#love yourself!au

[whatachaos]

Lawlu knights!AU in which Law is very very VERY dense (he's gonna fall in love so fast it's embarassing really,,,,,,,,,,)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[bunnieswithknives]

OK JUST A LITTLE THING BECAUSE IM INSANE @cubbihue

Song: Plastic by Cheekface

[itneverendshere]

Could you maybe do a one shot of insecure reader x rafe? Reader doesn't believe Rafe finds her actually sexually attractive and her insecurities/bad self esteem are putting a strain on their relationship. And there is that whole ''her having a problem with him liking her, because she does not like herself so she is uncomfortable and pushes him away'' type of deal. Maybe he shots himself in the foot when she asks if he finds her attractive, and because he knows her self esteem is so low, he is trying to comfort her by answering ''Looks aren't important in life '' and she feels heartbroken. She from then is short in texts, doesn't answer his calls etc.

get to the bottom of you - r.c (+18)

pairing: insecure!reader x lover boy!rafe warnings: angst; mentions of low self-esteem; smut

His room should have been a place of comfort—a place where you felt safe—it wasn’t tonight.

You could hear him moving around in the bathroom, the sound of the faucet running, the clinking of his toothbrush against the sink. You should have been inside with him, brushing your teeth side by side, playfully jostling him with your elbow like you usually did. His laughter had echoed through the door just a few minutes ago as he’d told some joke you didn’t catch.

Normally, you’d laugh too, even if you didn’t understand the punchline, but tonight you barely mustered a smile. You couldn’t help it. You’d been feeling off for days now.

You loved him. That wasn’t in question. But the doubts mocking you—the insecurity, the voice in your head that whispered, why would he want someone like you?—were getting louder. It had been there since the start, this ever-present thought that you were out of place. That a guy like Rafe couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like you.

You loved him with everything you had, but how could you let him love you back when you couldn’t even like yourself?

He had been nothing but patient with you since the beginning, but no matter how many times he reassured you, the voice in your head—the one that whispered that you weren’t good enough, that you weren’t what he wanted—never seemed to quiet down. You couldn’t see yourself the way Rafe did. The compliments he gave you always felt empty, like he was just saying what he thought you wanted to hear. 

Earlier tonight, he'd had been busy texting on his phone, and the longer you sat there, the more the voices in your head snapped at you. He hadn’t looked at you in what felt like hours, hadn’t even noticed the way you’d been shifting awkwardly in your seat.

He was the guy who turned heads when he walked into a room. Confident, self-assured, with a sharp smile and piercing blue eyes that could make anyone feel like the center of the universe.

You weren’t like the girls you’d seen him with before. They were stunning, all sharp cheekbones, and perfect hair, the kind of women that could stop someone in their tracks. You, on the other hand, had always been self-conscious—your appearance, your body, the way you looked in clothes. It wasn’t that you hated yourself exactly; you just… never felt enough. Not enough for someone like him.

That’s what kept you up at night.

The door opened, and Rafe stepped out, smiling at you, toothbrush still in hand.

His blue eyes sparkled as he walked over to you, leaning against the wall casually. His hair was damp from washing his face, and he had that easy, relaxed look on his face that usually made your heart flutter. 

“You okay, baby?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing, as always.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile,“Yeah, just tired,” you murmured, pushing your phone aside and getting up from the bed. You crossed the room to the window, feeling the cool breeze against your skin.

You hated this—hated that you couldn’t just let things be, hated that your mind was always spinning in circles, convincing you that something was wrong. But it was hard to shake the feeling that you didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve him.

He, always so perceptive, frowned slightly and walked over to you. He placed his hands on your waist and gently pulled you back against him. His warmth should’ve been reassuring, but instead, it only made you feel more fragile. “You sure?” he pressed, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you lied again, this time a little more firmly, hoping he wouldn’t push.

But of course, he did.

 “You’ve been quiet all night.” His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer. Normally, you’d melt into him, but tonight, it felt different. Heavy.

You stared out at the darkened horizon, biting your lip. Maybe this was your moment to ask the question that had been eating at you for the past weeks, but every time you shoved it back down, afraid of the answer.

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to find the right words. You didn’t want to sound ridiculous, didn’t want to admit how insecure you felt. “Rafe..”

“Yeah?” he whispered, his breath tickling your neck.

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of your shirt, his shirt, and you turned around in his arms, meeting his focused gaze. “Do you… do you find me attractive?”

His brows furrowed at your question. It was such a simple question, but to you, it felt like everything. Like the entire foundation of your relationship was resting on his answer. Your heart was pounding now, and you could feel the burn of tears threatening to surface.

“What?” he asked softly, “Why would you even ask that?”

You felt a lump in your throat, and you swallowed hard. “I just… I need to know.”

Rafe’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. He opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. You watched his eyes flicker with uncertainty, and that hesitation made your heart sink.

“Looks aren’t everything, y'know,” he said quietly, his tone careful, as if he was walking on eggshells.

You froze.

His words echoed again in your head, and your worst fear—the one that had been brewing inside you for so long—solidified in front of you.

Looks aren’t everything.

He wasn’t saying yes. He wasn’t reassuring you, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he wanted you, how much you meant to him. Instead, he was saying that it didn’t matter. That it was irrelevant. Your chest tightened, and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the heartbreak that was building in your veins.

You pushed him away gently, stepping back out of his embrace.

“Right,” you whispered, your voice breaking. You couldn’t look at him now, not with your vision swimming and your throat closing up.

“Wait, that’s not—” Rafe began, stepping forward, his hand reaching for you. “That’s not what I meant. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“C-Can you please let me go?”

He didn’t want you, not in the way you needed him to.

He must have seen the change in your expression, because his eyes widened, and he immediately backpedaled. “No, no, you know hat’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice tinged with panic. “I didn’t mean—”

You pulled your hand away from his, shaking your head as the tears welled up in your eyes. “It’s fine,” you whispered, even though it wasn’t. Your voice cracked, and you hated that you couldn’t keep it together.

Rafe reached for you again, but you stood up before he could grab your hand. “Hey, wait,” he said, standing up as well, his voice pleading now. “That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant.”

But you couldn’t listen to him, not when every insecurity you had about yourself had just been confirmed. You didn’t want to hear him explain, didn’t want to hear whatever excuse he was going to give you. You needed space. 

Without another word, you turned and walked to the door, your hands trembling as you reached for the handle.

"Please don’t go," Rafe's voice was quiet, a vulnerability in it that you weren’t used to hearing. He sounded scared, and that hurt even more because you knew this wasn’t his fault. Not really. It was you—your insecurities, your doubts, your inability to believe that someone like him could truly want someone like you.

"I just need a minute.”

The hallway felt cold compared to the warmth of his room. You pressed your back against the wall, sinking to the floor, your knees pulled to your chest. You could still hear him moving around inside, pacing maybe, and it made your stomach twist in knots.

How had things gone so wrong so quickly?

You buried your face in your hands, trying to calm yourself but it was no use. The tears came, hot and fast, burning your cheeks as you sobbed quietly. You hated this. You hated feeling so unsure of yourself, so small, so unworthy. And you hated that Rafe, the one person who made you feel safe, had unknowingly thrown all of that into question.

Looks aren’t everything.

It wasn't about whether you thought he was shallow—Rafe had never been that type of guy—but the way he hesitated, the way he tiptoed around your question.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out, your vision still blurry from the tears. It was a group chat notification from the friends you had been out with earlier that week. A picture had been sent, one of the group photos taken during the event. You scanned through it, your attention landing on a figure that made your heart sink further—her.

Rafe’s ex, standing tall and confident beside him, her radiant smile lighting up the frame. Her beauty was undeniable—perfectly coiffed hair, a jawline that could cut glass, and an air of effortless poise that seemed to draw everyone in. Adriana Lima, but real. 

And next to her? You.

The contrast between you two felt overwhelming. How could you, with your insecurities and imperfections, ever hope to measure up to someone like her? The thought that Rafe had once been with someone like that, someone who seemed flawless in every way... it killed you.

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even hers. It was you.

You needed to leave. You needed space. Without another glance back, you pushed yourself off the floor and slipped out his house, the hallway eerily quiet as you hurried toward the stairs, wiping at your tear-streaked face.

As the door slid shut, you could hear the faint sound of his footsteps, but by then it was too late. You got in your car speeding off before he could open the door.

After that night, things only got worse. You’d pulled back, distancing yourself from him in every way possible. You didn’t answer his texts for hours, and when you did, they were short, clipped replies. You stopped calling him back, ignored the missed calls that filled your phone—everything. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to him; you just couldn’t. Not yet.

You hated it. You hated yourself for pushing him away, but more than that, you hated the way you couldn’t stop spiraling.

You avoided places where you might run into him. No coffee shops, no mutual friends’ gatherings. You threw yourself into work, into anything that could distract you from thinking about him, about the look on his face when you’d left him there.

You missed him—missed his laugh, missed the way he’d pull you close just because, missed the way he’d make you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you.

On the third night, you were lying in bed, staring blankly at your phone screen. Rafe had sent a text earlier, and though you’d ignored it, you couldn’t bring yourself to delete it like the others.

Rafe: i miss you. please talk to me. just want to know you’re okay.

You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching the phone tighter in your hand. You wanted to answer. You wanted to tell him that you missed him too, that you were okay—but the truth was, you weren’t. You hadn’t been okay for a long time, and you didn’t know how to explain that to him. Every little insecurity, every time you’d felt like you weren’t enough.

Your chest tightened again, you wished you could be different, stronger, more secure in yourself. You wished you could believe him, that you could trust his words. Your phone buzzed again, and this time you hesitated before picking it up. It was another text from him.

Rafe: i get that you need space, but please don’t shut me out. i don’t know what else to say except i love you. i just wanna talk.

I love you.

You stared at the words on the screen. He loved you. Maybe that should have been enough. Maybe it was enough, but somehow, you still felt hollow, still felt like you were standing on the outside of your own life. You locked your phone without responding, tossing it onto the bed next to you as you buried your face in your hands.

You were terrified that if you let him in now if you finally told him how you felt, it might break something between you two. But hadn’t something already broken?

The next two weeks seemed never-ending, the hours blurring together as you went through the motions at your internship, half-heartedly responding to emails, nodding through conversations, and generally just existing.

By the time you returned home, you felt like you’d been run over by a truck. As you kicked off your shoes, there was a soft knock on your door.

Your heart sank.

You knew it was him before you even opened it. Rafe stood there, his hands in his pockets. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. 

“Can we talk?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading, searching your face for any sign that you might push him away again.

You stepped back, letting him in, and closed the door softly behind him. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you gestured for him to sit, though neither of you moved right away. Rafe stayed standing, studying your face, and you could tell that he was trying to figure out how to begin.

“I—" he started, but then stopped, running a hand through his hair, like he’d been rehearsing those words over and over in his head. “I don’t know what to say, honestly. I’ve been trying to figure out what I did wrong, what I said wrong. But I don’t think it’s just about what I said that night, is it?”

He wasn’t mad, he wasn’t frustrated—he was just… sad. Sad that you hadn’t let him in. Sad that you had been carrying all of this on your own.

You felt a lump form in your throat, and your chest tightened again, but this time it was from knowing you’d done this to him. It was from knowing that you’d pushed him away.

You couldn’t run from this anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “It’s not you. It’s me. I know that’s such a cliché, but—I don’t know how to fix this.”

Rafe took a cautious step closer, his hands still in his pockets, like he didn’t want to crowd you but couldn’t stay away either.

“I don’t need you to fix anything. Just need you to talk to me, okay? To tell me what’s going on in your pretty head, even if it’s hard.”

“I don’t understand why you’d want to be with someone like me.”

His brows knitted together in concern. “Someone like you?” he repeated, like the concept was absurd. He stepped closer again, reaching for your hand, but this time you didn’t pull away, “You mean the love of my life?”

The love of his life.

It sounded so easy when he said it. So genuine. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d never even considered anyone else. But how could he be so sure when you weren’t?

“What if you get tired of me?” your voice was so meek it nearly killed him, the fear in your voice so so vulnerable. “What if one day, you wake up and realize you could be with someone better? Someone like—”

“Stop,” he interrupted his voice firm. “There is no someone else, baby. There is no one better. M' here because I want to be here. With you. I chose you. I’ll keep choosing you. Even when you’re doubting yourself, even when you think you don’t deserve it. I’ll still be here, because I love you. And I need you to believe that, okay?”

You swallowed hard, your chest still aching from the emotion bubbling up inside you. 

“But what if I can’t stop doubting?” 

Rafe stepped closer, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze, “Then we’ll work through it together,” he said softly. “M' not going anywhere. Doubt all you want. Question it if you have to. But don’t ever shut me out again, you hear me? I can’t lose you.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed softly across your cheek, his attention unwavering, filled with a tenderness that nearly broke you. There he was, standing in front of you, patient, willing to wait, to love you through every insecurity you tried to hide.

“Okay,” you muttered.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he brushed a tear away with his thumb. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice hopeful, as if he was waiting for a sign that maybe you were ready to let him in again.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice not to break. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be held by him.

“Lemme prove it to you, please.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, and then his hand was on the back of your neck, tugging you to him. Your lips met his in a hungry kiss, moving together and tongues running along one another.

He grips your waist and moved you like you weigh nothing. You could feel his warmth seeping into your skin, and for the first time in days, your insecurities started to lift. His lips never left yours, deepening the kiss as he pressed you against the door, his body flush against yours, grounding you.

His hands touched your body with a gentle urgency, pulling you closer, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, blunt fingernails digging into your skin. 

He broke the kiss for a moment, breathless, his lips shiny with your spit, “You don’t see it, do you?” he murmured softly, his fingers tracing your lips with a reverence that made your heart burst, “You don’t know how badly I want you. How perfect you are to me.”

His hands moved lower, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your waist, his touch firm but gentle as if reassuring you that he meant every word.

“Let me show you,” he repeated, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth before trailing down to your jaw, then lower to your neck, where he placed soft, heated sloppy kisses that made you shiver. “Every inch of you, fuck—I love everything.”

His big hands moved to your ass, squeezing the flesh so hard, you were sure it would bruise. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he groaned against your lips, his hands now sliding under your sleeping shorts, feeling every inch of bare skin. “Your skin—so soft. I can’t get enough of you.” 

A fervent moan slipped past your lips when his hard cock pressed against your thighs. You could feel his breath against your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there, making you gasp.

“I need you,” he whispered against your ear, his voice rough with want. "I need you to believe me."

And for a moment, you did. You let yourself sink into him, his warmth, his strength, his words—all of it. You let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could love you the way you needed him to.

His fingers slid under the hem of your shirt, pulling it up as his lips trailed lower, over your collarbone, to the top of your chest. His hands squeeze the flesh of your ass, a sharp slap echoing through the room as you whimpered, and he chuckled before taking a nipple into his mouth and working it with his tongue.

His hands were everywhere—gripping, squeezing, exploring—as though he was trying to memorize every inch of you, to show you exactly what he meant.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging softly before your nails pressed into his neck, eliciting a groan against your nipple. He then shifted to the other side, his tongue flickering rapidly against the hardening peak. The feel of his mouth on your skin, the way his hands moved over you with such care, made your head spin. 

You gasped as his mouth worked its magic, alternating between teasing bites and soft licks that.

"Rafe..." you breathed, your voice shaky as his lips trailed back up, capturing yours again in a heated kiss. You could feel him everywhere, pressing into you. It was overwhelming, the way he moved, the way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered.

His fingers slid under the waistband of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin of your hips before he tugged them down in one swift motion. You kicked them off, your breath quickening as he pressed himself against you, his hard cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Do you believe me now?” he groaned against your lips, his voice hoarse from how long he’d been kissing every part of you.

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to hear you say it. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"I believe you.”

His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve, every dip, like he was worshipping you. He lifted you easily, carrying you over to the couch and laying you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours. You watched as he stood, pulling off his shirt and boxers in one fluid motion before climbing over you, his body hovering just above yours.

His skin was warm, his muscles tense as he held himself back, waiting for your permission. You reached up, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, his chest, his abs, before pulling him down to you. He settled between your legs, his cock pressing against your heat, and you moaned softly, your body arching into his.

“God, I need you,” he groaned, his hips rolling against yours in a slow, torturous rhythm, his head nudging your clit, "Tell me you need me too."

“I do,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I need you, Rafe.”

That was all he needed to hear.

With one swift motion, he lined himself up and pushed inside you, filling you completely. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he stretched you, the feeling of him inside you so intense it made your head spin. He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged as he gave you a second to adjust.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “So perfect for me.”

His breathing was already ragged, soft moans filling your ears as moved with him. 

“Fuckin’—You were made for me, weren’t you?” He murmured against your ear, nipping at your earlobe as he gripped your hips. 

His words made your head spin, and you felt your breath stutter as you clamped down around him. He grinned against your ear, using the grip on your hair to tug your head back and look into your eyes.

You nodded, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes, f-fuck—”

His smile widened and he thrusted into you faster, the slap of skin on skin growing louder, “Atta girl. That’s my baby.”

"Rafe," you gasped, his name falling from your lips in a breathy moan as he hit a spot deep inside you that sent a wave of pleasure rolling through your body. He growled low in his throat at the sound, his hips rolling faster, driving deeper, his breath hot against your skin.

"Say it again," he urged, his voice a low rasp against your ear as his teeth grazed your neck. "Say my name."

You complied, your fingers digging into his back as you whispered his name again and again, each time more broken, more desperate. He groaned in response, his movements becoming rougher, more frantic as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“I love you,” he breathed out, the sincerity of his words almost lost in the haze of pleasure that surrounded you both. But you heard it—you felt it—and it was enough to push you closer to the edge.

His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, deliberate circles that made you cry out, your back arching off the couch as the pleasure built, spiraling higher and higher until you could barely breathe.

"I-I love you," he said again, the words spilling out between ragged breaths as his thumb pressed harder against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. "God, I love you so much. You're everything to me."

Your body trembled beneath him, teetering on the edge of release. The way he was holding you, like you were the most precious thing in the world—it was all too much, too perfect. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down so that your lips met again, your need for him matching his in every way.

"Rafe," you gasped against his lips, your body arching into his as the tension coiled tighter inside you, ready to snap.

“I got you,” he murmured, his voice soothing yet rough, his forehead pressing against yours as his fingers worked you closer to the brink. “Come for me, baby. I need t’feel you.”

And you did—your body tensing, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you cried out his name. Rafe groaned as you clenched around him, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release, his grip on your waist almost bruising as he buried himself deep inside you one last time, moaning your name as he came.

He stayed there, hovering above you, his face buried in your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses against your damp skin as you both came down from the high.

You didn’t speak right away, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, but when he finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes were soft, full of that same tenderness you’d seen earlier. His thumb brushed your cheek as he gazed down at you with a look that made your heart swell.

He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face as he traced your cheek.

“You okay?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you met his gaze. “I think I am.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it. You weren’t perfect, and maybe you never would be. But right now, in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you felt like you were enough.

And that was more than enough for him.

[pinkiepig]

I haven’t drawn a human in 8339849 years

[itty-bitty-sunshine]

Introducing: Immortal Au

(With doodles because i can't for dear life work on the written explanation for it yet)

Aka: The daycare assistant seems to have a bit more of experience on things than they let on, though there's a lot of rumors about them from the Staff. Huh, wonder why's that

(Update: Changed the title from "my immortal" to just "immortal" because people were suffering mkdheiwhwi)

[yuukirita]

Tomorrow...

It's actually a very happy chapter if you don't know about SecondBee Au... Compared to the last chapter at least. This one will make you laugh at least once (I hope)

Hug hug (or a single nod of the head)

[tealgoat]

What’s Odile’s relationship with Loop like in ur au?

Idea and designs from the wonderful @wonder-of-the-stars !!

They get a nice slow friendship as a treat ❤️

Surprisingly being not stuck talking to yourself and only yourself can help a lot

Odile figures out loops whole deal semi quickly and they have a lot of talks

Not necessarily about *the* problem but just problems

[pandeesall]

Happy Birthday, Noire!🎉

@north-noire Hope u had a good one!🎂🎁🎈✨

[glass-noodle]

drift compatible

(pacific rim AU)

thanks @extraordinaryandroid for dragging me into this movie and this AU I’m dying. I’m living

[hypostatic-oath]

Hydro Archon, Hydro Archon, Don't Cry

I've noticed a pattern with 5star characters in my game - they only come home after I've done their story quest or at least the Archon Quest where they appear. From an in-game perspective it's obviously because it takes me a while to finish the quest and I raise the pity in the meantime, however... from a SAGAU perspective, it's adorable that they only come around after I've spent the time to get to know them better.

Content Warnings: Angst, Furina desperately needs a hug.

SPOILERS FOR 4.2 BELOW

Imagine Furina before the Archon Quest. She's holding it together, like she has been for five hundred years. She's been performing her role so well for so long, yet she feels like she's already gone beyond her limit. She doesn't know how long she can handle doing this for, but she knows she must.

Late at night, she takes a break to catch some air. She's aware that she's still performing - she's alone, but she cannot risk lowering her mask, even before an invisible audience. She takes a deep breath and looks up, and doesn't even feel the tears flowing down her face.

A shimmering light crosses the sky.

Foçalors, it beckons. Come home.

Oh no. Not this. She's not ready, she's not ready! Not tonight. She tells herself she'll answer your summons tomorrow. In truth, she doesn't feel worthy of answering. What if she's not what you expect?

That isn't even a question. She knows she's not what you expect.

She knows you have other Archons - real Archons - among your Vessels. She panics - she doesn't even have a Vision, much less an Archon's authority. There's only so much she can achieve with acting. What would she do when you took her out on the battlefield and she inevitably failed?

Come on... Another shooting star crosses the sky, your voice a faint, ethereal whisper in her ears. I need an Archon team...

It fills her with dread. She can't answer your summons! She absolutely can't! Not only would she disappoint you - because there's no way she wouldn't, surely, she can't imagine a world in which you are not disappointed once you figure out just what she is, a fraud who can't even use Hydro much less be the literal Archon - she'd also jeopardize her only purpose.

She rushes inside, back to her room, closes the shutters and the window and the curtains and almost leaps into bed, placing the covers over herself as if to shield herself from the world.

She can still hear you calling.

The next day, Poisson is struck. The prophecy is in full swing. She's frantic, searching for something, anything that could possibly help. All the while maintaining the façade. At least you seem to have given up.

It's both relieving and heartbreaking.

At night, she doesn't even risk it - her windows are kept shut. She analises every report, and locks her door when she notices that she's crying, the papers she's holding becoming dotted with tears that fall despite her best efforts. She can hear the rain hitting her window, and the downpour has her feeling even more hopeless.

Neuvillette speaks with her in the following morning. If the pressure from you wasn't enough, she now also has to manage to assure the Hydro Dragon Sovereign that she has everything under control. It's funny, how those eyes capable of such gentleness seem to gaze into her without a shred of mercy. Just speaking to him now feels like she's been put on trial, and Furina knows, deep down in her soul, that she is guilty.

He presses. Poisson has fallen. She knows. She also knows she's likely crying, the mask is slipping, but she can't give up. She has no right - no right at all, to sacrifice the lives of every person in Fontaine for the sake of her comfort. She cannot afford to slip up. And that means she cannot trust anyone - not you, and not Neuvillette. So she gathers the little control she can at this time, tells him she knows exactly what she's doing, and dashes out the door.

Wait, Furina!

She barely hears your voice as she runs. "I'm sorry, but I can't answer!" She thinks, as she rushes to the top floor of the Palais Mermonia. She knows she gas no time to lose. She needs to get herself in check, to wipe away her tears, to figure something out. Where had she gone wrong? Five hundred years, searching for a solution. Five hundred years of observing every trial, hoping it'll finally be the one she needs. But nothing.

She has nothing, and Poisson has fallen.

She thought the Traveler - and you, by extension - would be the key. That by judgding them she'd have the "most magnificent trial" that her mirror self spoke of. And yet, at every turn, the blonde outlander had managed to evade being sentenced, or even making the trial as grand as she'd expected. She paces around in her room as she mulls it over. Should she had judged you directly? Could she have done so? That would've been a trial for the ages - the Overseer, brought to justice by the Hydro Archon of Fontaine, for the crime of... what could she even accuse you of? Posessing people's bodies? That had to be illegal - or at least immoral enough to warrant a trial...

She lets her body flop onto the bed, covering her eyes with one arm as she lets out a sigh that despite its overdramatic appearance, is in fact incredibly genuine. She's tired. So tired.

Foçalors, come home.

Furina buries her face beneath one of the pillows. She hopes it'll drown out the sound of your voice. She can't distinguish whether that ache in her chest is from your summons growing more insistent or from how much she needs to cry.

The shooting star turns golden outside the window, and Furina wonders if the fact that someone else intercepted it will be enough to dissuade you. She hopes it is, otherwise, her days are numbered.

No more stars cross the sky that night, and relief washes over her body, in a wave so intense that she once again doesn't notice the tears. She falls asleep like that, and dreams of rising waters.

Furina heads to the Opera Epiclese in the morning. She's not looking forward to seeing Neuvillette, but she prays that there'll be a trial. "Please," she thinks, as she sits down in the throne reserved for the Hydro Archon, observing the stage from on high, "let it be today."

It isn't. Instead of a trial, there is a performance... and though she usually loves them, now is not the time. Worse yet, she's spotted by the crowd as she's getting ready to leave. They're angry, of course they are. The prophecy is true, and what is their Archon doing? Furina performs as best as she can, but this time the audience is completely unreceptive. She doesn't blame them. She'd be angry, too, in their shoes. She knows they're terrified. She's terrified, too.

But what can she do? Her search has turned up empty. She has no powers, not really, none besides the power of persuasion and even that seems to be slipping more and more these days. She cannot reassure her people. Neuvillette no longer trusts her, if he ever did. The water rises every day with no signs of stopping.

"Why, mirror-me? Where am I failing?"

The crowd chases her out of the theater. Neuvillette is nowhere in sight, and even if he were, Furina isn't sure she could call upon him now. The time in which he acted as her shield if gone. Neuvillette is now just another of the many she's disappointed.

It hurts.

With no other choice, she runs - as far as her legs will take her, she dashes away from the crowd, and guilt tells her she's being a coward. That she needs to stand up and reassure the masses, that she needs to do what an Archon would at that time.

The notion feels almost ridiculous. She cannot command her element freely like Barbatos, or raise protections over her city like Morax. She cannot threaten to strike down the unruly like the Shogun, nor does she have Lesser Lord (Lesser Lord! Hah! Even someone known as 'Lesser' is leagues beyond Furina's ability) Kusanali's foresight and wisdom.

So she does what she can do.

Whether it is fate or simply her own feelings of guilt, she finds herself in Poisson, at the base of the Spina di Rosula. The place where all those people - her people - had lost their lives to a disaster she was supposed to prevent.

When the Traveler extends their hand, she doesn't know whether it is a blessing or a curse. She wants to run again - what else can she do? But her pursuers are apparently still giving chase, and the outlander offers her aid. She can feel your presence from within them - every time she's crossed paths with them, as brief as those moments were, you were there. She can tell that the longing in the blonde's eyes is, at least in part, yours.

She's sorry.

She follows the Traveler to the hiding place - someone's home? It seems irrelevant. For a moment, she wonders if she could sue you for invasion of private property. "Oh, what am I thinking? The time for the grand trial is over... and even if it weren't, suing the Overseer for something so trivial would warrant the same result as the first time I challenged the Traveler..."

The Traveler. The outlander whose presence preceeded disaster. They were known for solving it, sure, but she knew that the moment they set foot in Fontaine the prophecy would have already started. Was it their fault, or yours?

Furina still feels like it might be hers.

The Traveler offers help once again. They extend their hand, and the look in their eyes as they ask her to confide in them is so earnest, so genuine. She swars she can hear two sets of voices saying the words - the Traveler's, and yours. It's faint, and gentle, and pained, and carries a yearning she knows she cannot fix.

Through them, you reach for her and she almost breaks. She knows you'll stop reaching once you know the truth.

Furina, please. You can trust us, love. Let me- let us help. People from your world cannot know, but neither of us fit that criteria. Your people will not dissolve, I promise you. I've seen enough worlds to know.

She considers it.

She hears your voice, and considers it. But there is uncertainty in your tone. You're gambling, and she's a good enough actress to know you're not sure yourself. They wouldn't do it, that's your reasoning. Furina doesn't know who 'they' are, but you're placing all your bets on the fact that 'they' would not erase an entire Nation. Who are 'they'? Celestia? If so, she knows for certain that your wager is more optimistic than based on facts. It's not enough - blind optimism is not enough for her to risk it, not even from a being like you. Besides, that is not her choice to make.

She cannot give up. She cannot lower her guard. Not with Neuvillette, not with the Traveler, not with you. The Traveler urges her for a response, reaches out, and she's about to deny them, when the house's walls fall.

Damn it, we needed more time! Furina, I'm so sorry.

She feels your sorrow about at the same time that she feels the spotlight on her.

Neuvillette looks down from his seat as the Chief Justice, and somehow the sliver of pity in his eyes hurts more than the coldness of a few days prior.

She's on trial.

________

She's crying.

She's not even making an effort to conceal it anymore. It's over. The curtains have closed and everything she worked so hard for has crumbled. The people know. Neuvillette knows. You know. Furina makes no effort to hear your voice. She knows you're disappointed.

If she did, perhaps she'd hear how you're screaming at the Traveler to go check on her. If she did, perhaps she'd hear how despite everything, you're reaching out, still. How you wish to hold her tight, as she deserves. She'd perhaps hear your outrage at the thought of her being subjected to the death sentence, she'd hear you trying to tear Neuvillette apart for allowing it, she'd hear you slowly realising that the fact that the sentence is addressed to the Hydro Archon means it's not her who dies.

She doesn't witness your relief.

Instead, it is you who gain an understanding of her thoughts. The Traveler reaches for her, and she can feel you pushing through, but she can't stop performing. Even now, she's still holding it, as much as she can.

You tear through her defenses with more ease than she expected. Furina had, until now, thought of you as detached. She knew you saw the world as a stage, a story for your amusement. Sure, you liked them, but only to the extent that one likes characters in a play, right? You were, as far as she knew, exactly the type of god - or, er, entity? - she emulated. Fickle. Boastful. Using lives as entertainment, watching trials and tribulations like a performance and solving the Nations' troubles like nothing more than a game. She had not expected you to care.

Not about her.

Not after knowing the truth.

You push forward. She knows it's you, and not the Traveler, who's in control. She can feel it, the intensity with which you reach out is the same she felt tugging at her very being every time a star crossed the sky. She knows it's you who's still trying to reach her. Even if she's failed.

Even if she's not capable of being in your Archon Team.

So she sighs, and lets you witness. That is your role, after all, isn't it? An audience of one, watching an interactive play. You haven't given up on her character, even though it's not what you expected. You're not what she expected, either. Funny, she finds herself thinking, you're both more human than anyone realised.

You witness her life. She lets it play out like a film before your eyes, the endless stream of memories of growing hopelessness as she realised that the prophecy was slowly setting itself up and she was not any closer to finding out how to stop it. Now you know - the truth, the whole truth. She has nothing left to lose now, anyway. Everything is lost. She was unmasked. She failed.

You're pushed out of her thoughts after she invites you to take your place on stage. You act in her memory, but this time the Traveler doesn't speak. You barely have time to state your piece - all you manage is an I'm sorry before being forced away. She has nothing more to share. That is enough, she figures, and far more than she ever thought she'd share. She still feels the urge to cry, but part of it is from relief.

After that, she doesn't feel your presence until after the flood.

The prophecy comes and goes and Fontaine is unharmed. The flood lasts no more than minutes, and no one is dissolved. Furina remembers your words - 'they' wouldn't do that. Though she is unsure as to 'their' identity, she is thankful that you were right. The sunlight feels like bliss upon her skin as she steps out of the Opera Epiclese, gentle rays drying the remaining water from the streets and the tears on her cheeks, and for the first time in five hundred years she breathes easy.

"They're still hoping you'll come." A familiar voice pulls her out of her trance. The Traveler, alone, stands behind her. Your presence is nowhere near. They look the same, yet different, without you within. Furina can't quite explain it, but it feels odd after being so used to seeing you within the outlander.

"I'm not an Archon." She answers, a certain bitterness in her voice as she looks down, defeated.

"I don't think they care. I know you need to rest for now, and they don't have enough primos for a ten pull anyways, but... just so you know. They'll keep trying."

Furina doesn't quite know whether that is meant as a warning or as an opportunity presenting itself. They're gone before she can ask. Either way, they're right - she is tired, and she does need rest. Out of instinct, she heads to the Palais Mermonia, but stops herself as she reaches for the door.

"Lady Furina." The gentle, deep voice she knows as belonging to the Iudex pulls her from her thoughts. She doesn't dare look him in the eye. He opens the door for her, but she simply turns away. She cannot face him, not after that trial, not after everything she'd done.

"Thank you, monsieur Neuvillette. But I... I think I'll be going, now."

The now fully restored Hydro Dragon can only watch as Furina walks away. He knows she needs her space right now, but that doesn't stop him from worrying for her. He'll arrange the best apartment he can get for her, and make sure she never lacks for anything. In the meantime, though, he'll just try not to let his emotions get the best of him, lest he causes a downpour to fall upon poor Furina, who definitely does not need rain right now. If there is one thing he knows about humans is that rain does not, for the most part, cheer them up. So he holds it in, promising himself that he'll take a small break for a walk after the aftermath of everything is over, and heads to his office.

There is so much to do...

_________

Three weeks pass. Furina lays on her bed, her window open, the soft breeze bringing the smell of a night that promises rain into the apartment. She is busy, not with work, or with renovations, but with the azure glass sphere that she holds up to the light, examining it under her lamp. A Vision... during all those years, she had never thought she'd receive such a thing, much less after being pushed away from her role as the Archon. She is thankful, yes, for her newfound freedom, and, she supposes, for the fact that she'd gotten to act again. But it still remains that this bauble was completely unexpected.

Power. This little thing can give her power. She's still unsure on how to use it, and it crosses her mind that the Traveler - or you - might know. You owe her, after all, after what she did to help you out with the play... she could feel you trying to strangle the Traveler and Paimon on the astral plane and that was perhaps why she wasn't entirely offended by their remarks. Still, she had made a great effort for that play. It was only fair that at least one of you repays the favor, no?

Furina smiles softly, sighing. She'll have to put up a commission at the Guild tomorrow.

She examines the light reflecting within, and it reminds her of the surface of the sea as seen from underwater. The holder, a silvery ornament not unlike those she's seen worn by Vision-bearers, has a distinct characteristic - four fang-like details that seem to secure the glass in place. Before she can give it more thought, the first pitter patter of raindrops reaches her ears, and she rushes to retrieve the clothes hanging on the line she has in the small balcony of her apartment before they get too wet. She rushes outside, hearing as the rain and wind pick up.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it..." She mutters to herself, quickly shoving the clothes onto a basket, trying to pick them off the line as fast as she can. Behind her, a flash of light illuminates the night sky. "Oh, I am so not in the mood for thunder..."

Furina cringes, hoping the storm is not directly above. Maybe she'll be able to sleep if it's just a faraway rumbling. What she hears, however, is not the booming sound of a storm.

Furina. Come home.

You're still trying. For a moment, she forgets about the heavy rain, and the clothes, and simply looks up at the sky. Blue flashes, one after the other, cross the clouds in rapid succession. Even after everything, you hadn't given up. The Traveler had warned her, but at the time she hadn't been in a stable enough state of mins to even care, still shaken from everything that had happened.

Now, she simply looks up.

"Overseer." She answers. You won't be able to add her to the 'Archon Team'. She knows she's not as powerful as most of your Vessels - hell, she doesn't even know how to use her Vision yet. But you still want her.

You know the truth - the whole truth - and you still want her.

The next star that crosses the sky turns gold, and glows brighter and brighter until it lands in front of her, hovering above the railing on her balcony. It emits a soft, warm light, and Furina reaches for it like she'd reached for her Vision.

Warmth spreads over her body, and it feels like every time she'd looked at the Traveler with you in them, except everything feels more... intense. It's not like she's seeing the filtered bits of you that shine through the cracks in someone else, no. She can feel you directly, and she understands why they call it 'coming home'. It's warm. It's comfortable. And for the first time she can truly, honestly say she doesn't feel alone.

You're happy she's there. Time seems to stop around her, and she finds herself dry and in a field full of stars. If she squints, she can barely make out a form, a swirling swarm of stardust in the vague shape of a person. She reaches a hand out.

You place the cursor over her outstretched hand.

Welcome home, Furina.

[keehomania]

frostbite (동상) ㅡ min yoongi (민윤기)

the second part can be found here

✧.* 18+

“cold as ice, hard as stone, never choose men over being alone,” was what your mother had found herself repeating to you your entire life. maybe not your entire life, actually. you couldn't really remember when the phrase was spoken into life, perhaps when you had turned twelve, thirteen; when you began to develop and mature, when push-up bras began to substitute training bras, when makeup began to gain significance, when she had noticed how older and younger men alike had started to smirk and leer more and more shamefully whenever you passed by.

it wasn't because she had it out for you. quite the opposite, actually. it was something her mother had sang to her, an invention of her own she had sang to life when hormones began to work faster than she could blink. she thought it would raise awareness as a subtle way for her to let her daughter know that no man could ever be trusted in the slightest, but your mother didn't care to listen. it worked the first few years of her adolescence; she avoided relationships all throughout high school and college, but all good things come to an end. after she had graduated and gone into finance the way she had planned, things took a turn when she met your father. no one could have predicted the outcome. their relationship moved quickly, but smoothly. their friends had sworn up and down that they could never imagine them in an argument, until they got married. with marriage came a child, you. with a child came more responsibilities, with which came more money spent. they spent and spent until they had nothing left to spend, and that's when the verbal arguments had reached a new low.

by the time you had turned fifteen, you found yourself consoling your mother as much as she allowed you to. it was draining, you found yourself asking the man in the sky for a way out. a way out was in store, just not for you. one night, just a little after midnight, your father had packed his bags and left after another one of their more tense fights, swearing to find a younger, prettier, richer woman. you had both assumed it was another one of his empty threats, but you would never come to know, as that was the last time either of you have seen or heard from him.

for weeks on end following his departure, your mother had no tears left to cry. she was too quiet, white in the face as if all the blood has been drained from her body. she wasn't interested in discussing what had happened ever again. more weeks passed and winter came along, and she had fallen ill. you had picked up a job at fifteen and worked as many shifts as you could just to keep the house warm, to keep food on the table at least until december's weather had passed. she knew you had been trying, and you knew she was grateful, but you couldn't shake the uneasy feeling as her condition worsened, as did the weather.

blizzards were uncommon in daegu. sure, it was normal to wake up to over ten inches of snow, but the storms just never seemed to take action. that's why you were surprised to have woken up just half an hour past four in the morning, to the sound of ice pounding on your windows and vicious wind blowing. your room was on the second floor, completely untouched, and you felt relieved for just a second. that second quickly passed when you called out for your mother, only to be met with silence. maybe she didn't hear you, maybe she had mistaken your voice for the wind; it's what you so badly wanted to believe as you made your way down the stairs. your heart stopped when you had realized that hope was more than a call away.

despite the untouched stairs and floor above, the living room she had been sleeping in was a wreck. the air was noticably colder, windows broken, glass shattered on the wet floor. the storm had done all the damage, yet that still wasn't the worst part. your mother was still on the couch, her skin as pale as ever. she was facing the ceiling, eyes open. you felt your heart sink to your stomach, and you've been dreading the feeling ever since. you've carried the grief ever since it happened, tears stinging whenever november made an appearance, whenever the temperature shifted. your mother had frozen to death, and how could you ever get over it, how could you ever function? you dreaded your father more than anything, knowing that if she could've beared to sleep in their shared room on the floor above, she would've been alive.

that was the first moment you had taken her words to heart. cold as ice, hard as stone, never choose men over being alone.

you had made it through the rest of high school without any interest in dating, or men in general. you had graduated the way you pictured yourself graduating, and you did it alone. it was a lonely road before anything else, but it was something you learned to live with. you spent your last summer as a high school student working to kill the time, waiting for the college season to start. everyone from your class had gone their separate ways, but you couldn't care less. every day seemed the same—wake up, eat, work, come home, eat, sleep. you went to sleep dreading the night, and woke up dreading the day. on one particular day, a man had stopped you in your tracks on the way to work. all he had to say was, “wouldn't hurt to smile, would it?” all it did was put a scowl on your face.

when summer had finally come to an end, you were the most ecstatic you've been in in the last four years. you couldn't wait to leave the house you grew up in—sell it, rent it out, it didn't matter. all you wanted was out. you ended up renting it out to an anonymous customer, which definitely should've raised some alarms, but you couldn't care less. they needed the house, you needed the money; they could've turned it into a meth lab for all you cared.

daegu university was located on the other side of town. it was a good college, despite how far away it was, which meant it was worth the agonizing drive. it was almost cartoonishly big, big and urban. nothing less was to be expected of a private school with a low acceptance rate and big bills. you had met with the principal of the university a total of three times. the first time was to congratulate you for being accepted, which had taken you aback. it was the first time in a long time you had allowed yourself to grin from ear to ear. the second time was just a few days later, he had shown you around the campus in advance, to avoid any confusion when the halls were packed to the brim. the third and final time was to get you comfortable in your dorm, where you met your dorm roommate.

the school itself was filled with spoiled, conceited kids with little to no knowledge and extended trust funds. it truly was a sight for sore eyes in the worst way possible. often did you find yourself rolling your eyes at their remarks and complaints, it was incredible how they could be so out of touch with reality and out of sync with the real world. you couldn't keep up with the rich people bullshit—stained shoes, last season clothes, companies going bankrupt. just a month into college, you learned to tune everything out, nearly everything.

your roommate took the cake, and you knew it. you felt the last shreds of your patience go numb when you had first met him. for the sake of your education, you told yourself that having a guy as your roommate would be no issue. you didb't want to leave a sour taste in the principal's mouth, so you put on a smile and complied. all you had to do was ignore him, just as you had been doing your whole life. he was quiet when you had first met, he was quiet throughout the many times you had spotted him during lectures or lunch. min yoongi—out of his entire group of friends, he seemed to be the most tame. that had lasted until he grew more comfortable and less mindful of your presence.

awake at the peak of midnight, you typed away at your laptop. your forehead was slick with sweat, hair tied back as you focused on your presentation. yoongi had gone out, perhaps with his friends. the room was quiet, aside from the sound of the wind whistling from outside. the silence didn't last as long as you needed it to, however, your heart practically skipping a beat as the door swung open. you really could've sworn you had locked it, making a mental note to double-check from that point on. the room was dark, so you couldn't make out who had entered until the lights flickered on. the smell of soju was pungent as yoongi stumbled into the room, making your nostrils flare. you couldn't bite back the groan that left your mouth as he stumbled in, only because he wasn't entering alone, for the third night in a row. he had come in with another sorority girl, hand around her waist as their lips remained locked in a drunken dance, their feet tumbling over each other. yoongi waved you off as if to let you know he didn't give a shit, you could either stay and watch or leave, so you left for the third night in a row. you took your laptop with you and remained sat outside of the door, typing hastily while you prepared yourself for yet another night of listening to their ten minutes of pleasure.

while you continued to type away, you felt a tap on your shoulder. already pissed off, you bit back a hiss as you snapped your head to the side. greeted by your friend's smile, you were relieved you didn't snap at him. “shit, third night in a row? he's on a roll, isn't he?” kim taehyung was the first person that introduced himself to you, and on your first day, too. at first, you had no interest in being his friend, but quickly warmed up to him once you realized just how much you had in common. he was from bukgu, just like you. he liked the same things you did, but more importantly, disliked the same things as you—men and rich people. men, more or less—he cheered you on when you found yourself ranting about men and their behavior, even if he did it jokingly. his vendetta against the rich was what made him stick out, as he had gotten into the university due to his promising resumé, accepting a full scholarship. with that being said, he was always respectful towards you, treating you as a friend and nothing more.

“i don't know how you can stand to hang out with him,” you responded, typing away as he allowed himself to sit next to you, throwing a glance at the screen. “he's a good friend, don't sweat it,” he paused, a smile crossing his lips. “but i'm not dumb enough to live with him, fuck no.”

yoongi was all too quiet, even with his friends, but he made up for that with many habits that failed to please you. those habits ranged from chainsmoking to excessive drinking to the dehumanizing way he fucked every girl with two legs and a functioning mouth. shit, it didn't matter if the girls had two legs or three, he'd find a way to spread them as long as he was in the mood, but they'd never get a glance from him the next day, let alone a text back. he'd just move onto the next victim.

“you could hold me at gunpoint and i still wouldn't know what these girls see in him,” you scoffed. you really didn't know. sure, he was a good-looking guy, you weren't gonna go out of your way to lie and call him ugly, but nobody could be good-looking enough to risk your self-respect.

taehyung seemed like he was actually thinking about it for a second, the faint sound of moans and groans from behind the door adding to his brain fog, “i think he just has a really big dick, yeah?” you shot him a look, almost concerned, “you seem to do a lot of thinking about his dick, anything you wanna tell me?” you teased, earning a joking punch to the shoulder.

“how charming,” he sneered, all you could do was laugh. he paused for a second as the moans began to die down. “there is something i wanna ask you, though.”

you stopped your typing, peeling your eyes off the screen in order to face him. “yeah, go ahead.” he seemed hesitant, a nervous smile crossing his face, and you couldn't help but worry about what was to come. “you can't say no right away, you have to hear me out,” he was only making it worse. “i'm supposed to go to this kid's frat party tomorrow night, and i wanna bring a guest, yeah?”

your face couldn't help but twist up in pure confusion. it wasn't that you were a total stone cold bitch that was gonna leave him high and dry, but you had never been to a party in your life. “and out of all the potential victims in this school, you wanna go with me?” he nodded, almost eagerly, as if the answer was supposed to be obvious. “duh, who else am i supposed to go with?” you could've inquired, but you didn't dare argue back, you didn't have the patience to. instead, you waited a second before agreeing. you didn't have to stay overnight, just a couple hours to keep taehyung company.

“okay, yeah, come to the dorm and we'll go, what time is it?” you asked as you closed your laptop, the painful silence from behind the door being a good enough sign that you could come back in. “i'll come by around eight, thanks for this, i owe you one.” you nodded as he gave you a hug goodbye, watching as he scurried down the hall and back to his own dorm.

you let out a sigh of exasperation, hand sliding down your face as the realization hit you. you didn't know the first thing about social gatherings, let alone about the ones with wannabe elite socialities that'll have too much to drink. the thought made your stomach churn as you reached for the doorknob, but before you could open the door, you had been beaten to it.

from the other side, the girl yoongi had brought to the dorm had swung the door open, stopping in her tracks as she locked eyes with you. she was a pretty girl, but the look she gave you was enough to make your blood boil. she didn't say a word, but the look itself was so nasty, you felt as dirty as she did. as she stomped away, you could hear the sound of yoongi's laughter from the room. “feisty one, isn't she?” he asked as you finally came in, making sure to lock the door this time. “charming girl, you sure know how to pick them,” you rolled your eyes.

he turned to face you as you walked in, wearing nothing but his short as he made himself comfortable, pressing a cigarette to his lips. the look you threw him was incredible, almost mimicking the one tonight's vencido shot you just a few seconds prior. “do you really have to smoke that shit in here?” you asked as he lit the tip of it. he raised an eyebrow, as if offended. “you got lung cancer?” the question had little to no relevance, but you shook your head. “then, what's the problem?”

“it smells like shit,” you hissed, waving your hand at the smoke drifting in your direction. he couldn't help but chuckle as he made his way over to the sofa, kicking his feet over the side. “hold your breath, open a window if you have to.” you scoffed as you watched his eyes close, cigarette tucked between his lips. you opened both of the windows in the room, greeting with fresh air with open arms. it was the last thing you had said to one another before you went to sleep, physically too tired to argue any further.

the following morning came too quickly, the sunlight from the window that had been, once again closed, practically blinding you, even while your eyes were closed. you could barely open them, head groggy as you powered through it. despite the bright rays, it wasn't what you saw that had awoken you from your slumber, but what you had heard.

it was about seven in the morning, maybe a few minutes last seven. whatever time it was, you knew it was too early to be listening to whatever it was you were listening to. you could make out two loud voices; one was yoongi's, the other belonged to a girl. for a second, your blood ran cold at the thought of him hooking up with a girl while you were awake, but the fear went away as your vision began to clear up. they were both half-naked; not fucking, just arguing.

“you're a fucking asshole, you've always been a fucking asshole,” the girl yelled, voice piercing your ears. you could make her frame out, definitely wasn't any of the past three girls that came in. she was much smaller than yoongi, her fists pounding against his chest but to avail as she continued to yell and cry. “you think fucking my best friend is funny, asshole? or the other sluts you have in here every fucking night? or the whore in your bed at seven in the morning?”

you scrunched your face up, offended at the assumption, but you remained in your position, not wanting them to notice your presence in case the situation worsened. “you better watch that fucking mouth of yours,” you heard yoongi respond. he didn't yell at her, he didn't hit back. his voice was almost stoic. “she's not a fucking whore, she's my roommate and she's sleeping, so either be quiet or get the fuck out.” you were almost pleased with his answer, it was the closest thing you'd ever get to him being nice to you. unfortunately, she didn't like that answer at all.

“get fucked, you son of a bitch,” was the last thing she said before leaving, and she didn't go quietly. she left the dorm with heavy footsteps and a deafening slam of the door. yoongi paused, reaping the insult with only a second of eerie calmness. when the wave of calm had passed, you felt your body jolt as he threw the television's remote control at the door, muttering a string of angry curses as he did so. only then did he turn around, watching the way you stared in surprise.

he tilted his head back down, almost as if he felt sorry, “sorry if i woke you up, go back to bed.” you shook your head, pushing the blanket off as you swung your legs off the bed. it was much too late to go back to sleep anyway. “all good, i gotta get to class anyway.” he raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter as he pressed another cigarette to his lips. you watched him light it up in shock, it was still seven in the morning.

“what the fuck kind of classes do you have this early?” you rolled your eyes as you brushed out your hair, getting done only what was necessary before leaving for your morning lecture. “management accounting,” you murmured a response. he raised his eyebrows, keeping his distance as he blew smoke into the air.

“studying finance, really?” you nodded in response, unable to tell if he was impressed or disgusted. “that's cool,” he said softly. “my step-dad studied finance, too. says it's a pain in the ass.”

perhaps you had were too comfortable in that moment, perhaps you were just too tired and out of it to register what was coming out of your mouth. “my mom studied finance, she was really good at it,” your eyes had locked, but only for a second. it wasn't long enough to carry too much significance, but not short enough to go unnoticed. you coughed, “i'm gonna go to class.” he nodded silently, watching you grab what you needed before heading towards the door. he watched you leave for your lecture, cigarette still pressed to his lips, but not before opening the window.

your classes had lasted longer than you had anticipated, the one hour mark stretching for another two hours. by the time you had finally finished, you felt the second wave of exhaustion flood your system. the morning wasn't even through, and you were ready to give up and go back to bed, but you couldn't. as you left the classroom, dreading whatever your schedule had in store for you next, you felt an arm sling around your shoulders as you walked down the hallway.

“hey, loser,” taehyung cooed in your ear, ruffling your hair as you scoffed, delivering a playful slap to his arm. “going to your morning classes like a good little geek, aren't you?” you rolled your eyes as you peeked at your schedule, smiling as you realized your next class was with your friend. “remember those words when you're working for me in ten years, jackass.”

he feigned offense as he placed his hand on his forehead in a dramatic fashion. “so so cruel, i would truly rather work at a gas station.” you couldn't help but laugh as you both made your way into the next classroom. you couldn't help but admire how elegant the classrooms were, truly a hit or miss product of capitalism. unfortunately, you weren't given much time to admire as you both stopped in your tracks in the middle of the room.

“min yoongi taking english literature,” taehyung was the first to react, equally as surprised as you were. he laughed as he walked up to his friend, who was seated in the back row, arms crossed with a faint smile on his face. “you do realize the class doesn't come with a free ashtray, right?” you faintly trailed behind him as they dapped each other up, the most unnecessary display of masculinity, you thought.

“yeah, don't be too shocked, my parents aren't paying for me to smoke all day,” yoongi responded. his faint smile grew more and more faint as he watched you come up behind taehyung. his gaze switched from you to him. “you two friends?”

you had opened your mouth to say something along the lines of “none of your fucking business,” but your friend was much quicker than you. taehyung wrapped his arm around your shoulders once more, ruffling your hair as you protested. “(y/n)? no, she's my hostage, as you can see.” you sighed in defeat, knowing it was no use. “you're such an ass,” you hissed. yoongi didn't say a word, he just stared. his gaze continued to flicker, but he remained quiet. even as you found your seat next to taehyung, just across from yoongi, he stayed quiet. silent, though his gaze never left the two of you, and you could almost feel it.

morning classes seemed to be the last of your problems as the day went on. everything was normal until you returned to your dorm, the panic you had been fighting since last night finally settling as you checked the time. you had exactly an hour to get ready before taehyung would come to pick you up. exactly an hour to find an outfit, put some decent makeup on, and get the courage to not pussy out. yoongi was nowhere to be found as you entered the dorm.

your wardrobe wasn't necessarily limited, as you had brought everything that could fit you. anything that couldn't was given to charity before you rented out the house, it was the smartest thing to do. you kept everything in a narrow closet, alongside some jewellry your mother had kept in a dainty box. it was a weird sensation, even after so many years, running your fingers through the fabric would never not strain your heart. you gulped back the melancholic nostalgia as you raked through the clothes. finally, you pulled out a dress hanging from above, one that had caught your eye.

it was anything unlike you had ever worn, because it wasn't yours. it was a dress your mother had worn when she was just a bit younger than you. despite what she believed in, she was the life of the party, unlike you. she knew how to let loose, and she wasn't afraid to express herself through her clothes. the dress was almost skimpy, she loved giving men the wrong impression. she loved knowing they could look because, they'd be looking either way, but they could never have her. she was in control, and the dress was gorgeous. a gold dress with thin straps, entirely tight and made to hug the body of whoever chose to wear it. it wasn't what you were used to, not at all. you loved the fact that it was pretty, but you loved the fact that your mother felt pretty in it even more.

if it wasn't her dress, you were entirely sure you wouldn't have liked it. the sensation of putting it on and embracing it was even weirder than the feeling of finding it. nonetheless, you slipped into the dress as you stood in front of the mirror. the dress was even more beautiful on you rather than in your hands. it was just as you imagined—tight, hugging every part of your body from your chest to your thighs, but beautiful. the light from the room did it more than enough justice, it glimmered.

even as you did your makeup, you couldn't help but give all your attention to the dress. it made you feel warm on the inside, the fact that you had a part of your mother clinging to your skin. it was as if she had never left. when you finished, with your face touched up, the heels you wanted, and the gold ring on your finger, all you could do was admire the dress in the mirror.

“holy shit,” were the words that finally snapped you back to reality, your body jolting as your head turned to the source of the sound. you hated how bad your instincts were when you were distracted, it was one of the reasons why taehyung could tease you as much as he did without you reacting. you froze, not knowing what to do.

“shit, i didn't mean to scare you, i'm sorry,” yoongi continued. he was equally as frozen as you were, having stopped himself in his tracks as he stared at you, eyes scanning you from head to toe. “it's just that you look really nice. the dress is—really nice.”

you almost felt bad for staying quiet. it wasn't that you were ungrateful, you just didn't know what to say. for a moment amidst your silence, yoongi continued to admire you for a moment longer, turning on his heel when he realized you had gone mute. “wait,” you practically blurted out, stopping him in his tracks once more. “thank you. it was my mom's.”

he didn't turn back around, but he remained in place as he felt his heart tighten at your words. “doesn't fit her anymore?” his tone was almost hopeful, as if he was hoping that would be the case. you went quiet for a second, before the answer came out entirely too quickly, as if you had thrown it up. “it would've if she was still here. she passed away, few years ago.”

you regret it the second it had come out, but that was the thing about word vomit; just like regular vomit, you could never take it back. now, it was his turn to be silent. you were entirely sure that you had creeped him the fuck out, but he felt that it was far from that. his heart tightened, it wasn't the answer he was hoping for. he responded as he turned around, finally facing you. “i'm sorry,” he murmured. “my dad passed away some years back, too. storm was bad.” he had mentioned his step-father, but never his actual dad. you felt for him, and he felt for you.

you opened your mouth, ready to offer some form of support, but the distinct pounding on the door was quick to cut you off. “come in,” yoongi muttered out, loud enough for whoever it was to here. taehyung wasted no time opening the door, practically cheering as he came in, unable to read the room.

“is my hostage ready?” his voice had dropped a few octaves as he neared the end of the question, walking into the room as he locked eyes with you. it was something about you in the dress rather than the dress itself, and yoongi was quick to notice his reaction.

“what're you doing here?” he asked taehyung, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes at his shell-shocked reaction. for a second, he focused. “i'm here for (y/n), we're going to the wang party.” never had you heard of that name in your life.

yoongi raised an eyebrow before turning back to you. “you didn't say you were going to jackson wang's shitty frat party,” he sounded almost displeased. you shrugged, “what's it to you?” you and taehyung exchanged a glance as yoongi scoffed, the agitation expanding.

“his entire frat has a thing for roofies and rape,” he paused to shoot taehyung a look. “but i'm sure your friend already told you about that.”

it was your turn to shoot taehyung a look, who already had his hands up. “you really think i'd let something happen to her?” he asked, his tone slightly colder than usual. yoongi scoffed at the rhetorical question, “go on, then,” was all he uttered out.

you knew you didn't need any help, and that you were perfectly capable of handling yourself, which included the decisions you made. still, it didn't change the fact that leaving the dorm held more tension than it was supposed to. taehyung shut the door as you left, leaving yoongi in distress that he chose not to make obvious. instead, he chose to ignore the way it nagged him as he turned the television on, hoping it would just go away.

“roofies and rape? you guys are such a fucking cliché,” you muttered as you made your way down the hall with your friend. as oblivious as you were, for taehyung, it was a blessing, because you failed to notice the glances sent your way. he thought you were gorgeous, he thought the dress was gorgeous, up to the point where he could barely register what you were saying. “okay, yeah, ignore yoongi. i told you, i'm not gonna let anything happen, no way.” you knew he wouldn't, but you couldn't shake the feeling of unease as taehyung knocked on the door. the way yoongi acted, the way he talked, it was such a drastic and quick shift.

the generic music and cheers weren't audible until the door opened, you began wondering who you had to ask to get a thick door like that for some very necessary sound blockage. the guy who opened the door was familiar, you were sure you had seen him around campus before. “what's up, jackson?” they greeted each other with a laugh before the guy turned to you, with an almost unsettling spark in his eyes as he did so.

“good to see you, tae,” he spoke a little louder in order to combat the loud music. “and who do we have here?” the flickering colorful lights lit up the room, and you could make out what seemed to be hundreds of people in there, much to your disbelief. there was no logical reason for there to be that many people at one dorm party.

you introduced yourself, a friendly but equally forced smile on your face. “yeah, you're yoongi's roommate, aren't you?” you nodded in response, and you could tell that jackson wasn't too pleased with your roommate. “we should get you a drink then, make it easier to deal with him.” you feinged a laugh as you agreed, shooting taehyung a desperate look. you didn't need to say anything as you followed jackson in, your friend has already burned holes in the back of his head with his glare.

“i'll get us drinks, is that cool?” he could've sworn he saw jackson's face flash with disappointment, but the host obliged, nonetheless. you knew it was the best way for you to not get your virginity taken by the proclaimed roofie rapist, but you couldn't help but panic as taehyung left, even if it was for a good cause.

everybody was a sweaty, drunk mess. the party had started a mere fifteen minutes ago, yet the dorm was packed to the brim with careless, leering students looking to blow some steam off. you found yourself with your pressed against the wall as you created as much distance as possible. “i'm guessing it's your first frat party,” jackson said, only a few feet away from you. you avoided eye contact as best as you could, though you could barely hear him. “first party in general,” you corrected him. “not really my type of scene.”

he chuckled as he closed a few inches of distance off between you two. “that's what i figured,” you quite literally had nowhere to go, with the wall pressing into your back. “must be why you came with your boyfriend, right?” you laughed, but it wasn't in a mocking way, as if you had taken slight offense. “no, taehyung's not my boyfriend, i don't do boyfriends.” you made sure to put emphasis on the last bit.

jackson raised his eyebrows, taking a mere step closer as the lights flashed. he wasn't an unattractive guy, but you needed to take caution. “all the girls here tend to come with their boyfriends,” he gestured towards the many couples easily spotted behind him, all of them a sweaty mess of hormones, grinding and kissing without a care in the world. “rumor's going around that i'm not a nice guy, so they wanna be careful,” you couldn't tell if he was covering his tracks or not, but he was too close to your face, and the alcohol on his breath was no consolation. “what about you? you think i'm a nice guy?”

you couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, and you truly didn't know how to answer. his eyes bored into yours as a smirk played on your face, your mouth open but no word vomit. before you could waste another second thinking, you glanced at his side, watching taehyung stride over with two drinks, as if on time.

“here you go,” he broke the silence, and relief washed over you. once again, jackson attempted to mask his disappointment with a smile. taehyung handed you a glass of something clear, strong. you knew it was strong, whatever it was, but the tension was so cruel, you couldn't help but down the contents of the cup, as if to ease how unsettled you felt.

whatever it was left a disgusting taste in your mouth, almost like nail polish. your friend watched you, almost concerned, while jackson let out a laugh. “i have a feeling it isn't your first time,” a comment that earned him a glare and a half. you shook your head, “i'm not a drinker,” you argued. “but i'll take more of it.”

this time, taehyung pulled you to his side. “great idea, let's go,” he urged, earning him the third look of disappointment of the night, but he paid no mind. he knew that no reaction, was the best reaction. a frown formed on your face as he dragged you through the tight crowd, leading you to the coolers on the wooden table. he shot you a look, “stay away from jackson,” was all he said as he passed you another drink, this time, a can from the cooler. something less strong to kill the burning sensation in your throat. all you could do was nod.

by the time you had gotten your fair share of drinks down your system, the atmosphere around you began to shift drastically. it was less tense, more refreshing. the more lightheaded you felt, the easier it was to let loose. the worse your vision had become, the more flushed you felt as your blood pumped. you had left taehyung's side, the succumbing to the foreign feeling as you joined the crowd despite his calls of disapproval. you knew he'd come after you, but you didn't care. all you could focus on was absolutely nothing. you just liked the way it felt, swaying to the music as if nothing mattered. unfortunately, everything mattered, and not everyone was as unaware as you were. jackson watched you from the sidelines, and he was focused, despite the many drinks that were clashing in his system. he couldn't not focus on you.

as the night wore on, situations varied. in one dorm, the music was loud. the flashing lights provided no sanctuary, and the drinks were practically freezing despite the immense heat. in one dorm, everybody was having a fantastic time. in another dorm, the silence was deafening.

yoongi had put out what may have been his final cigarette of the night. his throat had grown tight, and his stomach had started to churn. he knew it wasn't because of the cigarettes, no. he had put so many of them out just to ease the aching concerns in his mind as he watched the clock tick. a minute had past, followed by an hour. then, another hour. by the time the box was empty, it was almost midnight, and he couldn't think. with his fingers intertwined, nose pressed against them, he let out a sigh. why were you still there? why hadn't you come back yet? did something happen? it was all he could think about. it wasn't that he cared, he just didn't want anything to happen to you; it'd put his reputation in a tough spot, seeing as you were his roommate and all. at least, that's what he wanted to believe in.

the sound of the clock ticking was almost mocking, as was the way the hand moved in the slowest fashion possible. when another fifteen minutes had passed, he glanced at the door, hoping he'd see you stumble in. maybe not sober, but alive and untouched. when the last speck of hope faltered, he found himself pulling his weight off the couch. “fuck this,” he practically spat, snatching the door keys off the drawer before making his way out.

you were unaware of what was happening behind the door, outside of your makeshift sanctuary. you had finally reached the point of betrayal, only then could you see why you had avoided alcohol for so long. as your head span, so did the room. the burning sensation in the pit of your stomach had quickly replaced the short-lived euphoria you had felt up until then. as your dancing faltered, you found yourself tumbling in the opposite direction, practically tripping over your own two feet.

before you could cause yourself any harm, you felt a familiarly unfamiliar touch embrace your waist, preventing you from falling onto your back. for a second, everything went quiet, relief coursing through your veins. the relief was as short-lived as the bliss. “caught you just in time, didn't i?” you heard jackson murmur, his breath hot against your ear. your vision was blurry, and you were slurring your words as if you had a lisp. you didn't want him to know how drunk you were, you didn't want him to take advantage of it, but he was no fool. “yeah, thanks'o much,” he only chuckled in response.

in an attempt to pull yourself away from him, you found yourself staring at him face-to-face, as his grip never left your waist. you could barely make out his figure, let alone muster the strength to run away. your mouth was open, but it was as if your brain was too slow to form any sentences. “feel bad, don't you?” his voice was soft, almost comforting but borderline mocking. all you could do was nod. “we should go, get you taken care of. my friend's gotta spare room, yeah?”

your hands were pressed up against his chest, as if in attempt to push away from him, but no force was emitted. under any other circumstances, you'd have had no problem leaving, but things just weren't playing in your favor. he smirked, leaning in towards your face as his hot breath fanned your neck, nose grazing the side of your jaw. you pressed your eyes shut, hoping it would all go away, but it never did.

“it's a shame your friend left you here,” he practically purred in your ear. his fingers grazed your collarbone as his free hand slid down your hip, reaching to cup your ass as he let out a sigh at the feeling. “pretty thing like you, nothing good's bound to happen, right?” you couldn't fight back. for the first time in forever, you couldn't fight back, and you hated it. you hated how you were at his disposal, there for him to use without a care in the world. you kept your eyes shut, still hoping it would all stop and go away. and finally, it did.

it didn't go away quietly—within seconds, you could feel a tight grip ripping you away from jackson, a force so aggressive, you felt your heart stop for a split second. you felt as if you didn't need to second-guess who it was, thinking taehyung had finally located you and came to your rescue, but your suspicions were denied once you turned around. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” despite being free from his grasp, jackson's yell made you wince. he came closer once more, but he didn't face you this time.

yoongi came just as close as he did, mere inches away from his face as he levelled with him. “dunno, jackson, she looks pretty drunk to me,” he sneered in his face. you were behind yoongi, with one of his arms pressing into your front in an attempt to block the distance between you and jackson. by that point, the music had started to falter, and people were growing more and more interested in the scene that was unfolding. “you can take the roofies and rape bullshit somewhere else, i'll fucking kill you and you know it.”

for a second, jackson almost seemed hesitant to react, as if he was scared of the man in front of him. that second passed, but it didn't go unnoticed before he chose his next words, “i should leave my bullshit here and fuck her 'till she's sober, in case you wanted to watch.” had he chosen anything else to say, maybe the situation wouldn't have escalated the way it did so fast. because, in one swift motion, jackson plummeted into the ground beneath his feet, his neck bending backwards in an almost animated way as yoongi's fist collided with the bottom of his jaw.

“holy shit,” was all you could breathe out, screams emitting from the crowd of people behind you as you watched jackson's bloody gums shine under the lights. your body told you to move forward, pressing into yoongi's arm as you took a step towards jackson. the man beside you almost instantly looked back at you as he pushed you off with just enough force to make you stumble back.

for a second, you and yoongi locked eyes. your eyebrows furrowed, a look of concern in your eyes mixed with the profound melancholy of a lack of thoughts. your brain was moving too slow, you thought you looked stupid, but he thought you looked beautiful. it pissed him off how beautiful you looked, and it was all you could see in his eyes. anger, anger, anger. anger, and a speck of something else that you couldn't quite figure out.

“you've gotta be fucking joking,” your head snapped towards the source of the sound, and you spotted taehyung rushing to your side. first, all of his anger was directed towards jackson, but the anger quickly shifted to your roommate once he realized jackson had been dealt with. “where do you get off shoving her?” yoongi scoffed at the question, watching the way your friend came up to you from behind, his annoyingly protective hands cupping your shoulders as he watched you, hoping to see you were okay.

“where do you get ditching her in a place like this?” was yoongi's response. everything went quiet, too quiet, as he and taehyung locked eyes. you were afraid, too afraid that your friend would end up in the same position as jackson. “it's crowded, i went to the bathroom and couldn't find her,” taehyung's defense was reasonable, as you had given him permission to go, promising you'd be fine for a minute or so before making your way to the dance floor. yoongi laughed, but there was no humor to be traced, “that's funny seeing as i found her the second i came in here.”

the silence physically made your stomach twist, and they could both see it from the way your abdomen clenched as you bent forward. people had started whipping their phones out, snapping photos ane taking videos as hushed whispers began to fill the air. “let's get you out of here,” taehyung murmured, ignoring what yoongi said as to avoid any further discomfort, but you knew yoongi. everybody knew him. as your friend pulled you by one arm, leading you towards the exit, you both stopped in your tracks. from your other side, yoongi kept his grip on your hand tight. you couldn't fully grasp the situation, but his unfamiliar touch had a different feeling than jackson's. they were both foreign, but only one was welcomed.

“go home, taehyung,” yoongi uttered out, and oncr again, they locked eyes. the tension was palpable, and you couldn't stand the way their cold gazes matched one another so well. when taehyung's eyes left his, they met yours. you wanted to go home so bad, the situation was killing you from the inside. so, you held his gaze and nodded. he let out a sigh as he let your arm go, ever so hesitantly. “i'll call you,” was what he said before he finally turned on his heel. yoongi practically sneered—“no, you won't,” was what he so badly wanted to say.

the morning which had followed was no easier than the previous night. you couldn't remember the last time you felt so sore, the pounding in your head never seeming to ease. you blinked, more than what was deemed natural, as you opened your eyes to the blinding sunlight. you could hear your roommate, but had yet to see him. “weather's getting colder,” was what you could make out as you propped yourself onto your elbows. “enjoy the sun while it lasts.” unfortunately, he had a point. you stopped straining your eyes, allowing the sunlight to do its work. now, you could see him, standing next to the open window with a cigarette in his hand.

“what time is it?” you asked, exhaustion laced in your voice as your brain had begun picking up the pieces of last night's rezendevous. “about ten,” your head snapped, realizing you had missed two of your morning classes. “but don't even think about going anywhere.” you looked up to meet his gaze as he blew smoke out the window.

your whole body was tense, and only when you stepped out from under the covers did you realize just how right he was about the weather. “why's it so fucking cold?” you couldn't help but ask, the borderline freezing weather leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “it's almost winter,” yoongi responded, just as dryly. “fucking hate winter.” you let out a humorless laugh, as if to agree. if there was one thing to agree on, it was that.

your phone vibrated on your desk, and as you peered over to see who had been bugging you so early in the morning, taehyung's face flashed on the screen once more. “so annoying,” yoongi spoke once more. “he's been doing that all morning.” you shot him a look as you scurried to pick up your phone, “and you didn't think to answer him?” you asked, watching him take the last drag of his cigarette. he shrugged you off, earning an eye roll as you finally picked up taehyung's call.

“thank god, everything okay?” you heard his panicked voice from the other side, before even getting a chance to greet him. “yeah, just woke up,” you murmured, your heart pounding as you recalled just how bad it had gotten the night prior. you could recall the drinks, the lights, jackson. most importantly, you could recall yoongi, and how he had rushed in, potentially stopping you from getting assaulted. the phone was pressed against your ear as you looked up to meet his eyes once more. from the way he looked at you, you knew he recalled it just as well. because, he looked at you as if he wanted nothing to happen to you.

“i'm really sorry for leaving, i should've held it in a little longer,” your friend's apologetic voice rang once more. you shook your head as if he was there, but your eyes never left yoongi's, “no. tae, it's alright. it would've happened either way, it's not your fault.” you could've sworn yoongi's gaze dropped at the mention of his name, but either way, the eye contact had finally broken. you spoke to your friend a minute longer, dismissing his apologies and promising you'd see each other for lunch. he wanted you to spend it with him and his friends, seeing as that would be much safer than being alone. you complied.

when you finally hung up, you allowed yourself to face reality once more. “there's advil in the cabinet,” yoongi spoke. this time, his tone was colder than anticipated. you thanked him, allowing yourself to get ready for whatever it was the universe had in store for you.

by the time lunch had rolled around, you found yourself waiting for your friend once more. this time, for a much safer setting. taehyung and his friends normally spent that period outside, taking up a bench or two while they hung out. as you walked with him, you could feel just how unfamiliar and harsh the air had grown. he noticed your discomfort, but said nothing, as you were near the spot anyway.

you couldn't recognize any of his friends. sure, you had seen them around campus. maybe even in a class or two, but you knew none of them personally. all but one. as you walked up to the bench, yoongi was the last to notice you, but the first to meet your gaze. “this is (y/n), she's gonna be joining us today,” taehyung introduced you, and you forced a smile. the smile was returned as the boys introduced themselves, all but one. yoongi remained silent, but never took his eyes off you. all of the boys were locals, all from daegu, but all of them seemed to harbor the same personality as taehyung, regarding the rich people bullshit. they seemed nice, down-to-earth, until the questions rolled in.

“you were at that party last night, weren't you?” one of the boys, who had introduced himself as dongwon, asked. though hesitant, you nodded, earning a sound of astonishment from him. “yeah, jackson's a real asshole. he didn't put his hands on you, did he?” you tensed up at the thought, with dongwon earning a look of disapproval from taehyung. you weren't the only one uncomfortable—from the corner of your eye, you could see yoongi fidget with his fingers, perhaps at the mention of what went down last night.

“no, not really,” you responded, recalling the way he had you backed up against the wall, the way his fingers so desperately waited for further access beside your waist. “not really?” dongwon repeated, as if confused. “what exactly do you mean by that?”

you shrugged, as if hesitant to go into further detail. “he didn't get to do much touching, nothing too bad,” you paused, watching the way nearly all of them listened carefully. “tried to kiss me, had his hand on my ass but that's really all—” before you could finish your thought, everybody's attention shifted to yoongi, who had pushed himself off the bench and onto his feet, throwing his can into the bin behind him more aggressive than necessary. “yoongi, what's your deal—” once again, you found yourself being cut off by the same man. once he was on his feet, his grip was on your elbow, practically dragging you away from the group and back into the school.

you thrashed, but it was no use, you couldn't pull yourself out of his grasp. he was too strong and too determined, as he pulled you into the first empty hallway he could find. once he had found the spot, you found yourself in an all too familiar position, with your back pressed against the wall. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” you hissed, but your voice was weaker than usual. you didn't know if it was because of last night's antics, or because of the current tension. “what's wrong with me?” he repeated, tone equally as harsh. “where do you get off talking about shit like that?”

now, you were just confused. “what the hell are you talking about? he asked me a question.” yoongi rolled his eyes, you truly had no idea why he was so mad. especially at you, what was it that you said wrong? “why didn't you call me when he touched you?” this time, his tone was more gentle, and the confusion had been replaced with shock. “if i had come in a second later,” he stopped himself mid-sentence, not wanting to imagine just how much the situation could have escalated.

your face softened at his words, it was almost like he felt guilty for not having stopped you when he had the chance. “you came,” you said. “you came, and i'm grateful you did.” your words comforted him, just a little bit. in the end, the important part was that someone intervened. even if it happened to be your roommate. for a moment, you saw him smile, but perhaps it was too much. he knew it was, so he followed it up with an eye roll, “it was a pain in the ass, had to watch over you, missed breakfast and lunch and everything,” he paused, as if the lightbulb in his head came to light. “you owe me lunch.”

you owed him lunch, and it took every cell in you to avoid ripping his head off his neck. it was the least you could do, it really was. it wasn't like you didn't know how to cook, of course you did. it was one of the first things your mother had made sure she taught you on time. but it was something about the almost smug smile he was wearing as he made himself comfortable on the chair, while you whisked away by the stove. “and don't even think about poisoning it,” you heard his taunting voice from behind. “the death penalty's legal now.”

for a moment, you even considered it. you opted for one of your mother's recipes, seeing as your roommate wasn't specific with what he wanted. truly, he didn't care. he just wanted to eat, with the appetizer being an excuse to fuck around with you. the specific recipe you were using had been passed around from one generation, all the way to your mother. the stew itself was something anyone could make, but nobody could make it the way your did. in fact, it was so special, the only people she ever shared it with were you and your father.

“it smells good,” yoongi murmured, his eyes glued to your frame as you carefully removed the pot off the stove, turning the heat off. you smiled to yourself as you retrieved a bowl from the csbinet above, “thanks.” never had you tried the recipe out for yourself, it was your first time and you were determined to make it work.

he waited patiently as you scooped the stew out, dumping it into the bowl. he watched your every move, from the way you pushed the loose strands of your hair away from your forehead, to how you carried the bowl with grace he swore was there. the stew was served with a bowl of rice for him, and a side of radishes. you heaved a sigh as you sat next to him, hands sore. everything was there, picture perfect for him, but he kept his focus on you.

“well,” you urged. “go on, then.” only then did his gaze drop. he stared at the red liquid, allowing the spicy scent to grace his nostrils. it was comforting, and all too familiar to him. the scent itself sent a sharp jab to his chest, he was too familiar with it.

his suspicions didn't ease as he scooped a spoonful of the stew, he had reached a new level of excitement. you analyzed him carefully, hoping for a promising reaction. it was exactly what you were going to get. “holy shit,” he uttered out, his mouth full. his instincts hadn't failed him, the scent was familiar and the taste only confirmed what he had been thinking. “is this your recipe?” for a second, you hesitated, but shook your head. “no,” you assured softly. “it was my mother's, why? is it any good?”

the answer itself was all too obvious as he continued to fill his mouth with the product, swallowing within seconds just to help himself some more. it was as if he hadn't eaten in years. “it's amazing,” he praised, and your face lit up. you couldn't help but smile as he neared the end of the bowl. “it tastes exactly the one my step-dad used to make.” you were skeptical, as there was no way that was possible, but took the compliment.

“generational recipe,” you explained, a twinge of grief to your voice. “it was all we ate when winter came along.” the memories weren't as pleasant as the taste itself; you found yourself recalling the days there truly wasn't anything else to eat, but you never complained. you never got tired of the taste.

yoongi seemed to notice the way your tone shifted, even while draining what was left of the meal. “i get it,” was what he found himself saying. at first, you thought it was just empty comforting. “the cold took a toll on us, too. fucking hate the winter.” out of all people, you never imagined opening up to min yoongi, let alone him opening up to you. let alone him understanding you. for a second, there was nothing but silence, and the way you found yourself staring at him. you had been looking at him with the same eyes since you've met him, but this time was different. this time, you looked at each other in a way you never have before.

in a split second, the moment had passed. your phone had started to ring again, and you found yourself cursing whoever it was. taehyung, probably. you swore you'd kill him if it was him pestering you again, but it wasn't. your screen flashed, reading “no caller id” in white, bold letters. yoongi shot you a concerning glance going unnoticed as you excused yourself, leaving the room.

once you were a room away from yoongi, you answered the call with a simple, “hello?” you didn't know exactly what you were expecting to hear, nor who. maybe someone had the wrong number, or it was a spam caller. you had your list of possibilities and expectations, all but one. “(y/n)? is it you?” the voice on the other line was deep, scratchy, rough. above all else, it was familiar. the second you heard it, your blood ran cold and your heart grew weak. it had never crossed your mind, so you refused to believe it was happening. “yes,” you responded weakly, weary of your roommate in the other room. “who is this?”

in the back of your mind, you knew exactly who it was. you could see his face, and you could hear his voice. you had done your best, for years on end, to block it from your memory, but to no avail. “(y/n), you know exactly who this is,” he said, voice all but steady. your fingers quivered, breathing heavy as you did your best to keep it together. “please, sweetheart. i'm back at the house, where's your mother? where are you? come over, we have to talk.” and for a split second, the room was silent. you couldn't muster up the words you so badly needed to say, not while you blood was hot, not while your head was heavy. the shock had finally turned to anger, and you couldn't deal with it.

“you asshole,” you finally breathed out, your eyes stinging with tears that threatened to spill. “you have some fucking nerve, you asshole.” it was all that was going through your head—asshole, asshole, asshole. how could he possibly have the courage, after so long?

from the other line, your father heaved a sigh, as if symapthetic. almost as if he was ashamed. “honey, i know i'm the last person you wanna hear from right now—” you had reached your limit, patience growing thin. you knew being rational wasn't an option, not with your knees threatening to give out from under you. “she's dead, you son of a bitch,” your voice was barely above a whisper. finally, he went quiet. it was your turn to talk. “she's dead and it's all your fault, dead. she's dead, you left her, and she's dead.”

so badly did you want to keep it together, but it was no use. your whispering had gone an octave up, hands furiously quivering as the tears came running down your face. your lips were swollen, hair plastered to your forehead with sweat as you failed against the sobs that were escaping from your throat. “i'm sorry,” were the words that finished you off. with a sob, you finally hung up. you should've done it the second you heard his voice, but it was too late. his words echoed in your head, even as you tossed your phone onto the floor, ignoring the sound of fatal cracks. you couldn't keep it together, you couldn't hold it in.

he had watched the whole scene unfold, much to your dismay. you realized it the second you held your head up. tears spilled from your eyes, and you were finally falling apart. yoongi stood there, just feet away. he stared, his eyes wide with shock as he watched you. something had awoken in him as he watched the way you held your face in your hands, sobs rocking your body. he watched you, but not for long. not wall you were so close to collapsing.

your legs were about to give out, but they never did. you were falling, but never did you hit the ground. he was right there, right beside you, arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in so that you wouldn't fall. never in your life had you felt more grateful, more safe. you held onto the fabric of his shirt, and he didn't dare let go of you. you were fragile. in that moment, you were on the verge of breaking, and he wasn't going to let it happen. so, he pulled you close. his arms were wrapped around your frame, hand on the back of your head as he pushed your face into the crook of his neck.

he could feel the way you shook under his touch, and it broke his heart. his heart hurt for you. gentle strokes were delivered to your hair as he hushed you, and all you could do was cry. he didn't stop, not until your sobs died down. “was that your dad?” was what he finally asked, careful with his words as to not worsen the situation. all you could do was nod, and it was enough for him to keep quiet. all he could do was hold you, and that was exactly what he did. it was the comfort you had been longing for.

when you had finally calmed down, when the embrace had broken, you didn't know what to think. you cursed yourself for succumbing to your emotions as quickly as you did, you cursed yourself for breaking down. it made you wonder, what was it that made you feel so safe with him? what was it that made your heart flutter, that put your mind at ease? you were no fool, all you needed to do was remember what was engraved in your mind—cold as ice, hard as stone. never choose men over being alone. it was what had kept you afloat for so long, but it wasn't what was in your heart. it wasn't what made you feel safe, not the way you did with him.

he found himself cursing the way he found himself acting with you. it was unlike him, it was out of character for him. why, all of a sudden? why was he coming to your rescue, eating your meals? why was the urge to protect you stronger than the urge to protect his pride? it was all he thought about, why was it different with you? he didn't like different, different meant unfamiliar. he didn't like how vulnerable he was with you, how safe he felt with you. he never played safe, why start? why risk it all? he needed a distraction, and he was determined to find it.

thankfully, he knew just where to look. that night, you had gone to sleep earlier than usual, with only one thing on your mind. what had happened that day replayed in your head, but only the part you wanted to think about. him. you fell asleep thinking about him, dreading how quiet it was without his presence. he wasn't far, just two dorms over.

“hey,” he greeted almost the second the door opened, as if he was in a rush. he allowed himself to come in, despite the several yelps of disapproval. “got too much on my mind, needed to see you.” he didn't need to do anything, all he wanted was to be distracted. so, he did it the only way he knew how.

the girl scoffed, but closed the door behind him. “you should've called. what? you missed me?” the question sent a chill down his spine. no, no, no. it's what he so badly wanted to say. he didn't miss her, he didn't want her. he didn't need her the way he needed you, but he didn't want to need you. he didn't want to need anybody. to him, everybody was unreliable. everybody was waiting to ruin him. he knew he was making a mistake, but he was ready. above all else, he was ready.

“take your clothes off,” he uttered out. “and you'll see how much i missed you.”

the following morning, you had gotten up earlier than you wanted to. the basket of dirty clothes had filled up again, and someone had to take care of it. when you opened your eyes, yoongi was nowhere to be found. it made you get up faster than usual, panic coursing through your veins as you searched for him. he wasn't there. while you were in your feet, headed towards the basket, he still wasn't there. you tried to calm yourself down, assuring yourself he'd walk through the door soon enough. this time, you were right.

as you picked the basket up, you heard the doorknob jiggle. he had finally come home, just before seven in the morning. he seemed tired, as if he had got done running a marathon. the tiresome expression switched to a look of shock the second he saw you. for a moment, all you did was look at each other. “where've you been?” you finally broke the silence. the question should have been expected, but he didn't know how to answer. how could he, after everything? he gulped, thinking of what to say. so, he did what he did best. he lied.

“drinking with dongwon,” the lie came out smoother than intended, smooth enough for your worries to falter. you only nodded in response. he felt awful for lying, why do it in the first place? you had seen him in much more promiscuous situations with a variety of women, what was the issue now? he knew he couldn't, not after yesterday—after everything. his eyes shifted to the basket in your hands. “taking the clothes down to the washer?” again, all you could do was nod. you had nothing to say, you were just glad he was alright. “would you take this, too?” you watched him gesture to the shirt he had on, and complied.

all you could do was stand there as he peeled his collared shirt off, it was best not to look, but oh so difficult. desperate to ditch the embarrassment, you placed the shirt into the basket, and brushed past him.

the minute you left the room, once again did he curse himself. once time, for what he did. “fuck,” was all he could say.

the washing machine belonged to the campus, and students were free to use it as much as they needed to. people had grown more aware of how challenging it was for students to make it on their own while studying, so they did their best to help. you wanted to make a quick trip, shoving the clothes into the machine as fast as you could, but something caught your eye. all of the clothes in the bin had been worn over and over again, all but yoongi's shirt. he had a different outfit on the previous day, but came back wearing a new shirt. you had presumed it was stained with alcohol, but decided to check, just in case.

maybe things had gotten out of hand while he was drinking, but you didn't remember seeing any stains. the shirt itself was clean, from what you could tell. white stained easily. it wasn't until your hands pulled the collar upwards, did you see what the problem really was. at first, you ignored the pungent smell. the shirt reeked of cheap, fruity perfume that lit your nostrils up, and it made your stomach churn. maybe dongwon had a few girls over to drink with them, it was what you hoped for. why did it matter? it had nothing to do with you. it would've been the best case, but it wasn't. you realized it wasn't the moment you lifted the collar.

the rim of the collar was stained with lipstick. bright pink lipstick. the sight of it made your heart fall, you practically felt it in your stomach. “asshole,” you breathed out, fingers clutching the fabric. you didn't know why it made you so upset, you didn't know why the sight of it made you so angry. why was he lying about it? it wasn't the first time, and you believed it wouldn't be the last. it was all you could think about, and it hurt more than you wanted it to.

you had spent the following weeks ignoring yoongi as best as you could. unfortunately, living with him didn't make it easier for you. you did your best, unable to shake the feeling of betrayal. weeks passed, and you still didn't know why it hurt you as much as it did. you couldn't bare talking to him, afraid of lashing out. losing your temper, everything you had strived for so long.

he had noticed a shift in the atmosphere from that point on, brushing it off at first. maybe you were just having a bad day, is what he had been telling himself the first few days. those days quickly turned into weeks, and nothing was the same. his comments were ignored, even his provocations and jokes. his questions were answered abruptly and coldly. he dismissed the idea of you figuring out what he had done, as he believed there was no way for you to find out, but nothing explained the way you were acting. not even the smoking and closed windows bothered you anymore.

you spent as much time with taehyung as you possibly could. if you had classes, you'd attend them alone and in silence. all your free time was spent with taehyung, not that he minded. he was the only person you told what happened, from start to finish. you told him everything, even the bits he already knew, like what happened at the party.

“you like him, don't you?” he asked the question you had been so scared of facing, let alone answering. you tried to play it off as a joke, laughing it off, but never answering. he watched you carefully, a frown on his face. he didn't need an answer, he knew it just as well as you did. you liked him. he didn't know where to go from there, all he could do was watch you, and every move of yours gave him his answer. you couldn't keep the eye contact, your fingers toyed with your hair as you stayed quiet. he knew you liked him.

that night, he thought about it. he thought about it so much, he found himself standing outside with yoongi, in the cold air. he thought about it so much, he found himself with one of yoongi's cigarettes between his lips. there was something off about him, yoongi saw it. taehyung, who was once one of his closest friends, had grown cold, hostile. taehyung didn't pay mind to how his behavior had grown strange, he only had one thing on his mind.

“she knows,” were the words that broke the silence. yoongi froze, cigarette burning between his lips. he stayed silent, couldn't say a thing. “she knows you fucked that girl.” yoongi scoffed, but he couldn't ignore how fast his heart was pounding. the increasing anxiety wasn't detectable, he did his best to ignore it. “don't know what you're talking about.”

now, it was taehyung's turn to scoff. he didn't make eye contact with his friend, taking a drag of his cigarette as he stared into the night sky. “you're a pussy,” his words finally got the attention he was looking for. “she's this great girl, y'know? she's this beautiful, smart girl and she likes you. and i wish i knew why. but, hey, what do you know? you like her, you like this great girl, but you're too big of a pussy to do anything about it.”

“you don't know shit,” yoongi practically spat at him, too defensive for his own good. he faced his friend, but taehyung remained stoic. in his heart, yoongi knew every bit of it was true. he only returned the stance as he neared the end of his cigarette, throwing it onto the ground beneath him and stepping over it. “you're right, i don't know shit,” taehyung spat back. “you like each other, but don't do shit about it. fuck around with her some more, 'till she realizes she can do better than you.” those were the last words taehyung said to him, before walking away. it took everything in him to not punch yoongi in the face, because he so desperately needed to. he wanted him to realize what was in front of him, he wanted him to realize how lucky he was.

once again, yoongi was left alone. in his heart, he knew every word of it was true, but he couldn't bring himself to come to terms with it. it was something he needed to do, but he didn't want to. he wanted to live in his bubble, with his heart closed off to anyone but him. he needed to be selfish, because it was all he knew, but as the night grew colder and harsher, he knew it wasn't what he wanted to do.

you found yourself in your bed once more, but you couldn't fall asleep. your mind wouldn't shut off, and it pissed you off. you and yoongi had gone another day without speaking, and the silence killed you. he wasn't there, and all you could think about was where he was. you let out a dry laugh, thinking history would be funny enough to repeat itself—maybe he really was out there, wetting his dick again.

that possibility lost some of its credibility when the doorknob began to budge again. like clockwork, you found yourself watching him come in. this time, he was home early, it wasn't even midnight. for a second, you locked eyes. it was quiet, you didn't dare say a word, but you couldn't not look at him. he looked at you, admiring how pretty you were, even at your worst. even with your hair messy, lips swollen, eyes beaming with exhaustion—there was no way you couldn't look good. something in that moment had clicked, and the silence was broken.

“i fucked her,” definitely wasn't the best choice of words, but he needed something to clear the air with. still, you remained quiet, only raising your eyebrows in response. you knew, he knew you knew. “i fucked her and it was a shitty thing to do. i knew it then, and i know it now.”

you stayed quiet, the empathy currently drained from your heart. how could you feel for him? “i fucked her because i needed a way to distract myself,” he paused. “from you. i'm feeling shit i've never felt, and i'm scared of feeling it. when i'm scared, i run. it's all i've ever been doing.”

he stood there, voice steady despite how honest he was trying to be. for a second, you almost understood him. you knew what it was like, running from the same feeling your entire life. it was exactly what you were taught, but never could you have done to anybody what he had done to you. “i really hope she was worth it,” you whispered, just about loud enough for him to hear. she wasn't, he knew she wasn't. she had cost him everything, and he knew there was no coming back from it.

not much had changed as the weeks flew by. nothing but the weather. the colder the weather had gotten, the more hostile you found yourself acting. not just with yoongi, but in general. even with taehyung, you found yourself snapping just to apologize seconds later. he understood, he was patient with you. once it had started to snow, you spent more time inside than outside. seeing the fluffy, white flakes coat the ground was enough for you to get a frostbite. you spent the inside of the campus has truly become a sanctuary, until you and yoongi had started to cross paths once more.

it was only because he had been staying inside just as much. the minute he had woken up to the sight of white, it was official. he didn't even bother looking at the windows, let alone taking a step outside. he only smoked indoors, kept his friends close indoors.

your anger had finally faltered as the time passed, but you and yoongi never really spoke. you had both hoped that whatever it was you were feeling would finally fade, that it was a temporary occurence. you both prayed that one day you'd wake up, and feel nothing for the other. that day never came.

though you had finally made peace with the situation and gained your composure, the weather had lost its. everything up until then had been child's play, with the outside world freezing, but the inside providing comfort. nobody had really expected the drastic change, so nobody was prepared. when the night in question rolled around, it was brutal.

a snowstorm was in the process of unfolding. those who were able to deal with it, dealed by hiding under the covers. the wind rocked the windows, it was brutal. no matter the force, nobody was able to shut them. all the wind did was fight back. the wind howled as flakes of white scattered the dorms, the cold air practically violent. it was the reason you had found yourself on the couch, away from the windows. you were doing your best to ignore it, to block the familiar sounds from your mind. the noises were messing with your head, and the brutal cold brought memories you had no interest in re-living.

your breathing escalated, and all you could do was fight back the tears, reassuring yourself under your breath. you shut yours eyes tight, hoping everything would go quiet. just for a second. it never did. at one point, the howling had started to die down, but the air only grew colder. a new sound had graced your ears, but it wasn't the wind. it wasn't the wind howling. from the corner of your eye, you could spot the source.

yoongi had problems of his own, having taken the spot right next to the window. the covers on the bed offered no comfort, not while everything was unfolding right next to him. the cold was bitter, so unfamiliarly cruel as he rocked himself under the sheets. it was the most unstable he had ever felt, as he bit back his cries, wary of you just feet away from him. he muffled his sobs, but it wasn't enough to stop the tears from flowing down his cheeks. he hated it, it was killing him.

you listened carefully, unsure of what you were listening to. ever the curious one, you pushed yourself onto your feet, with the blanket engulfing you. he was facing the opposite side, and you were absolutely sure the sounds were coming from him, the closer you grew to him. as you got closer, you could make out the sounds better. you were right, it wasn't the wind howling. you could recognize the crying all too well.

“yoongi,” it was the first time you had spoken to him in a long time. your voice rang like a melody, offering him the slightest comfort amidst everything else. slowly, he found himself turning towards you. as he did, you saw everything much clearer, and your heart skipped a beat. his eyes were swollen, lips puffy, his cheeks slick with tears. “yoongi, are you okay?”

he shook his head, and you couldn't hide the panic in your voice. despite everything, you knew you cared. you cared, he cared. hearing you was almost enough to block everything else out. it was enough for him to ignore how vulnerable he truly was in that moment, and he knew he had reached peak vulnerability. “i fucking hate winter,” he croaked out. all you could do was nod, you nodded and it pained you because you hated it, too. you hated how it took everything from you. “took my dad from me, it was too cold.” you could barely make out what he was saying, but you couldn't believe what you were able to hear. it made your heart sink, and you knew what followed was inevitable.

“it's okay, i promise,” your heart was racing as you sat on the bed, right next to him. cold, he was so cold. despite the blankets, he was freezing. “took my mom from me, yoongi. i get it, i promise i get it.” tears in your eyes threatened to match his own as his expression flashed with shock. it wasn't something you expected to hear from anyone, let alone him. “so fucking cold,” he finally whispered, and you realized just how bad he had it. you realized just how alike you were, so you finally did something so unlike the either of you.

you were careful with your actions, even if they weren't thought through. with a sniffle, you pulled the covers up. not enough to expose him to the cold more than he already had been, but enough to make room. you made enough room and, to his astonishment, you crawled in. you moved into the spot next to him, and neither of you moved. it was unlike any warmth either of you had felt before, none of the covers in the world had anything on the warmth felt in that moment.

you stared at each other with sore, puffy eyes. he watched you with soft eyes, sniffles dying down the minute you were next to him. you were perfect. more perfect than you've ever been. he was hesitant, but he found himself pulling you in. you were just as hesitant, but you found yourself scooting closer to him. nothing mattered anymore. the air surrounding you was still cold, it still hurt, but it was like his body had grown a new mind of its own. his fingers traced the side of your face, pushing strands of your hair away from your eyes. he needed to see you, all of you, and he did. you had never been closer, and you couldn't get enough of it. he was like a furnace to you, even though you were the one warming him. from the inside out.

“i love you,” he finally whispered, and neither of you looked away. he knew he couldn't take back what he said, the same way he knew how much he meant it. the words were foreign, they were words you hadn't heard in a long time. finally, you smiled. “i love you, too.” the shock that spread through his body couldn't be mimicked. for the first time in a long while, he smiled. he smiled back, and it was a genuine smile. one that wasn't provoked by teasing and joking, nothing of the sort. he hadn't been loved in a long time.

the wind stayed consistent, but nothing mattered anymore. it was as if a barrier had formed around the two of you, one that unapologetically emitted the warmest, kindest comfort imaginable. yoongi found himself moving closer to you, if possible, and you knew what was coming. you knew, and you were prepared. you loved him, you hated the cold, and you could never be what you despised the most, so you let him.

with his hand ever so gently in your hair, you allowed yourself to come closer, until the distance finally faltered. his lips pressed against yours, something he had found himself dreaming about for too long. your lips melted, colliding so gently, he swore they were made for each other. he had kissed a countless amount of women, but never like that. every ounce of regret left your body, and all you could do was kiss back. it was what you wanted more than anything. you wanted him.

he stroked your arm gently, his thumb tracing circles on your skin, sending shivers of a different kind down your spine. you looked up at him, feeling your heart race a little faster as you thought about what you wanted to say. he was so warm, so solid and comforting, and you felt a sudden rush of love for him that was almost overwhelming. you took a deep breath and whispered, “i've never done this before.” his eyes searched yours, understanding and patience in their depths. he leaned forward and kissed your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. “that's okay,” he said, his voice a gentle rumble. “we'll take it slow.”

the room was filled with a tension that was both nerve-wracking and exciting as you both realized the gravity of the moment. you felt a blush spread across your cheeks, but yoongi just held you tighter, his eyes filled with nothing but affection and reassurance.

he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he said, “but are you sure?” his question hung in the air, the only sound the soft rustle of the covers and the muffled sounds of the winter night outside. you nodded, feeling your pulse quicken. “i'm sure,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible.

yoongi pulled back, looking into your eyes, searching for any hint of doubt. finding none, he leaned in and kissed you softly, his hand moving from your arm to cup your cheek. the kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as you both became lost in the moment. the bed dipped slightly as he shifted his weight, moving to adjust himself beside you, his hand still cradling your face. his eyes searched yours, asking for permission, and you gave it with a shy nod.

he started to kiss your neck, his lips feather-light as they moved down to your collarbone. you felt his hand slowly make its way down your body, and your breath hitched in anticipation. the cold outside was forgotten as the heat between you grew, a warmth that seemed to drive away every other concern. his touch was gentle, exploratory, as if he was learning every inch of you. you felt your body respond, your heart racing and your skin tingling where he touched. his fingers traced the line of your jaw, then moved to the hem of your shirt, his thumbs hooking under the fabric.

you lifted your arms, allowing him to pull the shirt over your head, the cool air of the room making you shiver again. but as soon as the shirt was off, his warmth was back, his chest pressed against yours, his hands running up and down your back in soothing strokes, only to make another appearance, fondling your tits in a way so gentle, even he couldn't believe it. he listened to your soft moans, and it took everything in him to resist pounding you right then and there. the snow continued to fall outside, casting a serene, silent backdrop to the intimate scene unfolding in the warmth of the bedroom. the only sounds were the soft rustle of the covers and the steady beat of two hearts, in sync with each other.

his eyes never left yours as he reached for the button of your pants, his gaze filled with a mix of love and lust. you felt a thrill of excitement and nerves as he undid the button, then the zipper, his hands moving with purpose and care. he slid your pants down, revealing your bare legs to the cool air. you felt his warm breath against your skin as he kissed his way down your stomach, making you gasp.

the anticipation was almost unbearable, your body trembling with a mix of cold and desire. yoongi took his time, his kisses like a warm embrace against the winter's chill. he reached your navel, and your hips instinctively arched towards him. his eyes never left yours, as if asking for confirmation at every step.

he gently pushed your legs apart, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made you feel cherished. his hand trailed down your inner thigh, and your skin burned with every touch. when his fingers finally reached the place where no one else had been before, you tensed, but his soft, reassuring whispers kept you relaxed. with a feather-light touch, he began to explore, his movements slow and deliberate. each caress against your soaking pussy sent waves of pleasure through you, and your eyes fluttered shut as you moaned softly. the cold air was forgotten, replaced by the warmth of his body and the gentle pressure of his hand.

“fuck, princess, so wet for me,” he murmured, his dick painfully hard, practically begging for you.

as he touched you, he watched your reactions closely, learning what made you gasp, what made you shiver with pleasure. his eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. but all he saw was a deep, unspoken trust that made his heart swell with love. you felt your body responding to his touch, and you reached for him, your hands shaking slightly as you pulled his shirt over his head. his skin was hot against your palms, and you traced the lines of his muscles, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingertips.

the snowfall outside grew heavier, the world outside muffled and distant. the only thing that mattered was the warmth of his body against yours, the feel of his skin under your hands, and the love that was growing stronger with every shared moment.

as he pulled his boxers down, you realized just how unprepared you really were. he could stretch you out as much as he wanted, it still couldn't prepare you for what caught your eye. he was big, and he knew it. he was big and throbbing against the flesh of his abdomen, and a you could do was stare. “it's not gonna fit,” you whispered. despite his laugh, your words only made him harder. the thought of you, so small and fragile under him, breaking because of his cock—it made him desperate for you. yoongi leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “you'll take it, yeah?” you nodded, your eyes wide and filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. he kissed you again, deep and slow, as if trying to imprint every sensation on your soul. you felt him shift, the bed protesting slightly under his weight as he positioned himself above you. he reached for the condom on the nightstand, his movements sure and practiced. but his eyes never left yours, filled with a tenderness that was almost painful in its intensity.

you felt his hard, pulsing cock against your entrance and it was enough to make you gasp. he let out a sigh, the sight of you so vulnerable for him enough to make him cum on the spot. as he entered you, the world outside disappeared, replaced by the feeling of him filling your pussy up, the sound of your mingled breaths the only music in the room. it was a moment of pain, quickly overshadowed by a deeper, more profound sensation of belonging. you held onto him tightly, your nails digging into his back as he began to move, his rhythm gentle and steady. each stroke was a promise of forever, a declaration of love in the most primal and intimate way possible.

“so fucking tight, holy shit,” he groaned, eyes flashing between the way your pussy sucked him up, so pretty and greedy, and the way your face scrunched up in pleasure, pure pleasure. you and yoongi moved together, each stroke bringing you closer to the precipice of pleasure. your breaths grew ragged, your hearts pounding in unison as you climbed higher and higher. and when you finally fell over the edge, you came all over him. “just like that, all over my dick.”

you were overwhelmed, the foreign feeling gracing you with an irreplaceable euphoria you've so badly been craving. he leaned forward, capturing your lips in yet another messy kiss, his hands erratic. they moved as fast as they could, savoring the way your tits felt in them, the way your fleshy thighs spilled out of them. as he pounded into you, a you could do was moan into his mouth. “so good, fuck, yoongi,” the sound of his name leaving your mouth in such a dirty position was enough to send him over the edge.

he was desperate, his hips slamming into your pelvis as his dick brushed your sweet spot. your walls squeezed him, practically milking him for all he had to offer. his groans grew louder as he neared his high, his thrusts sending your eyes into the back of your head as he savored you. you were all his. “gonna cum, fuck,” he moaned, and he was right. he came with a groan, lost in the way you moaned for him, foreheads pressed against each other. he came into the condom, his dick throbbing into your cunt as he did so. it was good, so good.

when he finally pulled out, you did nothing but stare into each other's eyes. you knew that you had just shared something incredibly special, something that would change everything. but as you looked into his eyes, you also knew that no matter what was to come, you would face it together, wrapped in the warmth of your love, and it was stronger than any storm.

“i love you,” this time, it was your turn to say it. for a second, the fear of him leaving, discarding you like you meant nothing to him, like you were just another girl, became present. you weren't just another girl, you never were. “i love you, too.” it was enough, more than enough. how could you ever be just another girl? he alone wasn't strong enough against the cold, not without you.

✧.*

a/n: i hope this does well because this cliché took so long to write lol!! if it does, i'll do a follow-up, as there's a lot of unfinished business haha. only if it's what the readers want. thank you for reading!!!

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

[blu-ish]

*Throws you a piece of my Sonadow fankid AU and runs*

[foxett]

OMORIONETTE MENTIONED. GOES INSANE. (Suntan streak: 8 days)

[starry-bi-sky]

more clone^2 thoughts

you know who i just remembered ALSO has long hair? Vlad. Vlad Masters. Danny's worst enemy and biggest pain in the ass ever since he sent those vulture ghosts after his fucking dAD. Danny having long hair would make Vlad so inSUFFERABLE. Like look!! Proof that you are much better off as MY son. We have matching hair lengths! Come be my son! I will make you a halfa like me and we will become powerful allies together!

Danny almost chops it off out of spite. He ends up not doing it because he likes his hair long, actually, very much so and he's not growing it out again just because you're crazy! He's attempted to take a pair of scissors to Vlad's hair though -- THAT was a fight that got ugly. Danny's go-to threat whenever he sees him after that is that he's going to chop off vlad's hair when he's not looking - just you watch, Masters. He'll do it. HE'LL DO IT.

And if Danny wasn't keeping it a tight secret, he'd turn around and taunt Vlad about being a) a clone and b) a clone of BRUCE WAYNE. he'd say stuff like:

"How's it feel knowing my parents cloned a man richer than you"

"you're just mad that bruce wayne is more my dad than you'll ever be!"

"it could've been you that my parents accidentally cloned instead of Wayne, but instead you fucked off for twenty years instead!"

but also its a constant question Danny asks himself how he and no one else ever figured it out sooner that he was a clone. He doesn't understand how Vlad of all people didn't realize it when he went to college with the man with his parents and was also stinking rich, before remembering that he doubts Vlad remembers anyone who wasn't his parents in college, and has been a rich, recluse loser this entire time.

its a good thing though, danny's pretty sure vlad would attempt a hit on the man if he found out out of pure jealousy and indignant rage. And then he'd get his ass beat by Batman and his army of children.

All in all, Dany is a pure menace towards Vlad whenever he gets the chance, as is normal, and then Vlad's suffering gets doubled after he makes Ellie - of which she is even worse than Danny because she's the halfa that Danny Is NOt and thus has the powers to break into his house easy peasy and wreck shit. She steals his obsidian black card and goes on a shopping spree. This is a regular occurrence.

(and for anyone who isn't aware - Ellie is the same age as Danny in clone^2 bc i thought it'd be fun)

And then it gets tripled once Damian joins the family and gets caught up to speed on all of Vlad's tomfoolery and whoops, Damian's got better stealth skills than Danny and looks like Ellie has a partner in crime whenever they need to sneak into vlad's house to cause him grief.

Vlad's walls are the first canvas for Damian to test out his new spray paints on once he gets them :)

next up

Wes weston! i love this guy, he's so funny and he definitely knows danny is the Phantom in the clone^2 au. it's not as easy to figure out as it is in canon since its not just a simple colorswap, but perhaps he sees Danny taking off his mask after a daytime fight. and after that he becomes determined to reveal that quiet, strange fenton is the vigilante phantom.

he's putting some real,,, detectiveness? stalkerish? skills to use because catching photos of phantom is not as easy as it is if he were a halfa. He can't just snap a few dozen photos of fenton and phantom and then color compare the two of them either - Phantom wears a mask, and works primarily at night or in evenings, and typically avoids the living during the day. And he doesn't speak to the living either. Wes has to put in some extra work into his investigations and evidence.

He also makes the dumb mistake of cornering Danny in the bathroom one day early on and telling him he knows he's the Phantom -- now that Danny knows that Wes knows, he's going to be even more careful not to get caught. He puts in a little extra work in both Fenton and Phantom - another layer, perhaps a jacket, as Phantom, and baggier pants and boots he never wears as Fenton. His hood stays up in the daytime.

He was already putting in some extra effort to appear creepy and unsettling as Phantom - things like crouching low, tense movements, fluid movements. If he's perched on something he does a kinda-crawl like movement - think a mix between a bear and a gorilla crawl. It's weird, creepy. And he stares. Danny's mastered the art of not needing to blink for long periods of time, so if he sees you and sticks around he stares. It doesn't help that you can't see his eyes that well through his mask - its just two piercing green.

It helps endear him to ghosts and his enemies though - the annoying little human boy is engaging in ghost culture! That's eliciting some form of begrudging respect from his enemies.

And then compare that creepy, almost cryptid-like behavior to Fenton who, while considered a freak, really isn't anything more than just some dorky weirdo with occasional heart problems. He's kinda unsettling - he has those 'stares into soul' eyes - but its leveled by the fact that he's kinda just... dorky. It reads as normal, awkward kid behavior, and then gets disregarded completely as he gets older and it bleeds into 'very chill teenager'. Fenton being Phantom doesn't compute that much.

Paulina: you think Phantom is Fenton? Wes: I don't think, I know he is! I have proof-- Star: Just because they both have black hair doesn't mean they're the same, Wes. That's like saying Paulina and Manson are sisters because they also have black hair.

Wes's attempts to out him as Phantom means that Danny is a little more wary of him than he is in canon, since his vigilante identity isn't an entirely different ghost form its just him, so he has to be careful about where or when he takes off his mask in case Wes is around. Especially during daytime fights.

But other than that he has a lot of time messing with him. Wes is trying to convince his table group at lunch that Fenton = Phantom (again) and Danny just so happens to be within earshot of him and starts making fun of the idea.

"You think I'm Phantom?" and he's got the most disbelieving grin on his face that's only partially convincing. "That's totally bogus, man. The Phantom famously doesn't get along with my parents, why would I be a ghost hunter and not work with them?"

He has this most shit-eating, delighted look in his eyes that Wes knows is pure manic glee at being able to mess with him and get away with it. Wes is going to strangle him.

"Besides, dude, did you forget I have a heart condition? I can't be chasing around ghosts - my heart would give out from all that running and jumping."

Although Danny can get really serious at the flip of a coin if need be - especially with Wes when he gets too pushy about him being Phantom. A notable instance is when Wes cornered him in an empty bathroom to again talk about him being Phantom.

Except Danny, who had been working on a really difficult cold case about the death of a child, and hadn't gotten much sleep in the last 72 hours, plus a plethora of other stuff (like recently acquiring Damian, fighting ghosts, etc), wasn't in the mood to entertain him. It ended with Weston getting pinned to the wall and lowkey threatened by Danny. He apologizes for it afterwards but it's not forgotten.

Additional note: Wes Weston having a crush on Danny Fenton is a hilarious trope to me so Wes absolutely has a crush on Danny and the only one in denial about it is him. Everyone else - except Danny because he's more focused on the fact that Wes knows his identity, and has other things to worry about - knows about it, and everyone chalks up his obsession with Danny as being part of said crush.

Wes' friend: you know usually when you have a crush on someone you normally confess, maybe ask them out, pine from afar....

Wes: i dont--

Wes's friend: not accuse him of being the local ghost-fighting vigilante. Seriously, wes! His parents are ghost hunters!

Wes: i do not have a crush

Wes's friend: and ghosts aren't real! everyone knows that's a lie!

next up

Dan! Or Dante, but i'll call him Dan for the time being. Even if I dislike the name with a passion. Much like Wrath from my Childhood Friends au, Dan here is pretty different from his canon counterpart. Mostly because I wanted to experiment with Dan and different interpretations of him, and I thought; hey, where no better than an au where Danny has no powers?

so, dan? Dan is not a combination of Danny and Vlad's ghost halves -- now, don't get me wrong, danny still ends up under vlad's custody care after the death of his family, but he just doesn't fuse with Vlad's ghost.

So, what happened? What happened is that Vlad convinces a grieving Danny that he should let him make him a halfa (despite the fact that he has no idea how) because the he could go find his family in the ghost zone. Danny is in no mental state for any kind of experiments, but his hope and want to see his family and friends again gets him to agree.

It backfires. Vlad doesn't make Danny a halfa, he just ends up killing him completely. Danny comes back instantly as a ghost however, and enraged over being lied to, betrayed, and murdered, ends up killing Vlad in furious cold blood. He doesn't fuse with his ghost half, there's no ghost half to fuse with.

So a grieving ghost, Danny flees into the ghost zone. And, in this iteration, doesn't end up destroying the world. So how does TUE end up happening? Well, ten years later - with Danny remaining a forever 14 year old ghost - Dan ends up finding out about time travel. He finds out a way to travel back into the past, and he does.

So he can take over his past self's life. Danny just thinks he's fighting a weird doppleganger ghost, but ends up getting overshadowed. It's like being in a weird limbo, and Danny's not really sure what's happening - but his friends figure something out. After all, its been ten years since dan saw his friends, something has to give.

And that episode happens. Danny ends up meeting clockworth, beats Dan. But, well, it's not really happily ever after - somewhat. Ehh.. sorta. Danny's been traumatized by Dan's overshadowing - making him realize that despite everything, there are things ghosts can do that danny simply cannot and he needs to prepare for it. Onset paranoia, anyone?

Dan tells them his whole tragic backstory - there's a chance for redemption here, for him. For forgiveness. Not immediately, not yet, but its there. And he doesn't want to go back to the future - he's alone there. He's tired of being alone.

But he ends up being convinced - he needs to learn to look forward, not cling back. He can build himself up again, find new family. He doesn't have to be alone. So Dan goes back to the future.

"But come tell me if Vlad's giving you trouble --" and he smiles something wicked, "I'd be happy to handle him again"

and finally

not so much as any concrete thoughts as it is just me being emotional over Danny and Damian's brotherhood in this au and also Danny's hands. Again.

lIKE.. I put it in the tags of my reblog of my "danny's scarred hands' ficlet but im putting it here and its just?? Danny grabbing the blade of Damian's sword. Him grabbing the sword multiple times despite the fact that he knows it will hurt, that he will hurt himself. That he will keep hurting himself until Damian himself stops.

its just like??? whats it mean to spill your own blood just so that this little boy you've just met won’t have to ever again. he doesn't know any english and he is hurting you and yet you take him home and get him new clothes. he runs away and you go looking for him, every single time. you teach yourself arabic first so that you can converse with him.

this boy is a clone and so are you. you're a clone of his father he's a clone of your son - by nature of your existence this is your child. except its not your child, you don't have one, its just a little boy who happens to share the same dna as you. and you take him home and he becomes your little brother.

what's it mean when its you whose been hurt rather than him? whats it mean when you’d hurt yourself again just so that he can start to heal, so that he knows that he’s worth it? you cut your hands on his blade, catch its swing, just so this boy can know, can learn, that there’s someone who will bleed for him. that there's someone who will scar their hands just to make sure that you wont scar yours.

you’re a bleeding heart and its spilling out onto your palms. you take bloody fingers and wrap it around your little brother’s and say "its okay. it’s okay. you’re safe. no one will hurt you here. i promise. i wont let them. no one will hurt you so long as i'm around."

"put the sword down. i can show you how. let me show you how."

and damian in this au just reminds me of the song "eight" by sleeping at last. like?? the lYRICS. he is sO "eight" coded

'show me how to lay my sword down for long enough to let you through.' 'here i am. pry me open. what do you want to know?' 'im just a kid who grew up scared enough to hold the door shut and bury my innocence' 'but here's a map. here's a shovel. here's my achilles' heel. im all in palms out. im at your mercy now and im ready to begin. i am strong enough to let you in.'

"by nature of our existence we are father and son, but by choice we are brothers. we are brothers we are brothers we are brothers. and i love you"