no other choice. Please."

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You lean down, pressing your forehead to Jinx's in an act of understanding and. . affection. "I believe you, thank you for saving me. We will get through this together, okay?" Jinx nods hurriedly, her eyes all wide and thankful.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 The rest of that day was spent with lots of cuddles and talking, maybe this new you wasn't that bad as long as you have Jinx.

a/n: why was this kind of a soft yandere for jinx? oh well. . it was really cute!! i hope you enjoyed :3

[lara4eclipze]

Hey so this is a very quick response but I’ve kinda had this idea sitting for a fat minute lol.. ANYWAY could you do like a slight angst fic where Yoonchae has a crush on the reader but the reader has a crush on a boy??

›› c'est la vie

sypnosis -» yoonchae has the hardest time confessing to you — with the kats by her side she finally takes the first step

beware -» fluff , slight angst , confession , very short fic , swearing , loser yooonchae ,

talks -» combined this two asks , I'm writing this instead of writing my marz fic since erm idk how the story is going, hope y'all like it mwa

taglist (open): @nyssalvr @ohmyhaely @vrtualstar @jellaaa @c-yerim

yoonchae was whipped the minute she saw you , the way your hair frames your face , how your lips were perfect and every time you smiled her day would've been made in an instant

yet there was one problem — you were "straight" , I mean everyone in the friend group knows you like arkin but no one really approved of it , you were top of your classes and arkin was the complete opposite

yoonchae was obviously very heartbroken to know you like someone like that , I mean cant you just look at her for a minute instead of falling in love with a man who can't even study even if his life depends on it?

"we should go here" megan exclaims showing a newly opened café — the café wasn't that far but it had the amazing view of the scenery of the city

"oh my gosh it's so cute!!" sophia says excitedly , you took a peek and it was amazing , plus you all needed a break from school anyways

"let's go later?" lara asks already checking if the place is open at night on her phone

"sure!!"

"I'm down"

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

it was actually a plan by the girls , no the café wasn't new , they knew that they had to help out yoonchae , the girl was actually a loser — I mean everytime you talked about arkin it was obvious that yoonchae was disinterested the way her eye suddenly look hurt and upset

"you got this, calm down your sweating" megan teases the youngest , as yoonchae was getting the flowers and bracelet ready

"what if I mess up in front of her , what if she rejects me?!" yoonchae stammers her mind racing with thoughts , "hey listen to me , that wouldn't happen okay?" megan pipes up

their conversation got cut short when you , lara and sophia were finally in the café , you scan the place and went to the table you saw megan, yoonchae , manon and dani sit in

"hi , sorry we're late , LA traffic y'know" you apologize, sitting down you were a tad bit confused on why the girls were exchanging looks , you wanted to know what that meant why yoonchae seemed off , why megan kept looking at you and yoonchae

"what's wrong? — did I miss something?" you ask , sophia bumps yoonchae , "oh- uh can we maybe talk outside?" yoonchae asks which you nod to

you two walked outside, the view was wonderful, city lights and a cold breeze in the air

"why ,what did you want to tell me yoonie?" you ask curiously , the younger looks at you with sparkles in her eyes she looked amazing

"y/n i-i- I like you" yoonchae finally says handing you the flowers and the bracelet , for a moment you were frozen in spot , you didn't know what to say neither if you even can say anything

"I'm sorry, I know you like arkin I should've just not done this" the younger says , she turns to walk back in , but you stop her , you felt the same way yet you never knew that yoonchae liked you

"I like you too , and no I don't like arkin I don't know where you got that from but he's my cousin" you chuckle

"you do?! — oh my gosh this is so embarrassing!" yoonchae exclaims , you laugh at how the younger seemed to panic

"I knew the plan — you're not slick yoonie the minute I walked in here i already saw the bracelet and flowers, I'm just surprised it took you this long to confess" you admit to her , she was flushed god she so adorable

"now lets go back in — I love you yoonie" you say to her as you held her hand and walked back in the café earning you giggles and teasing from the rest

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"what now?" yoonchae asks as you both stand outside her house

"we'll figure it out , that's life right?" you replied smiling at her

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

Yeah nothing felt out of character for me. They only seem out of character because their personalities as we knew them were built from poverty and suffering. When your needs are met and your future looks bright, youre typically not nearly as mean, antagonistic, or scrappy.

Though because of how mysteriously inconsistent the writers are with the Vander + Silco timeline, I have no answers for that. I do want to believe that they made up and still kicked ass and got Piltover to make concessions that allowed Zaun to thrive. We need to keep in mind that alternative universes are alternative universes not simply because certain elements exist or don’t exist, events happen or don’t happen (explosion killing Vi vs. not) but that a person can make a different decision on different time lines.

There is likely an AU where Silco found the letter and still didn’t forgive Vander. An AU where Silco and Vander become co-leaders of a Shimmer empire. It can go on and on based on some tweaks here and there. I personally really like @needanaccount2readarcaneposts ‘s idea. And remember! When Silco said forgiveness he clearly meant for Vander. That doesn’t mean he didn’t still have a knife out for Piltover unless they gave Zaun what it needed to thrive. And apparently they did, which is why he’s chill in this AU.

All he ever wanted was Zaun to grow and prosper with the same opportunities as Piltover. When you give people the ability to do that, there’s no reason for anyone to be bitter and violent and vengeful. It’s literally that simple.

was the alternate universe Ekko ended up in meant to feel disturbing and like everyone was an artificial husk of themselves? the whole time I was waiting for it to be a Arcane induced hallucination trick. none of that made me go "aww look at how it could have been" it made me go "oh this is WRONG. there is a trick here"

[mekakitsune]

mean!jinx x fem!reader - nsfw - minors dni

request from anon: "Hi love, I would like to request Jinx x Reader. The reader is Jinx's girlfriend and they are at the bar and a guy approaches the reader asking if the reader would like to go out with him and Jinx obviously doesn't like it, can this end with her fucking the reader to show everyone that the reader is hers? Please 😮‍💨"

dates in public really werent jinx's thing, or yours for that matter. she would always say something along the lines of "why go out when we have everything we need here?" by here, she meant her "workshop"– where it was cluttered with mechanical parts and the smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air constantly. it was more than enough, but sometimes, even you needed a break. had you not been so convincing, jinx would have not let you drag her out to the last drop. she didn't like drinking, nor did she like the usuals at the bar. they were loud, arrogant, and just plain gross.

she sat at the end of the bar, some fruity juice concoction in her cup as she swirled her straw around the glass looking less than interested in what was happening around her.

"i want another drink, ill be right back, kay?" you lean into her, and she nods, watching you hop off the stool and stroll (rather stumble) to the other end of the bar where the bartender stood. she watched as you smiled sweetly at the man, leaning against the bar as you recite your order. he nods and moves to make your drink, leaving you to stand waiting. without notice, a man slinks in beside you, with an unsettling smirk on his lips.

"put the lovely ladies drink on my tab, would ya?" he gruffed at the bartender, sending you a wink as he spoke. you smile politely, shaking your head as you speak up– "hey... im alright but thank yo-"

"nonsense, let me treat a pretty lady to a drink, yeah?" he cut you off. he reeked of booze, and was ultimately too close for comfort.

"okay...its a just a drink, but im a-" he cuts you off again.

"see, knew you'd want it. so hows about we getchu that drink and then ditch this place?" he smirks again, placing a hand on your shoulder, one eye brow cocked like he was waiting for you to agree. before you could utter a word, an arm wraps around your waist, and the mans hand drops from your shoulder immediately.

"sorry to interrupt whatever youre trying to do here, but shes taken."

jinxs sneers at the man, looking like she was ready to pounce any second. the man, stupidly, didnt budge– obviously not seeing your girlfriend as much of a threat. her fingers gripped your hip, hard.

"ohh so its like that? y'know, ive always wanted to see some girl on girl action in real time." the man stands, arrogant and overly confident. the smirk on his lips made your stomach twist. without thinking, per her style, jinx lunges at the man, slamming her fist into his nose.

your eyes go wide as the man stumbles back, hand gripping his now bloody nose. "you little bitch..."

the man moves quickly towards her, but a familiar metallic hand finds his shoulder first.

"you two. out. now."

it was sevika, of course she had been there. she had been watching the two of you since you walked in, knowing trouble was bound to come with you guys around, it seemed like it always did.

"i'll fuckin kill you..." the man spat, trying to remove himself from sevikas grip. she looked at you sternly, and you got the message from the expression on her face.

"pssh, you wish." jinx muttered mockingly, clearly not wanting to leave without finishing what she started, or rather, without killing this guy first. you grab her wrist and speak– "lets just go jinx, cmon.." you pull her towards you, and she follows as you drag her towards the door. shouts from the man can be heard from behind you, and jinx stops in her tracks to flip him off. you bite back a laugh as you tug her along into the cool air outside of the bar.

"what a creep..." she spoke low, eyes ahead of her as she walked, avoiding your gaze completely.

"im sorr–" suddenly she whips around to face you, brows furrowed. "i mean seriously? that perv was all over you, and you were gonna let him buy you a drink!? are you stupid?" she cuts you off to rant, making you shut your mouth.

"he could have done something bad, and you were just gonna let him? the hells wrong with you?" she continued, hands moving dramatically.

"i was just gonna empty his pockets when he wasnt looking, jinx... aren't you the one that always says "if you see an opening, take it?"– you quote her. "its clear he had money..."

this seems to make her head rush, anger and possessiveness rushing through her. before you can process it, shes grabbing your arm and dragging you into the alley on your right. with shocking force, she presses you against the wall, her face dangerously close to yours as her eyes bore into yours.

"that doesn't mean go around and act like some sort of slut." she squints, cocking her head to the side.

"are you kidding? fuck you, jinx. i-" she doesnt let you finish as she smashing her lips into yours, hard enough to bruise, surely. you gasp at her suddenness, and her hands find your hips again, pinning you to the wall behind you.

her tongue wins the easy battle for dominance, completely consuming you as if the two of you werent stood in an alley. the only light was a dingy street lamp, casting a warm glow onto the two of you. the kiss was hot, messy as she took control of every movement, hips pressing into yours. she pulls back from the kiss, chest heaving as her hands find your belt.

"what are you doing?" you pant, watching her as her skilled hands mess with your waistband.

"whats it look like, dollface." her tone is low, and you can tell shes serious about taking you right here in the alley.

"cmon...not here...people could see us." you shift your hips as much as you can, but theres little to no room between you and the wall, so your attempt are deemed useless. ignoring you, her fingers pop the button on your pants, and find their way into your underwear.

her lips are on you again, flush with your neck as she sucks marks into the skin.

"let em'. dont care." her words are muffled against your neck. you gasp quietly as her fingers find your slick folds, a low chuckle coming from her.

"see? slut. all worked up, and from what, hm? some creep sweet talkin you?" she rambles, her words making your skin flush. her fingers circle your clit, making you buck into her as she holds you steady with her other hand. the cool metal of her finger bleeds through the layer of fabric riding up your hips. soon enough, shes moving her fingers and sliding them into your cunt, making you whimper. you feel her smirk against your neck, lips leaving a trail of searing marks with the intention of claiming whats hers.

"or is it that you like the thought of being caught, hm?" her fingers pushed a relentless pace, making your knees shake. "y'like me fuckin you in public baby?" her words are making your head spin, along with her fingers inside of you. her breathing picks up again when she hears you whine, cunt tightening around her fingers.

"m'close, please..." you muttered helplessly, surely dripping down her wrist at this point. she presses a kiss to your lips as she pulls her hand away. you watch in awe, chest moving rapidly as her fingers come to her mouth, sucking them clean.

"what the fuck?" you pant, fingers wrapping around her wrist. she simply smiles, before slipping out of your grasp.

"s'one thing to act like you enjoy being flirted with, but im not about to make you cum where anyone could see." she shrugs, her grin sinister as she turns on her heel.

in disbelief, your shaky hands move to fix your pants and belt. she had it coming once you stepped back into the confines of her workshop, that was one thing for certain.

thank u for the yummy rq i hope u enjoy :3

[ezziedoodles]

Why Season 2 Of Arcane Felt A Little Off

Let me preface this by saying I adore this show, and I loved this season. I laughed, I cried, and I had a good time watching it. The art direction and animation is a masterpiece. This is probably my favorite show, but I think it's good to critique the things you love and this entire season I felt like I was waiting for something.

For a show titled Arcane, season one had remarkably little to do with the arcane. Yes, there was Hextech and magic, but the show was centered on this class divide between Piltover and Zaun and all the conflicts that stem from this. The very first scene of the show is enforcers killing citizens on the bridge, with Powder and Vi finding their dead parents' bodies. Zilco's reasoning for doing anything he did was because he believed he was helping Zaun, including raising Jinx the way he did. Vi was so passionate about her city and the injustice facing it. Caitlyn witnessing this injustice is what causes her to question the systems she is a part of. Viktor and Jayce (but especially Viktor) created technology with the intention of wanting to improve life for the undercity. Ekko is a revolutionary doing so much to give his people a community and a chance to live their lives. My point is literally every single character is connected by this conflict between the cities.

Now let's take a look at the second season. Where is this part of the story that was so essential to the first season? There's a brief revolutionary beat with Jinx and her followers but once they escape from prison, the show moves on from this and never touches it again. We see Caitlyn's descent into corrupt madness, becoming everything she and Vi wanted to stop. Eventually she realizes how wrong she was but do we see her make any reparations to Zaun specifically for the damage she caused? She gassed the city, poisoning the air even further (with gas that has been confirmed to make people sick in the long run), harming hundreds of innocent people. And Vi, a character so vehemently against enforcers in the first season, goes along with this for how long? Days? Weeks? And only stops when she can visually see the impact of Caitlyn's madness as she almost kills a child in front of her. These characters are flawed and I love that, but we see them get their happy ending without ever truly addressing or helping with what they did to Zaun.

Ekko sees an alternate universe of everything his city could be, everything they all wanted so badly in the first season. Equality, safety, education, food security, and more. He says he is thankful for the reminder and I fully believe he will go forth with this vision in mind, but do we ever see it? And that right there is the problem. We don't know what happens to Zaun in the end, we don't know if things get better. All we see is Sevika on the council but we don't know if that will fix anything since people have stood up for the undercity in council before and it did nothing.

I want to see Ekko rally his people and repair the damage caused by the war. I want to see Vi open up the last drop and make it what it was always meant to be, a place of community. I want to see schools open in the undercity in honor of Viktor and Jayce. I want to see the two cities heal from the damage done to each other. Fuck it, I just want literally any closure on this plotline! Just tack on a 2 minute montage of what happened to this city after the war and I'd feel a little better. But instead this part of the story was completely sidelined throughout the season and ignored entirely in the finale. I'm not someone that thinks every story needs to have a moral, but this show was trying to tell us something! The first season was screaming from the rooftops to beware of privilege, beware systemic oppression, to fight inequality, and I find it really sad that there was no conclusion for that.

I do wish there had been three seasons to give it a smoother transition form politics to magic but it is what it is. Nothing is perfect. This season gave me so much including the best depiction of soulmates I've ever seen in my life so you win some you lose some ig.

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Naive - L.C

💡Who: Lee Chan (Seventeen) x female reader 💡What: Best friends to ??? Angst. Thriller. Soft moments. Dark themes (please check warnings). 18+ 💡Word count: 11.5k 💡Warnings: Profanity. Stalking. Nonconsensual voyeurism. Nonconsensual photos. Cheating. Major injury (Not Chan or reader). Mentions of a car accident. Mentions of sexual harassment. Mentions of panic attacks and almost panic attacks. No smut, but suggestive content, some dirty talk and mentions of sexual acts. Very morally dark character. Drugging. Kidnapping. Restraints. Chan calls reader angel a lot (mostly because I don’t wanna use y/n), and baby in the second half.

Summary: Breakups are always painful, but at least you have your best friend by your side to make everything better. Right?

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- I know nothing about flower meanings, it all came straight from Wikipedia so don't blame me for inaccurate meanings, it's just a fic.

“It’s okay, he’s in the past, he’s not worth your tears,” your best friend soothes as you cry into his chest for the third night in a row.

“I-I should’ve li-listened to you,” you sob, gripping his t-shirt tighter and curling up smaller.

“It doesn’t matter now; what matters is you ended it and never have to deal with that asshole again.”

“A-asshole is too kind.”

Chan chuckles and tilts his head against the top of your head yet says nothing more and simply continues to hold you until you run out of tears for your cheating, pervert of an ex-boyfriend. Proving once again that Lee Chan is the only man you can ever trust to be good and honest.

Over a year ago, you met Lee Chan while in the gardening section of the bookstore. It was a cliché romcom moment where you both reached for the same book and your hands met before your eyes did. He smiled at you with a soft little chuckle and said something like “guess we both want to know what Victorian people thought flowers meant”, which somehow led to you both buying a copy of the book on the Victorian language of flowers to take to the nearby coffee shop with the intention of reading side by side. Though very little reading happened, and you found yourself sitting there with Chan for hours; laughing and talking as if you’ve known one another for years. It was like he was made to be the other half of you, designed with only you in mind.

At first, you thought maybe it was true; that Chan was your romantic soulmate. But you were seeing someone else at the time and pushed the thought of Chan being anything but platonic entirely out of your mind.

It’s a year and multiple failed relationships later, while you’re out shopping on a rare day off, that something changes.

“What do you think of this one?” Chan asks, drawing your attention to where he’s a few racks away donned in the black, leather biker jacket he just found on the men’s sale rack.

“Oh,” you murmur, suddenly hit with the realisation that your best friend is ridiculously attractive.

It’s not that you’ve ever thought Chan is ugly; in fact, you first paid attention to him in the bookstore past a glance because of how handsome he is. But that was over a year ago and your thoughts have never moved on from considering him the same kind of beautiful as you would a piece of art that you see in a store, yet easily move on past without looking back.

Yet now, you’ve noticed and suddenly can’t draw your eyes away from him.

“Hello?” Chan laughs, waving his arms to bring you back to reality when you do nothing more than stare at him for almost a full minute. “You alright? Getting hungry?” He pouts at you teasingly. “Does the baby need num nums?”

“I hate it when you say that” you remind and stick your middle finger up at him, making him laugh while you turn back to the sale rack you had been looking through.

“I know, why do you think I say it?” He cackles and bounces over to prod you and gain your attention back. “You didn’t say what you think? Do I look sexy?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you while posing in the jacket. “Should I get it?”

“Yeah,” you answer with a nod after taking his body in once more and turning away.

“Was that yes to getting it, or that I look sexy?” He murmurs from suddenly behind you with his mouth right by your ear. You jolt in surprise having not heard him approach, then turn to whack his arm while he cracks up laughing. “You think I’m sexyyy!” He sings loudly, just to annoy you.

“Why are we best friends again?”

“I took pity on you and your bad taste in men.” He definitely deserves the hit this time, even if he’s right.

Ever since you’ve known Chan, you’ve had nothing but terrible luck with picking men to date. You always think they’re okay at first, but then the red flags start popping up and begin waving manically in the hot air spewing from their mouths.

You really thought you had run out of bad luck and finally picked a good one with your ex. He was kind and endlessly attractive; a hard worker, yet always made time for fun and relaxation; and his parents loved you.

It lasted a whole seven months before you found another woman’s underwear in his car, and you realised you should’ve listened to Chan’s gut feeling about Kyle from the start. Finding a stack of polaroids of various women getting changed when you were emptying his apartment of your belongings that same night only made the heartache worse. Not only did he cheat on you, but he also likes to take photos of unsuspecting women through windows and cracked doors.

Upon turning your back on him three weeks ago, you decided to give up on men and always listen to Chan’s gut instincts from now on.

You don’t need a boyfriend; you just need your best friend.

Just when you’re about to leave your apartment building to meet with Chan for lunch one day, you come face to face with your ex. He looks, frankly put, like shit. He used to be so well put together, never to an obsessive degree but he was always well rested and tidy, but now he looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in at least two days with his hair sticking up a little as if he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. He’s still wearing nice clothes, but they’re creased, and his shoes aren’t even properly tied.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss while glaring at the man and trying to step past him, but he gets in your path with his hands held up placatingly; he even doesn’t attempt to touch you or get in your personal space.

Vaguely, you think how weird it is of him to respect that boundary yet have polaroids of you half naked in the changing room at your gym. A completely separate gym to the one he frequents too, which somehow makes it even worse; that he went so far out of his way to take the photos you never consented to.

“I just want to talk to you, please? Just a few minutes and I’ll go, and you’ll never see me again,” he pleads. The genuine desperation in his eyes makes you relent and nod. “Can we go somewhere a little less public? I’m not asking to go somewhere isolated, just not the middle of the building lobby.”

Again, you relent and move to the side of the lobby out of the light foot traffic; still perfectly in sight of others yet far enough away to have a private conversation.

“Thank you,” he breathes out gratefully and relaxes a little as you lean one shoulder against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest.

“What is it? I’m going to be late to meet Chan.”

“Right, how is he?”

“Good, it’s Chan. He’s always good.” The words are a little pointed, designed to hurt, and the way his features flinch at the jab sends a little surge of satisfaction into you. Though there’s something in you aching at that same hurt in his eyes; it looks too real.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” he agrees softly, and you hum. “So uh, I just…I can’t stop thinking about what happened.”

“Cheating on me or taking photos of women without their consent?” You question, glaring again at the reminder of why you want nothing to do with this man before you. This pathetic, sad eyed, mess of a man.

It’s funny how far he’s fallen in so little time. Strange how a man who cheated on you in the backseat of the same car he often pulled you into with shared giggles, can break so much at being called out on his misdeeds.

You really thought he would just move on to the next conquest and forget all about you for good, just like he did while with the other woman. Or women. You never asked how many there were.

Yet the man before you doesn’t seem to have moved on at all.

“I didn’t do either of those things,” he repeats the words he had said to you a little over a month ago. You didn’t believe him then; you were so full of anger and betrayal as you tried to cradle the pieces of your shattered heart and hoped he hadn’t stolen any of the pieces leaving you unable to stitch it back together again.

Now that you’ve let go of most of your anger and Chan has helped you in putting the pieces back together to the point that your heart is almost whole and healing, you can see through the pain and tears and notice that this man in front of you looks genuine. He’s looking at you without any attempt to look aside or shrink away. He isn’t hiding.

“I found underwear in your car Kyle,” you point out, holding your ground even if you suddenly realise that something here doesn’t feel right. “And those photos in your apartment.”

“I know, I know, and I’ve been trying to figure out how the fuck they got there because it wasn’t me.”

“You live alone and don’t share your car.”

“I know!” He exclaims, hands flying up in frustration, though it doesn’t feel like it’s aimed at you, especially as he steps back to make certain that he doesn’t accidentally hit you. Kyle’s always been considerate like that; always made sure to give you a wide berth when he flung his arms around in play or frustration. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be a cheating pervert. A man can be against physically harming his partner and still betray their trust so deeply.

“Then only you could’ve put them there.”

“No, no, I didn’t though,” he steps closer while lifting his hands between you, though he brings them to his own chest instead of touching you. “Look me in the eye and tell me I have ever done a thing to make you think I would cheat on you or take photos without consent. I never even asked you for pictures; you were the one who offered and asked if you could send me pictures months into our relationship.”

The thing is, he’s right. Although you did have sex regularly and he would send you dirty texts when he was in the mood, Kyle never asked for nudes. You had to be the one to bring it up and ask if he was against that kind of thing.

Now that he brings it up, you can vividly recall him telling you that does enjoy nudes and would certainly enjoy seeing photos of you like that, but he also knows how dangerous they can be to send and receive because of hacking, losing phones or breaking up. He had been so genuine about it and triple checked that you were comfortable with it entirely before giving you consent to send him photos whenever you wanted.

“You had those polaroids, you didn’t need me to send you any,” you reason in a mumble. You don’t even know if you believe what you’re saying at this point, or if you’re just trying to explain the behaviour away. Something isn’t sitting right in you.

“Why would I want polaroids of random women I don’t even know when I have you?” He asks, eyes silently begging you to understand.

“There were photos of me too,” you answer.

“What?” He frowns confusedly. “I didn’t see those, just the top ones before you took them all away.”

“You know I was in there, at the gym changing rooms.”

“I’ve never been anywhere near your gym!” He puts his face in his hands. “I don’t understand what the fuck is going on. I swear I have never been to your gym.” He looks at you imploringly as his hands drop. “And you know I keep my car clean, there’s no way I would’ve failed to notice that underwear; so if I did cheat on you, do you really think I’d miss the evidence and leave them somewhere you’d see them?”

You open your mouth to retort automatically, only to realise there isn’t a single word ready to roll off your tongue. He’s making far too much sense and that doesn’t make sense.

He cheated on you. He’s a pervert who takes photos of unsuspecting women in vulnerable situations. He’s a terrible person.

At least, you thought he was.

Maybe Chan is right and you’re just naïve when faced with a handsome man giving you big puppy dog eyes.

“I need to go,” you decide after a few long moments of trying to form some kind of reaction other than staring at him with furrowed brows. “Chan’s waiting.”

“Right,” Kyle lets out a disappointed sigh, yet nods resignedly and steps back as if giving you space to leave. He hadn’t been in your way in the first place but it’s a silent sign that he won’t try to stop you. “I guess I can’t say anything else to convince you that I didn’t do those things, and I never would. I…I wanted to marry you, you know?”

“What?” You whisper in shock, eyebrows lifting as your eyes turn wide. “Marry me?”

“Yeah,” he lets out a soft, humourless laugh and runs one hand through his hair while looking aside, a shy flush creeping onto his neck and ears. “I was in love with you.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, well, no, actually, that’s a lie.” He looks at you and catches the way your face falls into a frown hearing him admitting to lying to your face like that. “I’m still so fucking in love with you that I can’t function properly knowing you hate me. I’m not asking you to come back to me; I know that won’t happen. I’m just…asking you to really think about it, about us, and me. I never lied to you, never showed you a false me. You know me better than anyone else. Do you really believe I did those things?”

“What took you so long?” Chan pouts at you when you sit down in your usual seat opposite him at your usual table in your usual café. “Angel?”

“Uh, so Kyle was at my apartment,” you inform, picking up your mug that’s been waiting for you for ten minutes already thanks to Chan always ordering for you both. Usually you arrive minutes before your food and drinks arrive, but today you’re late for the first time.

“What?” Chan’s face drops so drastically it throws you off for a second. You’ve never seen such a dark expression on him; you’ve never seen him so entirely void of any light. He doesn’t look like your best friend. “Your apartment? Did he force himself in? Did he hurt you?”

“No, no, I meant the lobby and no, he’s never hurt me. He wouldn’t do that.”

“He cheated on you, took fucking creeper shots of you in your gym and you think he’s above putting his hands on you?” He scoffs, shaking his head a little and pushes the salt across the table to you. You hadn’t asked for it, but you will before you start eating.

He’s always doing thoughtful little things like that for you, but you’ve never really noticed it until the last weeks. Silently noticing what you need and giving it to you with a smile.

But he’s not smiling now. He looks concerned now, rounded eyes locked on you and head tilted down a little as he frowns, almost looking at you through his eyelashes. “I don’t want to be mean or anything, but he fooled you before, angel, he’s clearly trying to do it again. I don’t know what he said to you, but you’ve got that lost look you get when you don’t know what to do.”

“He made good points, Channie,” you reply as you salt your fries before putting the shaker down. Chan doesn’t even look at it past a quick glance before sliding it back to its home out of the way.

“What good points could he have for cheating on you?”

“He said he didn’t do it-” Chan sighs heavily, cutting you off.

“Angel, he said that before, remember? Why do you suddenly believe that piece of shit?”

“Because…he looked honest.”

Chan stares at you for a moment before he sighs and reaches over to hold your hands. “I say this with all the love in me, but you’re not the best judge of character, angel. You’re naïve, innocent. I love that you see the good in the world and everyone, really, I fucking love it; it’s really sweet and cute. But it’s going to get you hurt all over again if you let him fool you like this.”

You look down at your hands in Chan’s, then back up at his face. His gaze is entirely open; big eyes and soft, naturally pouting lips. Your heart skips a beat.

You look away while nodding in understanding, silently telling him that you’re listening to him as you free your hands so that you can pick up your fork.

“Good, I really don’t want to see you hurt again like that. It broke my heart,” Chan says, relaxing as he picks up his own fork to stab too many fries onto the prongs, which he then points at you. “If you break my heart again like that, I’m stealing your TV.”

“My TV?” You sputter in surprise before laughing. Chan grins around the too many fries in his mouth and nods. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me though,” he sings around his mouthful while stabbing more fries.

Even with the view of his partially chewed food in his mouth, you can’t really deny it.

“No! Stop it!” You giggle while trying to block Chan from entering your kitchen behind you. “It’s not ready!”

“Just tell me what you’re doing!” He replies, laughing along with you as he tries to dart around you.

“Not yet! Just wait, you impatient shit!”

“No!” He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you away from the doorway and spin you both, so his back is to the kitchen now instead of yours. “Ha!”

“No!” You gasp and reach out, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt and in a panic, you yank him closer harshly, unintentionally making him stumble into you.

“Shit, are you okay?” He worries once you’re both steady and he’s holding your upper arms to nudge you back just enough that he can look at your face. You’re frowning, though he can only see your furrowed eyebrows thanks to your hand being over most of the bottom half of your face to cup your nose as his shoulder had collided with it. “Oh, did I hurt you?”

“Asshole,” you murmur while nodding, even if it doesn’t hurt that much; you just honestly like being doted on by your best friend to the extent that you are willing to play up minor injuries to gain his gentle touch and attention.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he apologises, frowning at you as he carefully tugs your hand down. “Let Doctor Channie see.”

“You’d be a terrible doctor,” you reply, moving your hand down to let him cup your face so that he can tilt your head into the light coming in through the windows and see your features better.

“What? I’d be great!” He defends, pouting at you offendedly.

“You thought the uvula is what you pee from.”

“It’s not my fault!” He blushes a little at the reminder of his innocent mix up. “Nobody told me that dangly thing isn’t tonsils! And the pee pipe thingy starts with a U too!”

“Urethra.”

“Exactly, they’re so similar! They should name them differently. Anyway, that doesn’t mean anything, I’d still be a good doctor.”

“Yeah, until you try to catheter someone’s throat.” His expression turns unimpressed, and you can’t help but giggle. He rolls his eyes as his lips turn up into a smile.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs, turning his attention back to your slightly red nose.

“Mm, so what’s the verdict doc?” You tease, poking at his stomach and trying not to focus on the physical reminder that your best friend has abs under his baggy clothes.

“I think you’ll be okay with the right treatment.”

“And what treatment is that?”

“The best thing for a boo-boo,” he replies seriously, and then visibly nearly breaks into a laugh at the almost glare you land on him. “What?”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Yes you are. My baby,” he coos and taps his thumbs to your cheeks. You hope he doesn’t see or feel the way they warm at his words. “I specialise in baby angels, I know this.”

“You’re seriously ridiculous.”

“Mm, so, are you consenting to Doctor Channie’s effective boo-boo treatment?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t told me what it is yet.”

“You know what the treatment for a boo-boo is, angel,” he chuckles and tilts forward to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “Like that.”

“I didn’t consent to that treatment, I can sue you,” you mumble, trying to distract from the growing pink on your cheeks. Chan’s eyes glide over your features, lips turning up into a soft smile. “Stop smiling at me like that!” You whine, slapping his waist so gently that it can’t even be classed at a slap, more like you’re just putting your hands on his waist with a little force.

“But you’re so fucking cute,” he reasons, smiling wider. “My cute baby,” he murmurs lowly and brushes his nose against yours gently. Your breath hitches at the tender action while your fingers curl reflexively to loosely grip his t-shirt. “Do I have consent to administer treatment, angel?” He whispers, lips so close to yours that you can almost feel them moving as he talks.

“I…” Just as you start to nod, your phone starts to ring in the kitchen, making you jump in surprise and jolt away from Chan in a natural reaction to the unexpected noise. “I should get that.”

“Right,” Chan mutters, dropping his arms to his side with a disappointed frown as he watches you scoot around him to enter the kitchen.

When you pick up your phone from the counter, you’re more than just a little surprised to see your ex’s mother calling you.

You haven’t heard from her since the breakup when she messaged you to say that she doesn’t know what happened, but she hopes that you and her can still be friends as she values you so highly. You hadn’t responded then; you hadn’t wanted to interact with anyone who you knew through him, even if you had regret ghosting her afterwards because she genuinely is such a lovely woman who always treated you lovingly.

Still, even with the period of no contact between you, you pick your phone up to answer the call. “Hello?”

“O-oh thank goodness,” the still familiar voice sobs in relief.

“Auntie? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Kyle, there-there’s been an accident.”

Just over an hour after receiving the call, you’re tucked up in between Kyle’s parents on the couch of the private room with their arms around you, both of them crying for their son as you do your best to comfort them while feeling numb yourself. You’re too in shock at the sight of the heavily injured man laid unconscious on the bed to process it.

When you had arrived with Chan right behind you, the pair had just about managed to tell you through their tears that Kyle had been driving to work that morning when another vehicle had violently run him off of the road.

It had been on such a quiet road so early that nobody else was around; no witnesses to give details of the other car, nor to run to his aide or call for help. By the time someone found the wreck in the ditch, it had been long enough that too much damage had been done.

And now, even after hours of surgery, there’s no knowing if Kyle will make it through the night, let alone wake up again. There’s only waiting.

So, you wait.

“They’ll call if there’s any sign,” Chan reminds as he helps you out of your jacket. “You spent two days by his side, angel, there’s nothing more you can do for him. He’s not your responsibility or person to care for anymore. His parents and sister are there, and they promised to call you.”

“I know,” you reply, moving woodenly as Chan leads you through your apartment to the kitchen with his hand in yours to keep you moving.

He flicks on the light and falls still at the sight of the mess you left on the counter from leaving so quickly three evenings ago to get to the hospital. He never learned what you had been refusing to let him see until now. “Cake,” he murmurs, noticing the half decorated cake on the counter, surrounded by all the items you had been using to decorate it.

“For your new job,” you reply with a shrug. “It’s no good now. Sorry, I’ll buy you a replacement tomorrow.”

“No, no, you don’t have to. Just knowing is enough for me,” Chan assures, turning to bring you in to hold against his chest where you melt against him with an exhale. “I appreciate the thought and effort you went to, angel; that means more than a store bought cake ever could.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t finish it.”

“It’s not your fault. Let’s order something for dinner and while it’s on its way, I’ll clean this up while you go shower.”

“Do I smell?” You mumble against his shoulder.

“Like sadness,” he retorts with a joking edge to his sombre tone that makes you jab your fingers into his waist in scold. He yelps and contorts away from your fingers without releasing his arms from around you. “And meanness.”

“Meanness,” you repeat, scoffing a short laugh and leaning back from his shoulder to look at him.

“Yes. It’s mean to take advantage of my weak spots.”

“You do it to me all the time.”

“Yes, but you’re the nice one, my angel,” he coos, pinching your cheek before he lets you go to nudge you out of the kitchen while you try to recall just when it got so normal for Chan to call you his.

Since becoming best friends with Chan, it’s not unusual at all to return home and find him in your apartment as if he owns the place. Honestly, you genuinely think he spends more time in your apartment than his own, especially the past couple months. The couch is practically his bed at this point.

What is very unusual however, is to arrive home to find the door slightly open and hear another voice talking with Chan from inside your apartment.

“Chan?” You call in a cautious, soft voice as you nudge the door open and peer around it.

“Hi, angel, welcome home,” Chan greets, smiling at you and motioning you to join him opposite the two uniformed police officers standing and talking to him in the entrance hall.

“What’s going on, Channie?” You ask as you stand at his side and cling to his hand while remaining just a little behind him and away from the officers. They’re both taller than you and Chan, with one of them being thick with muscle and rather intimidating. Though when he smiles at you in polite greeting, most of the fear melts away.

“This is Officer Choi Seungcheol and Officer Chwe Hansol, they’re here to talk to you about Kyle,” Chan explains, motioning to each man in turn.

“Is there news on who ran him off the road?” You ask, looking at the two men with hope in your eyes and chest. It’s been over a week since the incident and there hasn’t been any more information about who put Kyle into such a devastating condition.

The last you heard, they had managed to get sight of a damaged SUV in the general vicinity from CCTV a handful of roads away, but the plates turned out to be stolen from another car across the country over a year ago and the windows were blacked out so there’s no way to tell who was driving the car. Whoever it was clearly knows the streets well enough that they escaped the CCTV quickly and the vehicle hasn’t shown up since. Nor has one matching the description been scrapped or sent to be fixed.

“That’s not our department,” the intimidating officer, Seungcheol, replies while giving you another gentle little smile. “I’m afraid we’re from the sexual crimes division, ma’am.”

“Sexual crimes?” You whisper in shock. “Wh-what?”

“We’ve received reports that Kyle has sexually harassed and stalked multiple women over the past year.”

“No, he-he wouldn’t-” you argue, shaking your head as your hands start to tremble ever so slightly, so you hold onto Chan’s hand tighter with both of yours to try and cease the shuddering movements. “You’re wrong.”

“I understand that it’s hard to hear these things about someone you thought you knew, but we have to follow up every lead we have to get all the information we need to press charges.”

“He’s in a hospital bed!” You baulk and let out an incredulous laugh. “You want to charge a man who might not even wake up? What kind of a person are you?!”

“It’s not our choice, ma’am. We’re just doing our jobs and trying to get justice for the victims.”

“I’m not having any part in this. I have nothing to say to you. He never did a thing wrong to me. Get out,” you insist, pointing to the door. “I’m not going to let you bring these accusations into my home without proof.”

“We have proof,” the other officer speaks up, earning a slightly disapproving look from his partner, but he isn’t stopped. “We saw proof ourselves; photos of women taken from outside of windows and other positions that clearly show a lack of consent. And a hidden, digital diary alluding to the acts that match up with statements we received from victims.”

“Photos?” You repeat disbelievingly.

“Yes ma’am, and I’m afraid you were in some. Based on the angle and quality, we believe the photos were taken from a roof into what we can only assume is your own bedroom.”

“My bedroom?”

“Yes ma’am. May we see your room and take photos for comparative purposes?”

“My bedroom…” You can only repeat, too in shock to do anything else as you stare dumbly at the two uniformed men in front of you.

“I think she needs a moment,” Chan says while putting his arm around you to support your gradually weakening body.

“Of course, we’ll wait right here,” Seungcheol agrees in a gentle tone and nods understandingly.

Chan carefully takes you to the living room to sit you on the couch and kneels in front of you. “Baby, breathe, come on,” he encourages softly as he holds your face. “You’re going to have a panic attack if you don’t copy me, come on.” He starts to take exaggerated breaths; big inhale, hold, slow exhale.

You blink at him unseeingly for a few of his breaths before your eyes drop to his mouth and you naturally copy the man who has helped you level your breathing more times than you can count the past year.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praises. “A few more for me, you can do a few more for your Channie, right?” You nod so he smiles and takes a handful more deep, steadying breaths, each of which you obediently copy. “Good, well done.” He leans forward and kisses your head. “I’ll deal with the cops, okay? You just sit here and let your Channie handle it all. You just relax, angel.”

There isn’t a single part of you that wants to face the officers and their accusations again, so you simply nod and let Chan tuck a blanket around you as you curl up against the back of the sofa, before he turns on the TV just loud enough that when he goes back into the hall to talk to the two men, you can’t make out their low murmuring voices.

Throughout the remainder of the visit from the two officers, you don’t move, just sit staring blankly at the cushions in front of you as your mind whirls.

You don’t know what to believe. When Kyle had visited you that day, you really did believe him. Even now, there’s a part of you that struggles to believe the sincerity in his eyes and voice to be nothing more than a clever act to fool you. He has never laid a hand on you, never forced you to do anything or kicked up a fuss if you rejected his advances. Kyle was good.

Or maybe not.

If the police aren’t lying to you, then they have proof; more photos, even though you took the ones you found that time and burned them all, and witness accounts, or well, victim’s statements would be the correct term.

You know it’s possible to spend your entire life with a person and never truly know them, but you truly had thought that you knew Kyle. You had been so close to falling in love with him; that’s why it had hurt so much. You truly had believed that one day, you’d fall mutually in love with him, with a good man, and have a happy life together.

But all this; the accusations, the proof you had found yourself even if you still struggle to accept it at face value, it just goes to show that you never really know a person.

“They’re gone,” Chan’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. You turn your head to watch him cross the living room to sit at your side and invite himself under the blanket. He puts his left arm on the back of the couch in a silent offer that you readily accept, shuffling closer to tuck up under his arm and settle when it’s around you securely.

“Was it my room?” You ask, not really sure if you want to know the answer. But you need to.

Chan lets out a breath that sounds like a reluctant sigh. It’s almost answer enough, yet you need to hear it. “Yeah, angel, it looks like it was your room. They took photos and are going to go to the roof of the motel opposite to take a photo from there to see if it matches. I’ve given them my number to keep me updated and so they contact me if they need to, not you. I told them about the photos you found too and that you burned them so no-one else can have them.”

“Should-should I have reported him then?” You wonder, suddenly worried that you had potentially endangered women by not stepping up.

“Maybe,” he replies in a way that you just know means he thinks you should’ve, but he doesn’t want to upset you.

You curl up smaller and turn your face into his shoulder to let the familiar, soothing scent of his cologne and laundry detergent ease you.

Chan tilts his head on top of yours and holds you that bit tighter. “At least he can’t hurt anyone else anymore.”

The words are supposed to be comforting, but they don’t comfort you at all.

The news comes only a few days later.

It didn’t take long to gather evidence to support the accusations against Kyle. The warrant for his home turned up the photos and a hidden memory stick containing a written diary with documents matching dates of some of the statements, though many more entries without a woman to match to the words. The police just had to confirm the evidence and talk to some people before moving forward with it, like they did with you and Chan.

If it wasn’t for Kyle’s condition, the case would’ve been closed only two days after the police visited you, and he would’ve been sent off to prison. As it is, the man still hasn’t woken and the doctors aren’t confident that he ever will, so he can’t really be held accountable for his actions.

When Chan tells you the news, you feel bad that for the first time, you’re glad that Kyle is unconscious and likely to never wake up; at least this way, he won’t have to face the accusations which a part of you still can’t believe are true.

What you are finally letting yourself believe though, are all the times Chan called you naïve.

“Delivery for the cutest baby angel to have ever existed,” comes the greeting from behind the massive bouquet of flowers almost shoved in your face the very moment you open the front door of your apartment to see who has been insistently ringing the bell.

“That is an obscene amount of flowers,” you murmur while eyeing the bouquet.

It lowers and your best friend’s head appears as he pouts at you cutely. “Don’t you want it?”

“Gimmie,” you encourage, making grabby hands. Chan grins and hands you the bouquet, which is literally three times bigger than your head, before stepping into the apartment while you wander off, happily admiring and sniffing the multitude of flowers.

It’s not unusual for Chan to bring you flowers at all; rather, it’s unusual for your home to not have flowers gifted to you from your best friend. Even if he can’t visit you he sends you flowers at least weekly, and the ones he sends tend to always be more extravagant as if he’s making up for not giving them to you in person.

Every single bouquet is always handpicked by Chan; he always chooses which flowers to give you, not based on their colour or scent but for the meaning.

One of the things that helped you and Chan bond when you first met was your shared love of flowers and their meanings. You both know the meanings of a vast array of flowers, and he always includes yellow roses in his bouquet to symbolise your friendship.

Today is no different; there is an abundance of yellow roses in the bouquet, but there are a mixture of other flowers often in yellow themes, as it seems rather common for yellow flowers to symbolise friendship and happiness.

But sometimes there’s other colours; a little pop of pink tulips to show he cares, white carnations with a cheeky wink as he calls you baby angel, fragrant lavender to remind you of his loyalty to your friendship. Every bouquet is carefully crafted as a message; to tell you that Chan is your best friend and will always be there to love and support you.

And today, right there amongst the usual flowers, a handful of light pink roses.

You run through your mental list of flower meanings. Pink roses tend to mean grace, dark pink for gratitude and light pink has a few meanings just like many flowers. Many of the flowers Chan gives you have multiple meanings, but when put together the bouquets he gives you all mean the same thing. However, light pink roses aren’t used to symbolise friendship, innocence, or care. They mean youth, energy, passion, desire. None of those really blend with the rest of the bouquet’s meaning and it throws you for a loop.

“Did they put in the wrong flower?” You ask, pointing to the light pink roses as you look over at Chan puzzled. He walks over to peer at the bouquet and where you’re motioning, before shaking his head. “But they don’t mean friendship,” you mumble confusedly and look at the flowers again as you try to decipher their reasoning.

Chan doesn’t say a word, just leans his left hip against the counter, left palm on the surface and right hand fiddling with the unused belt loop on your jeans as he waits.

“Wait!” You turn to face him while pointing an accusing finger at him. “Is this you calling me a baby again? Light pink roses for youth?”

Chan chuckles and shakes his head, sliding two of his fingers into the loop now you’re facing one another and letting his palm settle against your hip. “No, it’s not that, though that’s a good one, I should’ve thought of that.”

“Then what?” You tilt your head a little, pouting naturally with your innocent confusion.

“You know. I know you know this one, angel,” he encourages and tugs you closer.

“Joy of life?” You offer, too used to him leading you around and being physically affectionate to really register how close he has you, or how his thumb is gradually tugging at your t-shirt where it’s tucked into your jeans.

“No.”

“Well it’s certainly not energy, you always say I lack energy. Or are you trying to like, manifest energy for me?”

“No, but once again, that’s good, I’ll make you a manifestation bouquet one day soon.”

“Then what? I’m confused, Chan.”

“Want me to tell you?” You nod in confirmation. “What if I show you?”

“What?”

He smirks a little, then pushes off of the counter and cups your jaw with his left hand. “Should I tell you, or show you, baby?” He murmurs, voice pitching low in a way that sends shivers up and down your spine. He leans in closer, brushing his nose against your cheek and nose in a teasing manner, but he doesn’t do anything more. “Well?”

It takes a few seconds for you to react; your heart is racing with anticipation, and you need to swallow a few times. He pulls back and notices your gaze slide down to his lips. “Show me,” you say in a voice so soft and shy it’s practically a whisper.

Chan doesn’t need to be told twice; he darts forward to slot his lips against yours for the first time. There’s no hesitance in his movements, no gentle teasing and dancing as he eases you into it; he kisses you passionately from the first moment, guiding your head to tilt in the perfect angle to deepen the kiss to a filthy degree when he coaxes your mouth open only seconds after his lips touch yours.

You never expected this from Chan; never imagined he’d kiss in such a manner that you feel like he’s consuming your heart and soul in the best of ways. He’s only been kissing you for a few seconds, yet your knees are weak, and you have to cling to him to keep yourself upright.

The moment your hand grips the back of his neck, Chan groans in pleased approval against your mouth and pins you roughly against the counter; his hips pressed against yours and his right hand giving up being subtle about his wants as he yanks your t-shirt out of the waistband of your jeans so that he can slide his hand underneath and run his palm against your bare skin.

Of course, a kiss that passionate can’t go on for too long, you especially need to catch your breath as you hadn’t been prepared at all for the intensity and keep forgetting to breathe as your lips and tongue move with his.

Though when you press against his chest and turn your head aside slightly to try and catch your breath, Chan doesn’t stop kissing you, he just relocates his focus, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses over your jaw and down your neck.

“Wanted you for so fucking long, angel,” he admits, voice thick with arousal and sounding unfairly in breath even if his chest is heaving too. He drags his teeth over the crook of your neck making you gasp and grip him tighter. “Driving me crazy, ‘m so hard. Can I have you? Can I take you to bed and drown in your pussy? Fuck you so hard I owe you a new bed?”

“Fuck,” you breathe out and grab a handful of his hair to drag him back up. His eyes are so hooded that you’re not certain he’s even looking at you. He looks so far gone and it does dangerous things to you. “Y-you do so much for me, Chan.”

“What?” He blinks away some of the lust dazing him to peer at you confusedly, and a little offended and the out of place comment. “What are you talking about all of a sudden? I’m trying to take you to bed, and you say that? You can just say no, not do some weird speech.”

“I’m not doing that,” you assure and move your left hand off of his shoulder, down his torso and under his oversized t-shirt to find the button of his jeans. He looks down in surprise, then back up at you with desire flooding back into his expression and eyes as you skilfully get his jeans open. Neither of you care that they immediately drop to the floor around his ankles with the jangle of his keys in his pocket, as you get your hand in his boxers. “Let me do this for you.”

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, whatever you want angel,” he approves before leaning in to seal your lips back together.

After your tryst in the kitchen, which lead to half of the bouquet getting destroyed when Chan bent you over the counter chest first into the flowers, sex is suddenly on the table for the two of you. Often literally. It seems as if that encounter opened the floodgates of a year of repressed desire from Chan and alerted you to the fact that his passion is more than just a little reciprocated.

Of course, you’ve known for a while now that you’re attracted to Chan; ever since the realisation that day in the store thanks to the leather jacket, which he is often prancing around in, especially since he’s realised how much you like him in it. Sometimes he’ll even turn up at your apartment, open the zip of his jacket and reveal that he’s wearing nothing but your marks underneath, leading to you pinning him to the closest surface to expand on the collection.

What you hadn’t known is just how deep your attraction runs. That at some point within you, the lust starts to morph and before it reaches your chest, it turns to a love which squeezes your heart a little every time he slows down to press a soft kiss to your lips, or you find him looking at you with eyes sparkling with adoration.  

You never imagined that you would fall for your best friend, yet here you are, weeks into your relationship turning sexual, and falling asleep naked in his arms more often than not while not wanting the morning to come because you know he’ll leave before you’re awake so that he can go home and get ready for work.

There’s a part of you that has, on more than one occasion, almost blurted out that he should just bring his work clothes over; you’ve already made space in the wardrobe to hang his shirts and space in the drawer for his trousers. But you don’t.

As much as you’ve come to understand and accept that the love you feel for Chan is no longer purely platonic, you aren’t ready to move on from your ex. There’s still a piece of your heart in Kyle’s hands, even if they are limp in his hospital bed and your heart should’ve been released back to you months ago.

You’ve tried to move on; you thought it would’ve happened naturally thanks to your recently developed feelings for your best friend and the regular sessions of getting fucked dumb into various surfaces by the man.

Still, Kyle remains, and you don’t understand why your heart won’t let you love Chan entirely.

You hope that Chan is happy with this; that he’s content to spend spare moments between your usual hangouts and your thighs. You don’t want to have to tell him that you’re not over Kyle; you know that Chan doesn’t like the man. Although he never voices his displeasure in you still visiting the Kyle in the hospital, you can always see it in his eyes when you leave and how he fucks you that bit harder when you return.

Hope, it seems, is still stubbornly stuck in the bottom of the box, and has no place in the real world, especially not yours.

“You have a key,” you point out flatly when you open the door having expected the takeout you’ve ordered for dinner for yourself and Chan, yet find the man himself on the other side of the door with his hands behind his back and still wearing his work clothes. “What’re you hiding? Please tell me it’s dinner; I thought you’re the delivery man you know?”

“It’s not dinner,” he chuckles, then brings his hands around to reveal this week’s bouquet. Tulips; red, yellow, and orange. Love.

“Chan…” you trail off, not sure what to say and expression downturned when you look up at him. You can practically see the moment you break his heart.

“Oh, I guess I misread this,” he smiles embarrassed and awkward, even with the pain evident in his eyes. “I thought that you might return my feelings finally, but I guess not.”

“You’re not wrong,” you confess softly. “I just…I’m not over Kyle.”

“What?” His features scrunch in bewilderment. “You’re not over the man who would be arrested for sexual harassment and stalking right now if not in a coma? Am I hearing that right?”

“I still can’t connect that to the man I knew.”

“He really fucked with your head, didn’t he?” His arms lower defeatedly.

“No, he didn’t. He was just…good to me.”

“He cheated on you, angel, he wrote about it in his diary and other women have said as much too. What’s it going to take for you to accept that and move on?”

“I-I don’t know, Chan. I’m sorry but I just can’t do that. I’ve tried to get over him, but it hasn’t happened.”

“Well…I’m not going anywhere,” he declares and steps forward to offer the bouquet. “You may not be able to love me and be with me the way I want, but I still love you, with everything in me and I’ll be here for you all the same.”

“Won’t that hurt you?”

“Baby,” he chuckles and tenderly cups your cheek in one hand, the other still holding the tulips you’ve yet to accept. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first laid my eyes on you; I’ve been by your side through all of the assholes you gave your time to, even if they didn’t deserve it. This one will pass too.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” a flash of determination appears in his eyes as he smiles at you. “You’ll be mine soon enough, I promise you that, angel.”

At first, you had been cautious with Chan after his confession. You don’t want to hurt him and make him suffer at your side, so you pulled back on the affection and stopped the sexual aspect of your relationship entirely. Chan hadn’t been very happy and pouted at you when you turned him down the first time, but he didn’t push it and accepted it. Though he still reaches out to pull you close to hold and well, you don’t really want to quit him truthfully, so you let that happen.

After a few weeks, it’s as if the month of mind-blowing sex never happened and you and Chan are back to being nothing more than best friends. He keeps to his word and remains by your side as he always has, with no pushing or attempts to get you to reconsider and accept his love wholeheartedly.

Maybe that’s why one day when you’re laid side by side on a picnic blanket looking up at the stars with the snacks and drinks, which Chan supplied for the stargazing session, contently settling in your belly, you look at him and for the first time, you don’t feel as if your heart is missing a single piece.

“What?” Chan asks, side eyeing you amusedly when you’ve been staring at him instead of the sky for a few seconds too long. “Are you about to tell me that the stars in the sky don’t sparkle as bright as the stars in my eyes?”

“Where do you even come up with this stuff?” You laugh and nudge him playfully before sitting up. “Whoa,” you murmur when your head spins, eyes slamming closed and hands flying out to try and balance yourself.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Chan’s hands are on you in seconds as he sits up to support you.

“M wobbly,” you slur, trying to look at him as your hands grip him tight. “Channie,” you start to panic as the dizziness doesn’t subside at all, if anything it feels like it’s getting worse as he starts to multiply before your eyes. “S-something’s wrong.”

“Shh, it’s okay, Channie’s got you, lay down angel, Channie’s got you,” he soothes, gently laying you back down on the blanket and propping himself up on his right elbow as his left hand cups your cheek. “You’ll feel better soon; just close your eyes and let your Channie look after you.”

“Chan…” You’re finding it harder and harder to move your body with every second. It feels as if your muscles are turning to sludge and bones rubber. You try to lift your arm from where it flopped to your stomach when he laid you down, yet you can’t lift it.

Chan watches the panic fill your eyes and strokes his hand over your head, then back to your cheek again. “You’re okay, my love, I’ll never let anything happen to you. Your Channie will always look after you.”

You can’t even open your mouth to respond. A choked sound leaves your parted lips as your vision starts blurring darkly around the edges.

“I will do whatever I need to, to make sure that nobody can ever hurt you again, my angel,” his voice is taking on a strange otherworldly quality, fading in and out every other syllable.

It feels as if you’re becoming one with the ground under you. It’s still hard against your back, yet it feels as if you’re melting into it, like every point of contact is rapidly ceasing to exist as you fight to keep your eyes open.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Chan’s warped voice meets you. He says something else, but a buzzing appears, overlapping his muffled words until the high pitched sound is all you can hear.

You feel something touch your forehead and brush down gently, forcing your eyes closed. You don’t have the strength to open them again.

It’s pitch black, only the ringing for company until suddenly, it leaves.

There’s barely time to register the pure silence before your consciousness melts into the ground to join the rest of you.

Everything comes back to you all at once.

Your body jerks awake as your eyes fly open. The soft, natural light around you is too bright on your sore eyes and the gentle sound of the birds outside singing their morning song pierces your sensitive ears. Instinctively, you close your eyes and lift your hands with the intention of pressing your palms to your ears to block out the noise, but something stops you from raising your hands more than a few inches.

Panicked, your eyes open and look down to find thick, padded straps around your wrists and buckled in place with a chain connecting each to the wooden frame of the bed under you. You tug, but they don’t give. You try to move your legs, but your ankles are bound in the same way; even if you don’t look at them to check, you just know you’d see the same binds there.

“Breathe,” the voice is familiar, is the one that you’re so used to listening to that you find yourself listening and taking some deep, stabilising breaths without even thinking about it. “Good girl.”

After a few seconds, you realise that Chan is in the room; the strange room where you’re cuffed to a strange bed. You have no idea where you are; the walls look wooden and it smells kind of musty, like it hasn’t been used in a while, but the familiar scent of Chan’s laundry detergent meets your nose from the soft, clean pillow under your head when you turn your head to try and find the man.

He’s sitting in a rickety old rocking chair near the closed door of the small room.

There’s nothing else in the room; no curtains on the window on the wall, which the right side of the bed is pushed against; the window is cracked open, letting in fresh air but even from where you’re laid, you can see bars on the outside. There’s a bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling emitting a redundant, soft orange glow. And nothing else.

Just you, the bed, the chair, and the man you thought was your best friend looking at you as he gently rocks back and forth, back and forth, the chair creaking with every movement.

For tense moments, minutes maybe, you just stare at Chan in horror. This is not the man you’ve spent the past almost two years side by side with. This is not the man you had been seconds away from telling that you finally loved him with everything in you.

Your Chan is beautiful inside and out; with bright eyes always shining with mirth and adoration when they find you, and a smile that could weaken the toughest of hearts. He was love and happiness. Your love. Your happiness. You don’t know where that’s gone.

This Chan terrifies you. His face is flat, no smile, no sparkle in his eyes. He’s looking at you with an expression so dark and haunting; something similar to the way he looked when you told him that Kyle turned up at your apartment building all those months ago in the café, yet somehow so much worse.

For the first time since meeting Lee Chan, you look at him and you want to be as far away as possible, and then further. This isn’t a man you want to be near. Yet, you’re left without a choice.

“Wha-what’s going on, Chan?” You stammer.

“This is your fault, you know,” he informs matter-of-factly. “If you had just said yes to me that day, if you hadn’t held onto that fucking asshole, then this would’ve never happened. We could be at home, in bed; I could be buried deep in your pussy and filling you with cum again and again until you’re round with my baby. We could’ve been happy; had our family, gotten married,” he huffs a dry laugh and abruptly stops rocking. “We could’ve had the perfect fucking family, baby! We could’ve been perfect. But no! You had to cling to that asshole!” He gets to his feet, flinging his arms up in the air as his lips start to split into a disbelieving smile.

He doesn’t even seem to notice that you flinch and try to move further away from him as he steps closer. He seems entirely caught up in his own monologue as he starts to pace the short length of the room to your left.

“I’ve done everything I can to win you over! I studied you for fucking months before showing myself to you. Changed my hair, changed my style, even changed my fucking interests to suit your tastes!” He wheels around and stalks closer to put his right hand on the headboard above you while he stares down at you with eyes wide. “I fucking hate flowers, you know? Hate those stupid fucking things, yet I read every fucking book I could find to learn about them. Learned how to grow them from tiny little seeds all for you,” he points at you. “And what thanks do I get?” He laughs and pushes away from the bed to turn and take a few steps away. “Nothing! Okay, no, no, that’s not fair to you,” he concedes.

Chan turns to face you with his hands and features settled so suddenly into something so placating that you wonder if you had imagined the unhinged mess he was seconds ago.

“I got to taste that pretty little pussy and feel it around my cock, your mouth too. Fuck, baby, I could’ve held out longer if you hadn’t ended that but you, you little cock tease, had to give me a taste of heaven and rip it away from me.” He tuts disapprovingly and gives you an exaggerated pout. “You’ve really broken my heart, you know?”

“Th-then let me go and you never ha-have to see me again,” you try to reason, but he laughs; a full, loud, rolling laugh while leaning over with his hands on his knees as if you’ve told the best joke he’s ever heard.

“Oh, angel!” He exclaims as he straightens up, clapping his hands amusedly. “That’s good, really good. You’re so funny, baby, it’s one of the things I love most about you. You’ve always made me laugh.”

For a few seconds, he looks at you so tenderly that he looks like your Chan again; the Chan you fell in love with, the Chan you wish you had realised was a trick from the start. It makes sense that he always called you naïve when he knows from experience how easy it is to fool you.

“You’re mine now, ‘till death do us part and all that. Sorry I don’t have a ring for you, I’ve never been one for accessories.” He lifts his bare hands to wiggle them at you.

It’s only now that you realise he isn’t wearing a single piece of jewellery, something you thought wasn’t possible for your Chan. His clothes aren’t baggy and hiding his form, and hair no longer shaggy and in his eyes. He’s wearing blue jeans like usual, but these ones are straight legged and show off his thick thighs and ass; his plain white fitted t-shirt is tucked into his jeans neatly, showcasing his slim waist and strong upper body; with his hair neatly styled back in a casual, yet neat, manner. You’ve never seen him like this; he looks older this way, less playful.

It's another reminder that he’s not your Chan. He never truly was.

“I wish it didn’t come to this; you know?” He comments while walking over to sit on the edge of the bed by your waist and brush the back of his fingers over your cheek, entirely ignoring the way you flinch away from this touch, even if it is painfully tender. “You’re so beautiful; I’ve wanted you from the moment I first laid eyes on you, even if you never saw me.” He sighs dramatically and gets up to stand beside the bed. “Even back then you looked anywhere but me. It’s funny though,” he muses, pacing a little as his lips start to lift and bring back that manic smile he earlier wore.

It scares the shit out of you.

“You never once questioned your bad luck,” he quotes your own words with a mocking tone, trying not to laugh as he does so. “Or how it only appeared once I came into your life. You really are fucking naïve, baby.”

“What did you do?” You whisper, horrified at the realisation that Chan had been the reason that all of your relationships have failed.

Now that you think about it, he had always warned you away from them all for some reason; some kind of claim of a bad feeling, a rumour, seeing them kissing another woman. You never questioned how he always had something to say about every single man you showed interest in, or seemed to know things he shouldn’t really know. You put too much trust in the man from day one and now it’s come back to bite you in the ass.

“Whatever I needed to. It was all so easy too, like you wanted a reason to leave them all. I really thought it was because you wanted me,” he laughs darkly and pins an equally as dark look on you as his smile drops. “And then Kyle came along. Fucking Kyle. Perfect Kyle with his clean record and respect and giant, squishy heart. Well, it’s extra squishy now I pushed him off the road,” he laughs, eyes lighting with twisted delight.

“No,” you choke out. “You- no- you didn’t- tell me you didn’t do that to him, Chan,” you plead desperately.

Chan laughs and walks over to lean over you again, his left hand braced against the headboard and the other playing with the strands of your hair on the pillow beside your head. “If only you had believed me. If you hadn’t let him talk to you that day; if you had just kicked him out and come right to me like you were supposed to, it would’ve never happened, angel. You had me right there waiting for you and you picked that asshole and now guess what?” He looks at you with a bright, manic smile, eyes wide and shining with mirth you wish doesn’t exist. “He’s never fucking waking up, baby!” He beams, looking so proud of himself. “I made sure of that!”

You feel sick to your stomach.

It must show on your face because Chan’s own falls and he frowns at you. “Don’t look at me like that. This isn’t my fault.” He scoffs and backs up from the bed as that terrifyingly haunting look returns to his features. “I didn’t think I’d have to go this far; I thought you’d accept all those rumours and evidence I spent so much time, money, and effort planting. I bribed and blackmailed so many people the past months. Got the asshole fucking convicted and you still refuse to pick me.”

Chan sighs heavily, as if it really does pain him, before he pivots and walks to the door to open it, though he turns just enough to look back at you.

“I can’t tell if you’re too smart to believe all that or fucking stupid to still want to be by his side after all the accusations. Maybe he did brainwash your naïve little self.”

He stares at you for an unnervingly long moment as if he’s trying to figure you out and wondering what exactly Kyle did to earn your loyalty, and how exactly he can mimic it to make you his.

“Oh well,” he decides with a shrug, making you jolt at his sudden voice. “Not that it matters anymore because I’m not letting you leave here. If you’re not going to be mine on your own terms, we’re doing it my way.”

He closes the door after him, and you break with the sound of the lock clicking into place.

Tears roll down your cheeks and temples, soaking the soft pillow under your head as sobs tear from your chest. You keep tugging at the binds holding you down, yet they don’t budge.

You’re stuck here.

Even if you somehow escape your binds, there are bars on the window and a lock securing the thick wooden door.

You’re stuck here. For good.

Forever.

Stuck with the man you had trusted to look after you, to be by your side for a long time. You just never expected it to be like this. You as his prisoner; his little plaything to do with as he pleases until he gets bored of you and then… you don’t even want to think about it.

The sun slowly rises higher and higher into the sky and finally, you stop pulling at your binds, stop crying; out of energy and tears with your whole body hurting, yet nothing in comparison to the pain in your heart where it’s stomped into the wooden floorboards and covered in Chan’s footprints.

You dread the moment he returns. Dread having to live your life like this.

But you know you don’t have a choice. You’re his now, to do with as he pleases. You no longer have a choice in how your life goes.

The click of the lock disengaging sends fear racing through your tired body, adrenaline pumping, yet there’s still nothing you can do as Chan steps into the room with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face.

“Hi baby, it’s time for food! I made your favourite.”

As you watch him approach wearing that same cute smile that first drew you to him, all you can do is curse yourself for being so fucking naïve.

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