#maybe it's been overused too idk

[idontmindifuforgetme]

I’m afraid she’s busting out the straightener again

[scionshtola]

hmmm i think i'm gonna keep following the ffxiv write prompts but keep them to myself unless i really like it or actually feel like it's a complete fic 😂

[tyrannuspitch]

[finishes reading my writing book's chapter on paragraphs. puts down the book. sighs. opens my WIP. sullenly deletes half the paragraph breaks]

[parkerluvsu]

can u write something about art and reader having high sex 😛😛😛🙏🏻🙏🏻 like idk just like a chill night at the dorm at stanford or something where they smoke a couple blunts and grind on each other idk!!!!!!!!!!!

MOONLIGHT (art donaldson x fem! reader)

sometimes you felt like a bad influence on art.. he wouldn't let anything that wasn't on his pre-planned diet touch his lips before he met you. but from the first puff of your joint under the bleachers of the tennis court, he was hooked. not just on the woozy feeling he got when he took too long of a hit, but on the feeling of having you around him.

the more you two hung out, the more art associated the feeling of his head in the clouds, not with the large puffs of smoke drifting around his room, but you the feeling of you sitting next to him, your legs draped over his. art feels guilty, if he got caught, he'd absolutely get thrown out of the tennis program, and probably never be able to attend a good school again, but on the other hand.. your sweet giggles as you blow smoke into his face gave made him forget all the consequences if he got caught.

the problem with you (and it's not even really a problem to art.. he thinks you're perfect) is you like things casual. sure you've made out with art in a haze of smoke, maybe grinded a bit over his jeans in the back of his overly clean jeep, and he can't even count the times that you've texted him "you up?" at 2am, but he's never been your "boyfriend".

art knows it would be hard to have a serious conversation with you without the guise of just coming over to smoke, so he shoots you a text.

art: hey can i come over? need to relax :)

the buzz of your phone from the desk beside you steals your attention from your math homework, a welcome distraction. you text him back quickly, eager to have an excuse to smoke.

an eager knock on your door comes only minutes later, arts face a mixture of nerves and excitement, like a kid sneaking candy from their parents. art looks as cute as ever in his wrinkled stanford shirt and his checkered shorts, hair tussled from a night at practice. "cmon in artie" his cheeks blush at the nickname as he enters your dorm, making himself comfortable in the cozy chair in the corner. you pull out the box of paraphernalia from under your bed, flower stickers peeling off of the box from overuse. you tilt your head to the side, looking at arts body language, his constant shifting telling you he's trying to seem calm but he really isn't. "what do you wanna smoke?" you ask him, knowing what his answer will be before he even opens his mouth, "whatever you want".

that seems to be arts answer for anything, "whatever you want", sometimes you think if you walked off the edge of a cliff he'd do the same. art was one of those people who followed everything you did, the way you sat, the way you talked, and even your vocabulary, he would shift to be more similar to you. even when he smoked for the very first time, he watched you inhale so deep and hold it in before blowing a large cloud of smoke into the air, he tried to do the same.. but ended up greening out and throwing up in the trashcan next to the tennis courts. the truth is, art would do that all over again if it meant even one more second with you, and he knew it was clingy and definitely too dependent for the casual situation you were in.. but he can't help himself.

me: sure, come over anytime

art is a lightweight in every sense of the word, whenever Patrick would take him to a frat party to get totally wasted, all it took was one red solo cup full of beer to have art stumbling over his own feet. It was the same with weed, it only took one hit for art to start slurring his words, his body pretty much melting into any surface near him. currently, it's the cozy chair in the corner of your room, but you can see his eyes drifting towards the cozy blankets on you bed. "art, you know you can go sit on my bed right?" his eyes widen and he shuffles over, flopping down on the bed in such a way that would make sober-him flush with embarrassment. you giggle as he wraps himself in the blankets, his head lolling onto the pillow. art blearily watches you come sit on the bed too, leaning against the wall for support. the sight of him tangled up in your blankets reminds you of previous late nights spent together, causing a flutter in your stomach that you're a little ashamed of. art leans over to give you the joint back, your fingers brushing together softly. "y'know you look super pretty right now" art says, "n-not that you don't always look pretty but like.. right now especially" he revises his statement, he's always such a people pleaser. you laugh, taking a long hit from the joint before giving him a wide smile. "thanks artie, you're pretty too" you reply, knowing he likes being called pretty, even though he'd absolutely never say it, the way his ears go red gives him away every time.

as the night goes on, and your shared joint turns into a stub, you find yourself closer to art than you thought you were, your sides pressed up against each other as you lay on your backs, staring up at your ceiling. the boring white paint suddenly seeming very interesting until you felt movement beside you, art was tuning on his side and leaning his face on his hand. you blink, "what are you looking at?" glancing at arts eyes that were fixed on your face. "you" art says simply, causing you to shake your head and laugh. "i know that art.. but why?" you ask, pressing for an answer from him. "dunno.. just your face is nice" he says, his face dropping into your shoulder. arts breath was hot against your neck, making you almost want to pull away, but you'd never do that, enjoying the weight of him against you. arts breathing rate increases against your neck and you wonder why until you feel a pressure against your thigh. "art.." he hums in response, only focused on the small sharp movements of his hips. you know how quickly he shifts from being all innocent and sweet to taking what he needs.

you're such a sucker for art, especially when he's high and he can't hide his feelings like he usually does. you shift your leg to the side to help him, inciting an immediate response of his eyes fluttering shut against your shoulder, his eyelashes tickling you gently. the position that you maneuvered into allowed arts leg to slot between yours as well, letting you slowly rock your hips against his leg, the feeling of his bare skin only making you feel more pleasure. before you know it, art is pressing hot kisses into your neck and your arms are wrapped loosely around his neck. "mmmmmfuck" art groans against your neck, even though he's feeling less woozy than earlier, he's still sensitive, just the feeling of grinding against you having him teetering on the edge. suddenly, you feel his hips stutter and a dampness cover the front of his shorts. art holds his breath for a second before his whole body goes limp against you, his fingers not clenching the sheets anymore.

a comfortable silence falls between you, before art breaks it with his soft voice. "can we go again? 'm sorry i just.. i need you" he whines out, still not showing his face. you giggle softly and nod, lifting up your hips to pull off your pajama pants and panties, art doing the same with his shorts and boxers. "how do you want me?" you ask, sending a flutter of butterflies into arts stomach because of the sense of control you're giving him. art thinks for a second, "can you turn around..? please" he asks, a bit of hesitancy in his voice. you nod, turning to face the wall next to your bed, your back facing art. his gentle hands maneuver your legs into a position that's easy for him to slip into you. he does so slowly, more for your sake than his, he thinks if he pushed inside of you too fast he would surely cum prematurely (not like it hasn't happened before).

you feel art shiver against you, his hips pausing when he enters your fully, his balls resting snugly against your ass. art could truly stay like this forever, if he had the patience and resolve.. but he doesn't, his hips snap into yours quickly, the overstimulation getting to him. he wraps his arms around your stomach, holding you close to him, his head yet again smushed into the crook of your neck. every thrust he gives you feels like it's punching the air out of you, art isn't even pulling all the way out anymore, just humping his hips into you the best he can. even in his delicate headspace, art still wants to please you first, his fingers making their way down your stomach before rubbing messily at your clit, his fingers catching on your nub every few circles, causing you to tighten up around him. art is close, you can always tell by how his voice shifts from more coherent to just straight up blabbering, "mgh.. god.. 's so warm.. you're so warm.." "it feels s' good.. it's feels good to you too right?" "gotta be closer to you.. wan' be closer to you" but you snap to attention when he moans against you, "please be m' girlfriend please.. i wan' you to be mine.." you're sure art has no idea what he's saying until he repeats himself, almost sounding like he's about to cry. you nod quickly, "y-yeah artie okay.. ill be your girlfriend.." now you swear he actually sobs, his hips making one last deep thrust before you feel him fill you up, the sensation sending you over the edge right after him.

art stays inside of you for a minute, dating his breath before pulling out, grabbing a tissue and helping you clean up. when you open your eyes, arts looking up at you with his signature puppy dog eyes. "um.. did you mean what you said?" he asks quietly, his head bowing down quickly, as if he didn't want to see your reaction. you think back to your agreement, sure it was in the heat of the moment, but would it really be such a bad idea to say yes? you pause, and arts head droops even lower, expecting the worst. "art you know ive purposely been keeping this casual.. but i.. i trust you now artie, i do want this to be serious" you reach out for his hand, squeezing it gently. arts face lights up like a kid getting the one present they wanted for christmas as he quickly hugs you. "thank you.. thanks, you won't regret it i swear" you smile, pulling the blankets over the both of you, snuggling into arts chest as you admire the beautiful rays of moonlight streaming into your bedroom.

art is easily entranced by the quick movements of your fingers as you roll a joint, it sounds silly but he's always admired the fact that you didn't buy pre-rolls, preferring to be more independent. you lick the paper to get it to stick shut (and art is grateful you were too focused on that to see the way his eyes widened when you did) and root around your drawer for your lighter, a stupid pink one decorated with hello kitty that you got for your birthday. art couldn't help but find it endearing, the way you were so independent and "too cool" for a real relationship, but you still kept all the things that people gave to you, even if they weren't to your taste. the click of your lighter snapped art out of his observations, the light from the tiny flame illuminating your face in a way that made art want to take a picture, the fluttering flame casting an orange glow onto your skin. the strong smell of the joint caused art to become a little lightheaded even though he hasn’t even taken a hit yet, his fingers grabbing the joint from you after a couple failed tries that make you laugh, the soft giggles a soundtrack for the night.

[m1ss1ng-d0g]

Here’s my thing about polyarchives is like I love it but in my head NONE of their dynamics have been talked about or agreed upon verbally ONCE. They just sometimes… do things together.

Sasha was good friends with Jon, and maybe brushed his hair out of his eyes for him once at the pub and when Jon started stuttering about it Tim would NOT let him forget it (much to his dismay and Sasha’s eye-rolls).

I saw someone say Tim would rest his head on top of Jons when he was thinking (gahh need to draw that). Jon tells him to stop it but sometimes when he’s alone and lost in thought he gently touches the top of his head. He doesn’t even realize he does it or why.

Martin started with a simple reassuring touch on the back when he brought him tea, but now he’s giving Jon shoulder massages and it feels too good for Jon to shoo him away. But they. Do Not Talk About It.

Everyone at the institute knows about Tim and Sasha that one’s easy… so everyone wonders but doesn’t ask when they suddenly don’t have that same rapport… and frankly Tim does too.

Tim listens secretly to Martin’s poetry when he can and starts to flirt a little harder and a little more desperately when he feels Wrong suddenly around Sasha. Martin thinks he’s not really anything more than a coping mechanism for him but is too lonely to give that up. And he’s half right.

Jon and Tim started making out when they fought once… whatever. That didn’t happen. We don’t talk about it. Martin totally didn’t overhear it. He’s not jealous about or aroused by it at all.

Sometimes at home in his room Tim paces, fuming about how Jon is acting. But he also can’t stop thinking of how Jon used to loosen his tie and unbutton the first few buttons on his shirt when they went to the pub (and was very clearly trying to look cool doing so). How he used to actually laugh. The sound of Jon’s laugh. Tim will then throw something at the wall violently. He walked into Jons office once planning to let him have it and when Jon looked up wearily and Tim sees he’d taken his tie off and unbuttoned his shirt… he just walked right back out. Immediately. Jon doesn’t know what that was about.

Look what I’m saying here is Polyarchives to me is the most unhealthy distressing There-But-Not-There sort of…. Thing. We-All-Ignore-The-Pit ass dynamic. Sometimes Elias refers to it as “whatever you’ve all got going on here” and everyone immediately protests angrily to the insinuation.

I love seeing polyarchive cuddles and fluff so much but I literally can’t think of a time they’d all actually be on the same page like that. (Tearily and longingly saying “they would not fucking do that” bc I wish they would)

As a footnote I really don’t see chemistry between Jon and any of the other female characters besides Georgie and they’re now in their “exes that are still friends” era. Idk in my head when a man hates another man it has the potential to be homoerotic. When a woman hates a man thats all it is. Maybe it’s the overuse of the “hard to get” thing with women that makes me wary of it. Not really offended by anyone who does ship him w Melanie/Basira/Daisy bc Jon is too pathetic in those dynamics to be forcing himself on them lol but just not my cuppa.

[nastyc2nt]

Hanta sero being the biggest fuck boy around, and izuku being sensitive and inexperienced leads to many things

Like izuku begging sero to teach him to fuck you. And trust me he’s writhing. Red faced, maybe teary. He’s so embarrassed. And sero just drinks it up. “Yeah? You want me to teach you to fuck your girl?” Or something slightly condescending.

Of course hanta agrees cause you’re hot. So he’s sitting behind you, against the headboard. While he shows izuku how to make you cum in every way.

First lesson was fingers, second was tongue, third was his dick. And after was toys he lended you both. Fingers started out tricky, but sero was fairly hands on, resulting in four fingers in you rather than two. Izukus personal favourite was the vibrators. Something about being as desperate and pathetic as him, turned him on.

Something about the condescending attitude plus the whiny pathetic behaviour goes crazy. (Side note. If you want it to be even more freaky. Make izuku the fuckboy and bakugo the pathetic one. “I guess you’ll always be second place to me kacchan.’ Or something even more diva-ish.)

🫀

I’m literally going crazy, i wouldn’t have thought of this on my own and i’m so grateful you brought this to my attention—

Sero is a very good choice because he’s so experienced!! Poor Izuku wouldn’t know what to do, he’s never had a girlfriend before!!

She/Her and Born at birth anatomy.

{idk where katsuki came in from, but I literally breath for cocky izuku. Will make a small dabble if you send in something about cocky izuku and katsuki}

{Also saw chubby reader for some reason- BUT EVERYTHINH WORKS}

✦ ──────── ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ──────── ✦

“Don’t just whine,” sero sternly shouted at the green haired man that was too lost in your pussy to think of anything else. Izuku has been trying so hard to learn everything, and has been getting so turned on with how pathetic you looked when you’ve been overstimulated.

“M’sorry,” he opened his eyes and focused on fucking you just right instead of his own needs, he tries to reach deep and use his cock with the tips sero gave him! And he listened to how you like it as well.

Sero rolls his eyes and grabs izukus hand from behind you, his other hand still grabbing your waist and you lean back onto his chest. “Play with her clit like a man! I thought the number one hero could please his girlfriend,” he looks down at you, your eyes half open as you look at your boyfriend. He recalled your defenses against izuku being a bad lover throughout the evening but never once said no, or that what sero did wasn’t right.

You moan and whimper when izuku started to play with your overused clit and started to squirm underneath both their holds, but sero made sure to keep you still. “See? Ain’t that a precious sight,” he hated to admit, if you were to find yourself single — he’d fuck you so good. But he has more respect for izuku then to pull you away from him.

Izuku had enough of the hunger in Seros eyes, he knew it was strange to get jealous when he literally asked for this.

You yelped when izuku pressed your leg up higher and inched his body closer, his legs almost crushing you, “Gonna cum?” Izuku egged on. sero watches him start to pump your guts, and the sound from your lips and pussy is so good it makes him hard. Izuku was rough now to, his hand making a imprint on your leg that he held closer to your head, and his hand still playing with your clit.

Sero smirks, proud of Izuku gaining confidence and fucking like a man. “Damn, fuckin’ her rough? I knew you were like a rabbit.”

¡!Don’t repost my posts on other websites, don’t translate them, theses are for me to publish on my own!!

Taglist: @sparklylanddetective @fvitos

[syd-djarin]

private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.

banner by: @cafekitsune

tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private

a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀

wc: ~1.6k

smut below the cut

 “I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”

The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.

This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”. 

Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too. 

The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness. 

“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story. 

“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time. 

Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude,  adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him. 

Or you. 

Whatever. 

He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.

You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night. 

You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open. 

He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes. 

You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that. 

But not now.

You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving. 

It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to. 

Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop. 

Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry. 

You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips. 

He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity. 

After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment. 

You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth. 

“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely. 

“I–”

“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”

“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again. 

“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”

[michuga]

kaleidoscope

summary: supposedly, when you turn 19, sometime within that year, you meet a guy who turns your whole life upside down. your first love, your first heartbreak. one year. 365 days, 5 hours, 49 minutes.

pairing: jeongguk x reader

content: lowercase intended, artist reader, tattoo artist jk, use of korean name, overuse of the word 'lover', fluff, their favorite hobby is admiring eachother, angst, angst, then more angst, shared trauma, basically just life happening

warnings: cursing, pregnancy & childbirth, abortion, miscarriage

wc: 6.5k

a/n: bare with me as i try to figure out my writing style ㅠㅠ i almost cried while writing this. or maybe i got some chappell in my eyes, idk. enjoy!

.ılılılllıılılıllllıılılllıllı.

kaleidoscope - chappell Roan

0:24 ─●──────── 3:42 ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

it's funny, isn’t it? for someone who had it all figured out at 18, standing here at 23 and watching him pack his bags for the last time, you can’t help but let your mind wander. somewhere between 18 and 23, you tumbled (on a rock, a jeongguk shaped rock) and you’ll never be the same.

you had heard stories about “the boy you meet at 19”. friends, family members, hell, even online communities complained about it. supposedly, when you turn 19, sometime within that year, you meet a guy who turns your whole life upside down. your first love, your first heartbreak. one year. 365 days, 5 hours, 49 minutes.

that was all bullshit of course.

jeongguk was not your first love, nor your first heartbreak. nevertheless, you know what he was? he was your first clash. your first storm, the first rain after a long hard year of drought. there’s no other way to explain it. he didn’t sweep you off my feet or visit your house with a boombox on his shoulder begging for you back, but it all turned out just the same.

"this seat taken? all the others are." you hear a voice call out, snapping you out of your creative flow.

you look up to see the most beautiful pair of mahogany orbs you've ever seen.

you look around, most of the seats empty.

confused, you answer, "sure?"

he pulls out the chair in front of you, with a huge grin.

"i'm jeongguk," he says, extending a hand for you to shake.

his t-shirt sleeves strain against his biceps, and you finally notice his inked arms. what you don't notice is holding onto his hand for a few seconds too long, entranced by the stunning artwork.

letting go with an awkward clear of your throat, you pull your hand back to rest on your laptop's trackpad.

"you are breathtakingly beautiful, and i would've beat myself up for the next two months if i didn't talk to you."

arriving at the jazz bar jimin invited you to, you scan the room to find him.

locking eyes with him, you make your way across the room to where he's sitting.

you loved being friends with jimin.

jimin was charismatic, chic. always dressed to the nines with his leather jackets and designer boots. he carried around this sense of subtle dominance, deep down he knew he controlled every room he walked in. but most importantly, he was also the gentlest friend you could ask for.

if you ever needed a shoulder to cry on or a pair of hands to hold your hair back when you throw up, jimin made sure you knew he was always one call away. as were you, when it came to him.

"you made it! hello, hello, hello!" jimin chirps, extending his arms out only to engulf you in a bear hug.

"i can't wait to see tae on stage!" you say, coming out from the hug.

the main event of the night; taehyung, jimin's boyfriend, was to perform a song with his band tonight.

"come! sit with us." jimin says, leading you back to his table.

you notice five men already seated. upon first glance, you didn't notice anything unusual, all of you exchanging greetings. that was until your eyes land on the last man on the far end.

"you again?" you blurt out of surprise.

"me again. hi beautiful." the familiar man says with that cheeky grin of his, his eyes having been already fixated on you the minute you walked through the door.

"wait. you two know each other?" jimin asks confused, looking back and forth between the two of you.

"you can say that.." you answer meekly, looking away.

looking back at jeongguk, jimin waits for an explanation.

he only gets a shrug from the younger man and another grin from him in response as you move to sit next to him.

"no, you're gonna tell me! i want to know." jimin complains as he sits down.

as the night went on, you and jeongguk got to know each other more. you had always longed for the organic in relationships. an organic meeting, organic conversation, and most importantly; organic chemistry. it seemed like the man in front of you checked all your boxes.

it turns out you and jeongguk were way more similar than either of you initially thought.

you both had this sense of freedom, like no matter what anyone told you. if you had your mind set on something, you'll make it happen, simply because you willed it so.

you carried this sense of carelessness-- no, that's not the right word. lightness? ease? navigating the world. like in the end, nothing really matters. both of you live life on a whim. you joked about hoping it wouldn't be your downfall, then laughed it off.

"do you ever look at the stars?" you say, laying on your back, looking up to the sky.

"do i ever look at the stars?" he slowly repeats, laying on his stomach, admiring the freckles on your face. "hmm.."

“i don’t need the stars. i have your eyes to look at.” he answers after a few seconds of fake pondering.

“that’s so sappy oh my gooooddd”

“what can i say? you make me sappy baby.” he says with a stupid grin, brushing strands of hair away from your face.

you and jeongguk had been dating for a month and a few weeks now. initially scared shitless to open your heart up again, you're glad you've made that decision. you can confidently say you've never been happier.

you continue, "you don't ever like, count them? you know they're actually dead, right?"

"dead? whaaat? that's crazy," he says, smiling like a lovestruck idiot.

finally shifting your focus to the man next to you, you glance sideways, “god, i love you. you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

it's your 1-year anniversary with jeongguk. both of you were inseparable at this point, where one of you went the other followed. from that point onwards, both your lifestyles tangoed and merged into one. his friend group became yours, your favorite spots became his, and everything else that could be shared, was. it was the most delicate display of intimacy; domesticity.

after taking you out to a nice romantic dinner, both of you ended up at your apartment. one of the many things shared within your relationship was your homes. this, being his second one, wasn't unfamiliar to him.

gently tracing your curves, jeongguk lay sideways. his head propped up on his elbow, admiring you. opposite him, you lay on your side, reading your book.

"watcha' readin'?" he asks in a silly tone, the very one you'd use to talk to a kid.

with a sly smirk and a brief glance at your lover, you answer him.

"smut. steamy, filthy smut. but after the passionate romance, of course."

"oh? anything in particular you'd like to recreate?" he takes on a challenging tone, slightly amused.

"maybe."

"can i see?"

"nope. you'll have to figure it out yourself."

"not even if i ask politely?"

"nnnnope!"

and just like that, the calm before the storm ended. you had dug your grave and laid in it. all that was left now, was to await your fate-

"you cheeky little minx, come here," he says with a renewed vigor, swiftly getting on top of you and getting straight to work tickling your sides.

"nooooo, please, please," you say breathlessly in between tickles.

you're not sure if it's physically possible to laugh your way to a six-pack, but it seemed to you that in those 30 seconds it had been made possible.

"alright, baby please!" you yell, desperately gasping for air.

finally freeing you from this relentless torture, jeongguk stops. as the laughter dies down, both of you pant with stupid smiles plastered across your faces. with jeongguk still on top of you; his weight balanced on both his arms, you stare into each others eyes.

"y'make me feel so loved, y'know.. you're my person, gguk." you coo, affectionately brushing his hair away from his face with one of your hands.

"thank you for trusting me enough to be that for you, baby. you make me the happiest man on this damn planet. i mean it."

"move in with me." you blurt out.

"okay."

"you spend most of your time here anyway, my apartment can fit both of us, you have clothes everywh- what?"

with a giggle, he repeats, "okay. i'll move in with you"

"that easy?!" you scoff.

"who told you it was hard?" scrunching his nose at you, he continues, "i'd carry the sun aflame; scorching hot and all, with my bare hands for you should you ask. are you really surprised?"

"jesus, shakespeare. you trying to get into my pants or something?"

"maybe. is it working?" flashing you a bunny smile, he leans down to place a soft kiss on your lips.

you roll your eyes, but without an ounce of annoyance.

"for the last fucking time jeongguk, stop leaving your clothes all over the place!" you let out, irritated.

ignoring you, he keeps scrolling through his phone.

"hey! did you hear me?" you continue, waving your hands in front of his face.

"why are you yelling right now? that's really unnecessary."

"so your answer is to ignore me?"

"you know i don't like being yelled at. speak to me like a normal human being."

"i would, if you were behaving like one."

"whatever," he says with a tsk.

jeongguk isn't usually unreasonable, it was just one of those days. both of you have those days sometimes. now, more than usual though.

"i asked you to move in with me because i love you. now stop being a child and pick your damn clothes up." you spit, tossing his shirt that was once sprawled out on the floor, in his face.

a few hours later, both of you head out to meet your friends.

arriving at the hangout spot, you and jeongguk take your seats next to your friends.

"there you are, lovebirds!" hoseok yells out excitedly, standing up to greet you.

the drinks kept coming. you could handle your liquor, but you knew jeongguk couldn't exactly do the same.

a steady stream of alcohol was maintained. one drink, two drinks, then the next, and the next.. he gulped them down with ease one after the other, until he was slurring his words.

"and then i told him; that can't possibly be right, you're not exactly the brightest" jimin says, the entire table bursting into laughter at his story.

"how are you guys? enjoying the domestic life together? tae asks, slowly sipping his drink next to jimin.

silently glancing over to jeongguk, you brace yourself as you watch him prepare to speak.

"loooooove this one," he blurts with a lopsided smile, throwing his free arm around your shoulder. "always has to keep the house all neat and tidy,"

"baby, you've had a bit too much to drink, yeah? i think we'll head out now guys."

noticing the awkward shift in the air, the guys agree with you and tell you it's fine, gesturing for you to get up.

"it's not like y-you always pay attention t'me. w-why do you only pay attention when you're- scolding me?" jeongguk continues, in between hiccups.

"c'mon. up you go," you say ignoring him, wrapping your hands around his torso to get him up.

with taehyung's help, you finally manage to lay jeongguk's (very heavy) body across the backseat of his car.

"thanks, tae. god knows i would've ruptured a disc had i attempted that alone."

"it's really no problem, cupcake. make sure to text us when you get home safe, alright?"

with a sigh and a nod, you get into the driver's seat.

"why are you being like this?" you murmur, starting the car.

one of your favorite past times with jeongguk is spending time together doing your own thing. it's the best and most efficient way to get things done while silently supporting the other. it also tells you a lot about how comfortable and safe you make each other feel. you have nurtured this relationship so carefully, and watched it blossom into what you have now. jeongguk knows this, he knows how at ease you feel during these simple, mundane times.

what you haven't told him though, is you have something you enjoy more.

secretly admiring him as he works.

sometimes when he's fully immersed in the task at hand, you secretly stop what you're doing and just stare at him. there were times you even pretended to do something, just so he can get busy and fail to notice your piercing gaze.

you can't help it. in your eyes, he's perfection itself.

so this time, as he was typing up an essay, you grabbed your sketchbook and got to work.

spilling ink to fill the blacks of his eyes, carving out the beautiful slant of his nose, the little mole under his lip.. his sweet honeyed features come together to breathe life into your drawing.

this isn't the first time you draw him. time and time again, you've tried to mimic his essence on paper. you're not one to brag, but you'd like to think you're a good artist. great even, from what your professors have told you; but try as you may, you have never once been successful. no amount of charcoal or white highlights on the canvas in your hands could capture a glimmer of your lover's warmth.

"is that.. is that me?" you hear a voice say, snapping you from your thoughts.

whoops.. guess you got careless and accidentally drowned in his eyes for real this time.

your cheeks turn a rich shade of crimson as you shyly nod.

sliding his laptop off his lap and taking his glasses off, he asks, "can i see?"

reluctantly, you hand him the sketchbook.

"it's not finished.. i was gonna shade some more and add highlights-"

he flips through the pages, looking at the earlier pages.

"wait!" leaning over, you try to grab the sketchbook from his hands. however, he manages to swiftly move his body, lifting the sketchbook out of your reach.

nevermind that he caught you drawing him, that entire sketchbook was filled with sketches of him.

finally reaching the first page, his eyes scan the page to read the words written in cursive,

"୨୧ jeongguk sketchbook ୨୧"

he stayed silent for a few minutes.

"baby.. are you mad at me?" you ask, concerned. with a bite of your lip, you anxiously wait for him to say something.

"i'm gonna marry you one day," he says, looking into your eyes in awe.

"i wish my professors reacted that enthusiastically upon seeing my work," you giggle, relieved. "also, is that a threat?"

"it's a promise," he says with a roll of his eyes, fighting a grin.

settling into his accustomed place between your thighs, he gets on top you.

"you have an essay to write. no funny business, mister." you jokingly scold, patting his butt with your foot.

"okay mom," he says with a smile as he starts kissing all over your face.

"nooo, why'd you have to say that before kissing meee" you whine, turning your head left and right to avoid his kisses.

scrolling through your phone, you wait at the tattoo parlor jeongguk works at for him to be done with his client.

handing you a bottle of water, yoongi takes a seat next to you.

"he'll be out in a few. just wrapping the client's tattoo." he informs you.

"can i see that?" you gesture to the tattoo book on the table, "jeongguk" written on the cover.

handing you the book, he starts, "quite the talented one, your boyfriend. we have lots of artists, but his work really is a sight for sore eyes. clients usually go for him."

with a giddy smile, you open the book, "you know when i first met him, his tattoos were the first thing that caught my eye. not to brag but, i don't doubt any of that for a second."

chuckling, yoongi gets up. "i'll be in my office if you need anything."

with an appreciative nod, you thank him.

feeling the couch take a dip, you smell him before you can see him.

"hi baby," he takes a seat next to you.

"hi my love," you lean in to kiss him. "i knew you were talented but holy shit, your hands were kissed by angels."

"the only angel that's ever kissed them is sitting next to me. so you're right, i guess." he says, nodding in agreement.

tracing the lines in the book, you stare in awe. it seems your lover renders you speechless most of the time you're with him.

"soo… i did a thing," jeongguk says as he enters your shared apartment, taking off his shoes.

"uh-oh."

"no uh-oh. c'mere," he beckons with his hand, buzzing with anticipation.

turning off the stove, you make your way over to him.

"close your eyes,"

"okay, now i'm scared."

"hurry uuupppp."

placing your palms over your eyes, you reluctantly obey.

"no, not your hands. give them to me."

suspicious, you keep your eyes shut and reach out your hands for him to take.

you hear the sound of fabric shuffling, then feel your fingers touch warm skin.

warm.. engraved skin?

"you can open them now."

your jaw hangs open.

"oh baby, that's beautiful.." you say, your eyes welling up with tears.

staring back at you is your birth flower, tattooed on jeongguk's side below his ribs.

"since you were so in love with my designs, i thought i'd make you one your own."

chuckling, you reply, "shouldn't it be on my body then?"

"you make a good point, but my body is yours, so by extension, this tattoo is also yours."

"okay smarty pants." you say with a smile, wiping away the tears rolling down your face. "let's go watch a movie."

one kiss. two kisses.

"baby.." he says, turning his head away.

"let me make you feel good. just relax." you graze your hand along his chest.

with a sigh, he sits up, letting your hands fall.

frustrated, you get up.

"how much rejection can i take?" finally fed up, you burst. "how many times are you gonna shut me out?" this hadn't been the first time jeongguk denied you. he's been mentally withdrawn from you for a few weeks, coming up with one excuse or another.

he rubs at his temples.

"i try and i try and i try. you don't talk to me about what bothers you, you barely touch me anymore.. what am i supposed to do, jeongguk? you're with me but you're not even here." desperate for an answer, you plead.

"i already told you. i'm taking more courses this semester, and yoongi wants me to work extra shifts at the parlor. not exactly an aphrodisiac for me."

"baby, stress will always be a part of our lives. you have to lean on me when it gets hard, that's what relationships are for. we're a team now, you can't keep shutting me out like this."

you had always been upfront with jeongguk about the importance of communication within your relationship. you could handle just about anything, but not this.

crackle. pop.

it was new year's eve, you heard fireworks go off outside your home.

at almost midnight, you were waiting for your boyfriend to come back.

sitting under your skylight, you admire the show in the sky. the light illuminates your face as you gaze up.

you feel your phone vibrate in your lap.

j<3: "working late."

j<3: "don't wait up."

life had a funny yet cruel sense of irony. everyone was out celebrating, while over here, it seemed like your whole life was coming to an end.

after what feels like hours of dreary silence, you hear the front door open. he's home.

nervously pacing back and forth in your shared bathroom, you wait for him to come into the bedroom.

god, it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

you hear footsteps. turning around, you meet his eyes.

"i'm pregnant." you say abruptly, with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

at 21, this is the last thing you expected to happen. it seems you had gotten careless. young and in love.

after a few moments of utter silence, both of you sit side by side on your bathroom floor.

"fuck. fuck, okay. fuck."

you burst into tears for the third time that night.

"i'm not ready.. we're not ready.. can't believe this is really happening.. ggukie, what are we gonna do? m' so scared"

"hey, hey, hey.. it's okay. we'll get through this. you hear me, baby? we're gonna be alright. it's okay. i've got you. as long as we both have each other, nothing else matters." he reassures, pulling you both into the bathtub, cradling you into his chest.

"sure it's happening sooner than we thought, but this was the plan all along angel, wasn't it? hm?" he says softly, wiping away your tears. "we'll get married, once you pop out this little one we can get a house in the suburbs.. my parents can help us out financially.. my love, look at me. deep breaths."

you calm down, finally catching your breath. you had forgotten you weren't gonna be alone in this. you felt as long as you had jeongguk, you were ready to face anything.

"what about school?" you ask.

"you can take a gap year. i'll drop some classes and make sure i'm by your side."

"i'm gonna be a dad." he says after a long silence. you feel tears wetting your shirt, unsure whose they were.

and maybe it was going to be alright. because you were in his arms. carrying his child, you were going to have your own family. with the man you love.

you finally allow yourself to feel excitement. the joy of becoming a mother. you allow yourself to feel hope, the kind that comes with the promise of a seedling sprouting from the dirt.

one thing you admired about him was his humility. perhaps one of the most powerful things he does is; at his best and most successful, my baby comes back home and kneels before me. looking up at me, i see in his eyes everything i ever prayed, could pray, and would ever pray for.

my lover never once forgot me. no matter what it was, he always shared it with me. not once has he ever treated me as less than.

"baby! guess what i gooot!" you hear the front door shut.

truthfully, things had gotten better after your big news. remarkably better. jeongguk had been paying extra attention to you, making sure you’re well tended to, fed, comfortable.. it was almost like how you two were in the beginning. when it was still fresh.

running into your room excitedly like a little kid, jeongguk holds up a pair of baby socks.

"look how adorable!" he exclaims, eye twinkling.

smiling fondly, you entertain him as you rub your already swollen belly.

"i can't believe they make socks that tiny." you reply with a soft chuckle.

"i know, right? i didn't even know someone's feet can be this tiny!"

at 3 months pregnant, things weren't as bad as you had initially expected. you had taken a gap year, like jeongguk suggested, and both of you were doing just fine.

having him by your side made everything so much easier, and you wondered why you ever thought you couldn't do this. being his lover and the mother of his child was the easiest and most natural thing for you.

unrequited

/ʌnrɪˈkwʌɪtɪd/

adjective

(of a feeling, especially love) not returned.

can love be one sided?

a question i'm sure has been passed around for centuries past. after all, i'm sure you're familiar with the term "unrequited love".

so can it be?

well, i don't think so.

i believe people who claim it, mislabel infatuation. love can never be one sided. as far as i'm concerned, in order to fall in love, both sides have to have experienced their fair share of vulnerable moments. human moments. for the word "love" to be spoken and for it to be real, it has to exist tangibly, undeniably, between two people. love does not shy away and hide, love stands tall and proud; like the biggest elephant any room has seen.

if there really is love on one side, it's mirrored on the other side as well.

some may argue, the term "unrequited" still stands, because the other person may feel love, but not the romantic kind intended; i beg to differ. love, no matter its form, will warm you from the inside out. to deny its existence on the other side merely because you don't like how it takes shape and presents itself, is a selfish act of fraud.

as usual, good things don't last.

you like to think the love was there. it really, irrefutably, was. and most days, that's what get helps you get by. after all, the life growing inside you was proof of it. or was, anyway.

looking at your bathroom mirror, you see a woman you don't recognize.

you have the same eyes, but hers are weighed down with dark rings. where you once saw a bright curious girl, stands a woman foreign, burdened with tribulations; the aftermath of adolescence.

turning to the side, you lift your shirt up to reveal your stomach. you lightly ghost your hand over your abdomen. pang in your chest, sting in your eyes. breathe, 1, 2, 3.

you walk into your shared bedroom to find jeongguk seated on the bed with his phone in hand.

your steps coming to a halt, you look up at him. with dead eyes, you mumble quietly, "i lost the baby."

"what was that?" he asks, unable to quite make out what you were saying.

"i lost the baby," you repeat, loud enough for him to hear this time.

frozen in shock, he stares at you with wide eyes.

"..what?" he says with a whisper, tears instantly flooding his eyes.

you stay silent.

"are you- are you sure??" he asks with urgency, immediately springing up from the bed to stand infront of you.

with a slow and apprehensive nod you reply, "just got back from a checkup."

jeongguk raises his hand to rub his face. you flinch.

mortified, jeongguk looks at you with wide eyes.

"did- baby did you just flinch? what the fuck?" he says, hurt written all over his face.

you slide down the wall behind you, needing anything to stabilize you. of course you weren't expecting him to hit you. were you? you don't know anymore. your body has become foreign to you, and you curse it for always betraying you throughout your years. this time, it had been the biggest betrayal of all.

jeongguk immediately reaches to grab your weak body, kneeling on the ground with you.

he takes you in his embrace once more, and a cruel, ironic sense of déjà vu washes over you. once more, you lie in each others arms. only last time marked a beginning, this time marked the end.

but the love was there. right?

if jeongguk hadn't been touching you as much before, now he really didn't, at all. it's not that he didn't try, he has, a few times. but you really, really can't bring yourself to let him touch you right now. when you shared that with him, he understood, he really did. but after all, how long can someone be understanding, until they finally realize, they've had enough?

"it's been months.. i understand how you feel, and it's no easy thing what we just went through. what you went through. you're so strong, mama. so strong."

mama. you could almost hear the crack in your heart.

"i don't wanna sound like an asshole, and i'll never, ever force you; so long as i draw breath.. but baby i long for you. i just want to connect with you like we used to.. i ache for your touch. i know it's not easy, but can you please try?"

"i know, i know. i'm sorry, baby. i'm sorry," you whisper, averting your gaze to the floor with tears in your eyes.

"i think we should take a break." you blurt out, breaking the silence.

"what?"

"i need a break."

"from me?" he asks, voice coming out more fragile than intended. jeongguk knew your relationship has become rocky to say the least, but what he wasn't expecting was this.

you stay silent.

"okay.. if that's what you need." he lets out, defeated.

getting up, you grab a suitcase and start packing clothes.

"where are you going?" alarmed, he instinctively gets up to follow you.

"to jimin's."

agonizing silence.

"do you have to do this?"

"yes."

you feel suffocated. you've heard of post-miscarriage hormones, and you don't know if that was what was causing your recent irritability, but it seemed like everything and everyone around you annoyed you. never in your life would you have imagined that would include jeongguk. you hated yourself for it. you tell your lover everything, but this one secret you were prepared to take to the grave.

"you're welcome to sleep with other people, if you'd like."

"you really need to stop making these decisions all on your own." he says, sounding fed up. "i don't fucking want to be with anyone else. do you really think it's about the sex for me?"

angrily stomping over to you, he gently grabs your face, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"do you really think, all i want is a fucking nut?" laughing in disbelief, he lets go of your face, ruffling his hair in frustration. "i want you. you."

biting your lip, you grab your suitcase and make your way to the front door and text jimin to let him know.

you hear a sigh and footsteps behind you. "here, let me." jeongguk says, taking ahold of your suitcase before you can argue.

with a small smile, you follow behind him. even when he's hurt, he takes care of you.

you get in your car. adjusting the mirror, you see jeongguk looking back at you in the reflection. forcing yourself to look away, you start driving.

making your way inside jimin's apartment, both of you take a seat on his couch, setting your suitcase beside you.

"what happened?" jimin asks hesitatingly, scared to set you off. he knows of everything that happened the past few months, upset with you after realizing you had hid it from him for a while. he wasn't upset with you, but rather the fact that you had endured it alone all this time. but he understood. he could never blame you.

"we had a fight. well, sort of," you explain with a sigh. "i told him i needed a break."

"is it okay if i hug you?"

upon your immediate approval, jimin leaps into your embrace.

"i don't know where to begin," he starts, voice muffled by your clothes. slowly pulling away, he catches your eyes.

"you've had it so hard. so hard." tearing up, he continues, "if a break is what you need, i'll gladly support it. i may not always fully understand what you're going through, but know you always always have my full support regardless."

seeing your angel of a friend cry, tears are brought to your eyes as well.

"why are you crying? aren't i supposed to be the one doing that?" you say, chuckling.

"so i can't cry now? let me cry, woman!" matching your energy, he replies.

you would never admit it to the man waiting for you at home, but within the confinements of your best friend's living room, you finally allow yourself to speak it aloud.

"looking at him reminds me of what happened. he reminds me of her."

with a knowing nod, jimin takes your hand in his.

"our baby. god, jimin, i couldn't stand to be in that room a minute longer."

you're glad you had your best friend alongside you all these years. seeing you in all your states, he's the one person you can truly call family. love like this, you were sure of. love like this, you could never let go of. love like this, you've learned to truly cherish.

you spent a little over a week at jimin's.

you and jeongguk hadn't been talking, and you noticed he was spending longer and longer hours away at night. tonight you decided, enough is enough.

"where the fuck have you been?" you spit out like venom, spotting the messy haired man at the front door. after waiting all night for jeongguk to finally come back home, your voice had gained an edge.

"does it fucking matter?" he answers, matching your vulgarity. a habit both of you, unfortunately, picked up.

"it's 4 am. you left without a word and now you smell like an entire fucking candy shop. think i don't know what you get up to?" because like any human being, despite making it clear you were okay with him sleeping with other people, the very idea broke whatever was left of your heart into tinier fragments.

you continue, "you think the loss of our babygirl hasn't impacted me? it hurt me the most. as i was sitting here, grieving your fucking child, you were out fucking whores. instead of being with me and helping us get through it, you fucking bailed on me. you abandoned our relationship. you abandoned me."

"watch your mouth. that's not fair. that is not fair. i have never unfaithful to you. we haven't been fine for a damn long time and you know it."

you knew you weren't being fair. you knew he wouldn't cheat on you, either. but you couldn't stop. you couldn't bring yourself to stop. you had reached the point of no return, and all your anger had come up to the surface to breathe. claws, sharp edges and all, 'i am here. i am here.' it screamed.

“that doesn’t mean you stay out all night every single day and pretend i don’t fucking exist! if you want to break up, grow a pair and fucking say it to my face.”

"frankly, that's none of your concern. you lost the right to what i did a long time ago."

if it weren't for the four years you've known this man, you would've missed the slight stutter in his words. you've memorized every freckle, every curve, every dimple.

"are you drunk?" you ask slowly. your anger dialing up to 100.

ignoring you, he makes a beeline for the spare bedroom door. where he had been sleeping for the past- you can’t even remember how long it’s been.

you don't know when you reached this point. it was all sunshine and rainbows, then it all went downhill. well, you can't say it was sudden. to tell the truth, you and jeongguk's relationship has been strained for a long time.

upon asking him to move in with you, you had thought being in close proximity with your lover would make you grow closer. on the contrary, within the same four walls and under the same roof, you had never felt further from the person you were supposed to love for the rest of your life.

"iseul."

he stops in his tracks.

"that's the name i had picked out for her. iseul."

turning around, jeongguk looks at you as if you had just slapped him.

"that's a beautiful name," he murmurs.

"she would've been ours. would've looked just like you, to a t. i bet she would've had your beautiful big eyes."

"she would've had your laugh.." he chokes out, tears flooding.

"we were supposed to get married and grow old together. what has become of us? since when were we like this?

"shit baby, i don't know. i don't know." slowly walking over to you, he pulls your head in his chest. he holds you with the same frailty he used to. back when you were younger. back when he loved you. when you loved each other. it seems like nowadays all you do is fight.

your communication has gone to shit. it was like both of you were speaking a language the other couldn't understand.

"we had something didn't we?" you whisper into his chest, your tears staining his shirt. "we loved each other, at some point, right?"

“of course we did, baby. of course we did. what we had, though humble, was real and i would never change it. the love was there."

he continues, "you’re gonna find so much better. you’re gonna have so much greater. we’re not meant for each other. god knows what we went through wasn’t easy. it was fucking hell. we fought tooth and nail to get here, i know your pain. i’ve seen your pain, it is mine too. maybe it isn't fair to say this, but we need to get out of this bubble. long as we keep coming back here, we’ll always be reminded of all the hurt and the pain. we both need fresh starts. we deserve it."

"is this really happening? this is really happening. oh god. oh my god." feeling a panic attack coming on, you try to take deep breaths.

jeongguk hugs you tighter, gently stroking your back.

"that's it baby, breathe. breathe, lover, breathe. nice and slow, just like that. there we go, my love."

it passes, but the heartache doesn't, so you settle for keeping your face nestled into his chest, crying your heart out.

you love him. oh god, you love him like you breathe air. but he's right, neither of you can live like this.

"i wish i hated you. you asshole, i wish you made me hate you." weakly punching his chest repeatedly, you sob into his chest. "would've made things so much easier."

gently stroking your hair, he softly hums.

"thank you for making this decision for both of us. god knows i'm not strong enough to leave."

"it's because i love you so much, i can't bare to see you like this. it kills me every waking fucking day."

stepping away from your embrace, jeongguk retreats to your bedroom.

looking at him confused, you sniffle.

"lovesong" by adele blares through your apartment.

stepping back out, he approaches you again.

"come here, love."

extending a hand out to you, he invites you to dance.

and so you did.

i hope my lover never forgets me.

bonus

silence.

you were once a teenager with loud thoughts. loud, angry, vengeful. you were so, so angry. now there's just silence.

listening to the ocean waves crash against the rocks, you admire the scenery in front of you. even in their violence, it seems to you that those very waves kiss the surface of the rocks, only to retreat in shyness. how romantic.

was the ocean always this beautiful?

a/n: please let me know what you think! truthfully, i think i could've added more of my writing (beyond narration, i mean), but i didn't want to leave this rotting in my drafts for too long. if there's one thing i learned about being a creative, hiding your creativity, refusing to share it with the world, or putting it off is not only a waste; but you're denying beautiful, alike souls the pleasure of enjoying your work ♡

[acerathia]

equanimity || Li Shen | Zayne

Summary:

This was supposed to be a simple job: support Dr. Zayne with today's endeavor. But it all got ruined when a Wanderer burst in, leading to him overusing his Evol, and there's just one thing you can do about it.

Wordcount: 3.5k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Li Shen | Reader / Reader | MC

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! pwp, aphrosidiacs/sex pollen (by accident lol), making out, handjob, blowjob, overstimulation, slight sadism and masochism (implied), reader being a service bottom, nipple licking and sucking, stripping, riding him o7, cockwarming, and as always, love hehe

Note:

something possessed me, idk man, is this anything? whoops, sorry for anything and everything atp klsdflkjsd

The hospital is familiar, the scent of sanitizer penetrating the air, with a flight floral undertone due to the plants scattered here and there. With sure steps, you make your way to the office you have visited countless times, and will continue to visit countless times, even if your own condition were to disappear someday. That is because your main reason for this visit isn’t a cure or treatment, it’s one person: Zayne.

It’s been some time since the last time you have seen him face to face, both of your schedules irregular and unpredictable, making it more difficult to plan for a date. Even now, your visit isn’t a personal one, but one assigned to you by your job. Well, volunteered for it. There’s no way you would have missed seeing him in any capacity. Maybe surprise him a little bit with your sudden appearance.

With a knock, you wait until his calm voice allows you to enter, just then do you practically burst into the room, a wide grin pulling on your lips. “Dr. Zayne, your protection has arrived!”

His gaze is already locked on you, and he raises his eyebrows. “And I assume that might be you, yes?”

With a couple steps, you’re standing in front of him, tempted to sit down on his table to be even closer to him, only restrained by the reminder that you’re technically on the clock.

“Well, isn’t it obvious? I am a hunter after all,” you nod, puffing your chest slightly with pride.

A barely noticeable smile tugs on the corners of his lips. “Then, Miss Hunter, I will be under your care.”

Just as these words leave his lips, the ground begins to rumble, bringing you out of balance, barely staying on your feet with his support, hands on your hips, pulling you closer to him. You hunter’s watch makes the all-too-familiar sound and you brace yourself.

“A Wanderer!” you shout to him, moments before the door bursts in splinters, revealing the creature which has been seeking chaos and destruction.

Yet, it hadn’t expected you and Zayne to be there. With a flick of his wrist, the Wanderer is stuck to the ground. You prepared yourself to finish it, when it shot something out of its body. Ready to be hit, you started retaliating, but you didn’t expect for a body to shield you from its attack. You curse as you feel his body slightly slump against yours and before you could take care of him, you defeated the Wanderer with a powerful shot.

Filled with panic, you help Zayne back into his seat, looking him all over, yet not seeing any fatal wound. Only his skin seems to be incredibly cold, too cold. Putting your hand directly onto his skin, you try to use your own Evol to help him regulate his ice. But it didn’t help. He’s still unbelievably cool to the touch.

This doesn’t help ease your worries, so you try to think of a way to get his temperature to a normal level while helping him get home, because there’s no way you’re taking care of him in his dusty and almost destroyed office. You did notify a nurse beforehand, and while he did give you a weird look on your way out, he only nodded and noted it.

Luckily, Zayne doesn’t live far away, so getting him into his place turns out to be easier than expected. But despite the effort he has put in, he could not overcome the cold slowly encroaching on him, making his limbs stiffen up, fingers covered in dark ice.

Carefully, you slip him onto the worn couch, fingers rubbing his cheeks to get some colors back into them. Nervously, you lick your lips. There’s a thought swirling through your mind, a perfect way to warm him up, yet it feels wrong to try it before you run out of choices. So, you caress his eyebrows, sighing as he leans closer to your skin.

“Should we try to warm you up with a nice bath?” you murmur, grasping at straw. Your Evol has never betrayed you like this before, your resonance with him has always been something you could trust. Until now. Now, when the coldness is swallowing him, it’s turning its head away from you.

Zayne clasps your hand in his, his eyes slightly hazy, yet clear enough to make eye contact with you. “I don’t need a bath. What I need is you.”

His cold fingers run over your arm, to grab your hip and to pull you to him, and you could not put up any resistance against him, his words making your brain freeze for a moment. That’s how you end up straddling him, hip to hip, his breath against your neck. And you’re starting to feel more conscious of him on you, against you.

His lips kiss your skin, making you shiver. His graceful fingers gradually slip underneath your shirt, the tips of his fingers eliciting another shiver and goosebumps spread over your back. They fan out slowly, trying to touch you as much as he can, steadying themselves pressed against your lower ribs.

The kisses he has been scattering like cold rain over your skin, lead over your jaw, until he stops with a final one on the corner of your lips.

“Share your warmth with me,” Zayne mutters before letting his lips dive towards yours, soft touches, coldness against your tongue, fog-like breath into your lungs, breathing you in, taking you for himself.

You sigh against him, slipping closer with each kiss, deepening your connection. Your hands stroke the back of his neck, slipping to his collar and slowly opening the buttons one by one. Taking your time in taking the usually put together doctor apart, one by one. With your fingertips, you graze his chest, already starting to take on a slight flush, leaving a faint trail over his abdomen, stopping at the waistband of his pants, creasing where his needs lie.

“Then, let me be your caretaker for the day,” you whisper against his lips, moments before you open his pants, letting your hand slowly slip inside.

A small wet spot has spread over his boxers, and the thought that the usually restrained Dr. Zayne desires you so, makes your insides warm and needy. And you want to see how strong his restraint in truth actually is. So, all you do is caress the outline of his length over the cloth, enjoying the twitch it elicits out of him.

Swallowing his moan with your mouth, you continue to kiss him, giving him your feelings on a platter, thawing him bit by bit, sucking on his tongue and exploring his mouth, showing him how much you desire and want him, how much you love him, allowing him to swallow you whole if needed.

Although, he doesn’t do that just yet, he might take you up on that offer with a little more coaxing. That’s why you carefully slip your fingers into his boxers, leaving a warm trail along his v-line until they meet his length. And even there, you only let the tips of them caress him, spreading your warmth over him, taking care of him slowly and delicately. Your thumb touches his tip in slow circles, spreading the wetness over him. Only when you feel him tremble against you, your name escaping his mouth in small pants, do you finally let your hand fully grasp him.

Maybe you’re even indulging yourself a bit, slow strokes with barely any friction or pressure, feather-light touches moving up and down. Yet, these wisps of warmth are more than enough to get him worked up, tension growing in his upper body as he grasps your hips for something, anything to ground him. His grip is tight, but careful to not leave any traces behind, to not hurt you. But you did want to experience him lose control, slipping slightly, leaving you with marks only he can give you and no one else.

So, you adjust your grasp around him, more pressure as the pace of your strokes begins to speed up with each jerk of your wrist. At this, you feel his hands clutching you with more intensity, holding onto you almost like Zayne is making sure that you’re still there, that your gentle touches, your warmth against his cold skin is not merely a dream pulled out of the depth of his conscious, something that can’t just slip between his fingers if he tries to reach you.

Murmuring your name over and over again, a constant reminder that you’re safe and with him, that you’re close to him, an incantation of your existence, of your blessings upon him. His lips were hovering over your skin, pants hot against it, and even with the rising tension, his teeth never meet your flesh, never indulge himself in your taste. You wonder if you could coax that out of him, too, someday.

The mere imagination of his teeth digging into you makes your insides flutter and your hand move faster. And instead of feeling his mouth against your skin, you can’t help but dig your own incisors into his shoulder, sucking and lapping at the spot, taking good care of him.

And it doesn’t take long until the tension in his body reaches a high, releasing with a silent snap, hips stuttering against your hand as he empties himself. His fingers dig into the softness of your hips, a dull ache, but satisfactory nonetheless.

While Zayne slumps against you, you pull out your hand to lick him off of you, making sure it’s visible to him, even holding eye contact as your tongue darts out to taste and enjoy him. Only then do you press your forehead against his, trying to gauge his temperature. Despite your work, he only has warmed up ever so slightly, still not enough, though. You bite your lips in thought, your nails softly scratching against his scalp as you think how you should get his temperature further up. And you suppose you could just continue as you did.

So, with him being limp in your arms, it turns out to be a rather easy task to push him onto his back, his body pliable and soft, just for you. For now, you keep your place on his hips as you lean down to catch his open lips with yours, pushing your tongue against his to tease him, to play with him. His hand finds the back of your neck and he presses you impossibly closer to deepen the kiss, to taste your soul and your love. You let your tongue press against his, pushing and pulling, a dance between ancient lovers.

Breathless, you separate yourself from him, a string of saliva still connecting you, the taste of him lingering on your tongue. One look at him, sharp lines, yet eyes as soft as a meadow underneath the play of the wind, makes your veins run hot, and you immediately press your open mouth against the column of his throat, teasing the skin with your teeth, but careful to not leave marks in places where other people might discern them. Just when you dive below that line, do you allow yourself to mark him, to scatter yourself all over him, bites and kisses and shades of blue. And you can’t help but lick at his nipples, biting on them until you let your mouth suck on one of them while your hand pinches the other, twisting and rubbing.

Just taking care of him this way evokes a reaction in him, his length already hard, pressing against your lower torso, beckoning you to take care of it again, to show Zayne desire and want over and over again.

With a last lick over his nipple, you let off of it, your mouth continuing to wander over his abdomen, taking care to litter him in your affection. Until you reach the mess that is his lower body, remains from your touches spreading over his clothes, belt unbuckled, yet covered in a way that feels more provoking than mere nakedness; someone so used to have control over his own desires, being turned into a mess with a couple of moves, clothes disheveled, and if you look up to him, mussy hair and hazy gaze.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his shorts and you slowly pull them down, his cock immediately pulling itself free, hard, leaking, and oh-so beautiful. You hear him say your name, but instead of answering, you look up to him, holding his eyes in yours as you press a kiss on the tip, letting the tip of your tongue dart out to lick him, tasting his precum.

Before you even think of taking care of him properly, you begin to spread kisses over his shaft, fluttering touches, accompanied by the wetness of your tongue. Only once you reach the base, do you fully stick out your tongue, flattening it to lap over his whole length, feeling the veins over its surface and the way he twitches. And once again, you’re met with his glistening tip, and this time, you carefully take it into your mouth, letting it rest between your lips, letting him feel your wet mouth against himself, before you hollow out your cheeks, gently sucking on it, your tongue darting over his slit.

His hand grabs your hair in reflex and you feel the slightest sting, more than you could have anticipated from the careful Dr. Zayne. Feeling the need for more, you slowly move your head, taking him bit by bit, feeling him fill your mouth with each passing push. Sometimes you take your time to caress him properly, to take care of every part of him, bopping your head as your tongue works him, loves him. And with each stroke, each caress, each movement of yours, the tug grows in strength ever so slightly, his hips stuttering against yours, restrained, yet out of control, seeking more, more and more of you.

And then you reach the base, and you wished you could nuzzle yourself closer to him, yet all you can do is rub your forehead against his pelvis, before you slowly pull back, only to repeat everything again, just faster, teasing him more and more, and the exposed parts caressed by the tips of your fingers, never allowing him to have a bit of rest. Until the tension in Zayne is palpable, shivers running down your neck and when push comes shove, as he pushes his hips closer to your mouth before everything in him releases, his control slipping as he allows himself to relieve himself in your mouth, your name on his lips, a groan and a prayer.

Even while he continuously climaxes, you don’t let up, your lips around his tip as you suck and lick, prolonging his high, coaxing more and more out of him, allowing him to indulge himself in you. Not stopping, steadily keeping your pace, your tongue flat against him, feeling him twitch against your mouth once again.

But you let up, standing up, and let your eyes travel over the sight in front of you. His pants hanging around his knees, his usually creaseless button-up shirt rumpled, framing his tensing torso. His mouth agape, and his eyes, his eyes dark and filled with want, looking at you, desiring you, glowing like ice under the sun.

You can’t help but lick your lips, watching as his eyes focus on them. This simple movement brings an idea to fruition. You tilt your head slightly, showing the column of your throat, raising your hand to let your fingertips glide over the skin, free of any spots, for now. And you let them wander until your palm meets your breast, and you spread your fingers around the curve of your body, all while keeping your eyes on him, watching his every reaction.

His gaze follows your every move, his body tensing as the blood rushes lower and lower. His chest rising and falling in deep breaths, as if he’s still trying to get himself under control, after everything. You bite your lip to suppress a grin, feeling the thrill of your own control over him, making your own desires fluctuate.

Slowly, your palm caresses your lower torso, until you reach the hem of your shirt. And with a fluid motion do you rid yourself of the piece of cloth hiding you from his intense gaze. You excessively stretch as you do so, showing him everything you want to give him. You imagine hearing Zayne pant and swallow, just at the sight of you and without preamble your fingers find the waistband of your pants. With the tips of your fingers, you unbutton it and grab the zipper, slowly pulling it down, letting him hear every click. Until the fabric falls to the ground with a little shimmying of your hips.

For a moment, you sway your body under his stare, feeling the way it travels up and down, trying to freeze every frame in time. But even your patience has its limits, especially with all his reactions pulling desire into your gut, stoking the flame with each twitch, with each gasp, with each slow blink. That’s why you return to straddle him after allowing him a good look, pressing your hips against his, feeling his precum stain your underwear, mixing with your own wetness.

You lean over Zayne and give him a small kiss on the corners of his lips, savoring the sight in front of you, pupils blown wide and lust and love filling them. And you kiss him, slow, careful, tasting him and devouring him, as much as he devours and tastes and loves you. Softness meets softness. Tongue caressing tongue.

Until you move your hips against his, drawing the movement out, feeling his length slide over the barrier between you, so close, yet not enough, friction to get you going, but not filling like he would. His moans reverberate in you, and you swallow them greedily, picking up the pace bit by bit.

And something snaps, barely audible, but enough. Just enough for Zayne to slide your panties to the side, fingers spreading you open, pressing against your clit. You gasp, shuddering at the sudden coldness against your hot core. The same breath gets stuck in your throat, as you feel his tip meet your entrance, pushing into you without any warning.

You moan his name and clutch at his shoulders, as he ruts deeper and deeper into you, filling you, satisfying you, making you whole. His hands on your hips, fingers digging as he presses you closer to him, until your pelvis meets his. He stays like this for a moment, his breath hot against your neck, lips meeting skin, caring for one sensitive spot, kissing and licking, his teeth barely grazing you, ever.

Once you grow needy, you can’t help but grind yourself against his, seeking some friction against his fingers. Noticing your needs, he moves his fingers over your clit, slowly, in pace with the way he thrusts in you. Careful, languid, almost like he wants to draw it out, like he wants to feel you for as long as possible. Like he wants to regain some control over himself. You can’t have that. So, you push against him, moving at your own pace, all while you sink your teeth into his shoulder, at the same time you press yourself into him, sinking and taking him fully.

A barely suppressed groan escapes him, and his movements against you grow erratic, as erratic as they can be for someone like him, yet his fingers never let up, caressing you, taking such good care of your clit. Every thrust of his hip against yours hits the spot inside you, and he knows exactly how to fire you up, how to wind you up, each touch calculated for your own benefit.

Until you unravel over his fingers, with him inside you, clenching around his length as you moan his name against his warm skin, your thighs tightening around his hips, pulling him infinitely closer to you. And the mere feeling of satisfaction of your climax brings him to his own high, spilling inside of you, throbbing and twitching, your name falling from his lips over and over again.

You slump against him, snuggling to his warmth, thawed by your efforts and love, keeping him inside you, desiring to be as close to him as possible. He, too, wants to keep you close to him, winding his arms carefully around you and whispering your name and endless confessions of love and adoration. Something only meant for your ears and your ears only. You let your fingernails scratch softly at his back, murmuring your own commitment, vowing to love him, only him, to keep your eyes towards him, promising to stay by his side as he does by yours. Binding and forever.

[jals-stuff]

Hihi! First of all I LOVE your writing and thank you for feeding us hungry Orter fans with your work (I have been STRAVING for his fic) so if you don't mind, I have a little request! So I imagine in a what if Orter has a crush on someone (aka us and ofc we gotta like the sandman back) who's always on a dangerous mission due to how strong they are who is ALSO his partner time to time and one day, they just went into a coma from overusing their magic. MAYBE when they woke up, the two will confess to each other or?? Idk I will let you cook 🧑‍🍳

(Sorry if my wording is a little confusing!)

good day/evening anon! your wording is just fine no worries

first of all, thank you SO much, this brightened my day by a lot, you have absolutely no clue what kind of serotonin torrent you have unleashed. I am glad at least some people like my writings, that's why I'm doing it.

I don't think this is 100% close to what you described, but I hope you'll like it regardless-

Should be gn!reader if I didn't mess it up...

warnings: SLIGHT SPOILIES, bit dark, mentions of death, bit of despair... not proofread I am so sorry.

word count: 2.8k

note: I apologise for any dumb mistakes because I physically cannot proofread myself at 6am but if I don't post it now I won't do it ever. please don't hate me anon

What if...

As much as he hates to admit it (to himself, of course), Orter had grown a little bit too fond of you. The way you greet him whenever you come back from a mission, or the way you always make sure to respect the rules and act logically while also protecting everyone around you when the two of you would go on missions together. 

The way you whine when your legs are tired after walking long distances, the way you always bring him a little something to eat when you know it’s going to be a long trip. You’ve always been good to everyone, much opposed to the cold man; but it wasn’t the only difference between the two of you.

Everyone has their own logic and, as much as you respected your own, his was quite different. While you wanted to take every single possibility into consideration, he preferred not to overload his mind with useless statistics and just think of a solution when the time comes.

However, a lot of things aren’t affected by logic, such as feelings, and how could the dense sandman guess that you were absolutely enamoured with him? These were variables he would’ve never imagined, even though he was painfully into you as well. 

Of course, he was your top priority, and protecting him from harm even though he was a rather powerful mage was of the utmost importance. He should’ve known that when the two of you recklessly charged into enemy territory in an attempt to weaken the devil’s quintuplets before they would be on the move.

Orter was a man of many things, but “what if''s were not part of his usual reasoning, and that was the biggest mistake of his life. However he only realised it too late when you had to break your own limits to make sure he’d go back safely. It was time to retreat, but the two of you had been completely cornered. 

Having a dormant god inside of your wand had many benefits, but Psyche was not an entity to be trifled with. The Soul Goddess would, each time you requested even a fraction of her power, take a huge toll on your stamina and sanity, and this time it was more than critical.

You were already exhausted from using so much of your mana, and now you were completely surrounded by Innocent Zero's sons. Unleashing your Psyche Inclination and ordering all of the quintuplets to sleep immediately surpassed your own boundaries.

You knew what would happen if you pushed beyond your limits with your personal magic, but it was completely worth it. After all, what was the point of living anymore if the only person you loved was dead? 

All of them were immensely powerful, and neutralising such strong enemies was not a meagre task. As soon as the last one fell to the ground in blissful slumber, you felt something rupture inside of you; like a used rope that suddenly lets go, your breath hitched and you collapsed to the floor. 

It was all pitch black, and your consciousness kept you company just long enough to let you hear Orter’s panicked voice calling out for you. Yet somehow, despite the fact that you were falling into the pitch-black abyss, you felt relieved that he, above everything and everyone, was safe.

But anything beyond the confines of your darkened mind was unknown to you and despite your multiple attempts to open your eyes and wake up, everything went silent.

“No, no no…”

Had you been awake, you would’ve been astonished at how Orter had never been that distressed before, at least not in front of you. The loss of his dear friend Alex Elliot had taught him a painful lesson not to get attached to anyone and to simply stick to the rules, but he had let himself fall for you, and now he was experiencing the trauma once more.

“Please, no… not them…” 

Not only were you unconscious, you had done this to yourself for his sake. He was aware of that fact; had you not decided to literally put yourself through such an ordeal, the two of you would be dead already.

But unlike his deceased junior, your heart was still beating and there was still time to save you. He had never run so fast in his entire life, carrying you carefully in his arms to bring you back to the Bureau’s infirmary, laying you down as gently as he could as the nurses rushed to assess your state.

You weren’t hurt, so to say, but the abusive usage of your personal magic had plunged you into a coma, and it was unsure if you would ever wake up from it. 

It looked like you were peacefully asleep, maybe dreaming of a better place you would possibly join soon; unmoving and slowly breathing, as if nothing had happened. Orter knew you could possibly open your eyes anytime, and it kept him distracted every time he would fill his paperwork or go on a mission.

Whenever he had free time, he would rush to the infirmary to check on you, make sure you’re still breathing, or even talk to you. It could help you come back to your senses, or so the nurses said, and as ridiculous as he felt when he talked to your inert body, he would’ve done anything in his power to bring you back, as slim as the chances were.

But then it suddenly hit him. What could he possibly tell you if you ever woke up? He would for sure apologise, but other than that? How could he face you after you had quite literally sacrificed yourself for him? He wasn’t even sure he could look into your eyes again.

Did you resent him for this?

Would you forgive his recklessness?

Would you give him this warm smile he had gotten so used to?

And would it be time for him to finally admit his feelings? You were right here, in front of him, yet you weren’t there. He missed you so dearly, the sound of your voice, the shit eating grin you’d give him whenever he was wrong and you were right, the way you’d laugh at his disgruntled expression afterwards…

All of these interactions he thought annoyed him were now severely missed and he would’ve given anything to even just see the colour of your eyes one more time. 

And see he didn’t, for what seemed to be an eternity. Everyday, when he’d come to visit you, a small part of him hoped your eyes would be open and you’d greet him the way you always did, but every time, he was met with your inanimate form, comfortably laid in the infirmary bed. 

His hope of hearing your voice ever again gradually vanished with every one-sided conversation he had with your unconscious figure, swallowing down his emotions with every word he said. He was slowly accepting the fact that you might just never open your eyes again.

The more this thought settled into his mind, the more desperate he grew, and suddenly, his usual mindset faded away and his brain filled with “what if”s. 

What if he had taken some time to listen to your suggestions, what if he had thought of a plan B like you always had? What if he had ever told you about his feelings, what if you loved him back? What if you didn't? What if you never woke up?

Dread took over on his other emotions and suddenly, it wasn’t hope that drove him to visit you everyday; it was despair. What if you never opened your eyes again? How could he ever live with your presence replaced by this horrifying feeling of guilt for letting you die in his place? 

You were surely powerful enough that you could’ve ran away on your own, and left him behind if needed; it would’ve been the logical, reasonable thing to do. But the heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of. Of course, he should’ve known that you would never leave him behind, but precisely because it was completely illogical, it never occurred to him that you would willingly let yourself be hurt if he had a chance to make it out alive.

Now he was sitting at your bedside and kept hoping you’d wake up, just open your eyes and talk to him, greet him and say everything was going to be fine, just the way it was before… it seemed like he hadn’t heard your voice in an eternity, and it was weighing on him the whole time. Like a burden he would have to carry forever if you didn’t wake up from this coma you had put yourself into for his own sake.

His eyes never left your figure as he spoke to you kindly, as if you were still awake. Of course, occasional visitors would look at him like he was a lunatic, talking to someone who was obviously not here to answer, but it didn’t matter to him anymore.

Orter was ready to abandon his image for your sake, sometimes even skipping work and breaking his own principles so he could hold your hand for another minute before going on yet another perilous mission. 

The thought of you dying peacefully in your sleep haunted his mind every single day, and his sorrow was great enough that, more than once, he did consider exhausting himself enough so he would be defenceless enough for an enemy to just take him out of his misery.

For weeks, months, his mind was plagued with the thought of you leaving him forever, of not being able to tell you about these feelings he thought were completely unnecessary. Shame and rejection didn’t even matter to him anymore and he just longed for the day you’d wake up and even just look at him. 

He was on a mission, the day he heard that one of your fingers had merely twitched. Breaking protocol was far from his usual behaviour, but he needed to see you. That is how he accidentally drowned an entire area in sand, catching both enemies and harmless monsters in his Antlion’s Nest. 

The rules didn’t matter to him anymore, it was a physical need to see if you were okay and to maybe, just maybe hear your voice. 

However, he walked in on something completely different. Many of the other Divine Visionaries were gathered around you in religious silence, observing you. He had to push through the crowd and his heart stopped for a second when he saw you. 

You were sitting up in your bed, slightly confused as to why everyone was staring like this. For you, mere seconds had passed but in reality it had been literal months. As your eyes travelled amongst the crowd, you saw Orter, who was also staring at you in utter disbelief. 

The infirmary was completely silent, and no one was moving, as if time had suddenly stopped. Ryoh threw a glance at the others and they just silently left. Now it was just you and Orter, looking at each other in both confusion and shock. He stumbled towards the chair that was resting near your bed and he slowly took a seat.

“Well… you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Upon hearing your voice, he let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding. It was like all of his burdens were suddenly lifted off his shoulders and his head and arms simply collapsed against the mattress, much to your confusion. You raised your hand to reach for his hair and upon seeing how your nails had grown so much, you realised something probably happened.

“It’s been months! I thought you’d never wake up! I thought I wouldn’t hear your voice ever again. Why on Earth would you do such a thing? No, no... it was all my fault. I'm sorry, (Y/N), I'm so, so sorry.” 

He sounded angry, but he really wasn’t. You started connecting the dots and it took you a bit of time to understand that you had been unconscious for the past few months, worrying the poor sandman to death, though right now it didn’t matter at all. 

“I’m glad you’re alive, Orter.”

Although you had been unconscious for literal months, seeing the Desert Cane unharmed was such a huge relief for you. However, not everything was swell inside his mind. He still felt extremely guilty that you nearly died for him, and nothing could possibly pay back this humongous debt he thought he owed you. 

But seeing his relieved expression when he looked at you was enough of a payback. He had watched you wither away for months and now you were finally back to the world of the living, eyes focused on him and him only. 

You tried to stand up but as soon as your arms attempted to lift your form, they gave out and you started losing balance. Orter immediately stood up from his chair to catch you, wrapping his arms around your now weak body to support you, but even after you were back to your spot, he wouldn’t let go. He simply sat on your bed next to you, not letting go. 

Almost out of instinct, you rested your head on his shoulder and let out a long sigh, your arms raising up slightly.

“Please, just rest, you must be really exhausted.”

But his words just didn’t reach you, you needed this. After a while and a lot of effort, you managed to rest these weak arms of yours against his shoulders, on the sides of his neck, and he fell silent. You had no strength at all but he could feel you use all of your willpower to embrace him, and you also seemed like you wouldn’t let go.

He seemed fine with it as he slightly nuzzled your neck and closed his eyes, finally relaxing a little after this emotional rollercoaster. It felt so comfortable to finally be in his arms after such a long time spent longing for him, as if you were finally where you belonged. 

“I missed you.” Orter said quietly, close to your ear. His arms tightened around and you would've probably cried hadn't you been so exhausted. Your words were stuck in your throat and you could only nod and hum softly, your voice cutting inside your throat. 

His arms tightened around you further, holding you into a comforting hug, one of his hands gently going through your hair and keeping your head close to him. You exhaled again, wanting nothing more than to keep holding him. 

“Just don't let go. Please.”

Your voice was muffled by his embrace but you were close enough to his ear for him to understand your words, and you could've sworn you heard his breath hitch for a second as his arms tightened even harder around you.

“I won't.” He sighs into your neck, comfortably seated on the side of your bed, and you wanted nothing more than to lay back down and have him hold you, but you were still in the infirmary and it would've been very problematic to be seen like this.

“I won't, ever. I can't.” He held you even closer now, like he was trying to merge with you, your chest and his pressed against each other as if to share your heartbeats.

Although you had never seen Orter being this close with anyone before, it all felt very natural. Just like the way his hand slid from your hair to your cheek, like the way he moved away from you slowly, his usually cold gaze now soft and filled with something you weren't quite used to.

Just like the way he couldn't take it any longer and gave in to the physical urge to softly press his lips to yours. You didn't pull away, of course; the moment too precious to let surprise ruin it. 

You returned the kiss, your eyes now closed to take in the pleasant, wholesome warmth his embrace brought to you, after you'd been so cold for literal months. 

As nothing lasts forever, your lips and his slowly separated, but his eyes were now on yours again. 

“I won't let you fall again, (Y/N), I promise.”

You couldn't help but give a soft chuckle and his expression turned slightly puzzled. Of course, you two didn't share the same braincells.

“I've already fallen too hard.” You breathed out.

His eyes widened for a second before he regained his composure and brushed a few hairs away from your face to place them behind your ear.

“Then I guess we’re both down now.” he finally admitted, his expression just a little softer and his lips almost curved into a smile. 

You were suddenly thankful for Orter holding you so close, lest your heart would've jumped out of your chest. 

“I love you, just… in case it wasn't clear enough.” He awkwardly added, and you thought it was just adorable. Another chuckle escaped you with a nod.

“I know. I love you too.”

He hummed softly and sighed deeply in relief. 

That was one “what if” finally satisfied, and probably the first of a long list.

[asparklethatisblue]

So because watching soap opera with my nan ruined my brain:

Soap opera kid fic plot with time travel JayVik.

Jayce gets sent back to a time before the HexGates are built, he finds Viktor alone and manages to convince him to stop, they make a plan on how to keep HexTech safe as well. Of course he also focus on a way to make sure Viktor’s health doesn’t deteriorate. Figuring that if they pivot to medicine and actual HELP even without funding, that world’s Jayce and Viktor can be happy.

While they plan how to go about this, Jayce, who is desperate for human affection, ends up confessing his love and that every version of him loves Viktor in every universe. They fall into bed because Viktor is already in love with his Jayce anyway, and this man is also just simply Jayce. Maybe not his Jayce, but Jayce who is older and looks at his with open adoration and whispers how much he loves him when Viktor kisses him. Can you blame him? Eventually Viktor has a battle-plan on where to take the research without overusing magic, on how to convince everyone who matters… Jayce gets pulled back into the Arcane eventually, back to where he is needed, leaving Viktor quietly pining but confident that he’ll eventually get his nerve up to confess his love to his actual timeline’s Jayce. That or indicate that he wants to be wooed.

Viktor and his own Jayce focus on their new projects, even though this Jayce doesn’t know what prompted the change of heart. It doesn’t matter, he loves Viktor, he is shocked to hear of his health prognosis and throws his entire energy into researching ways to heal the condition caused by the Grey. He’s in love, he doesn’t care if they get the Council’s full approval or if his research doesn’t make something as flashy as the HexGates. If Viktor is insisting on this new change of course, then he trusts him. He also appreciates the weird flirty mood between them suddenly, the way he’s certain Viktor likes him and maybe his own crush could go somewhere…

So when Viktor one day shows up all frantic and jittery, confessing that he is pregnant but saying nothing about who the father is? Begging for… anything. Help? Jayce is shaken and heartbroken, but no way will he abandon the man he loves, even if he doesn’t love him back. Even if he is pregnant by someone else, someone he clearly misses. He can tell something is wrong, that Viktor is unusually lost. He promises to lie and claim the child as his own, if Viktor needs him to, provide for it, for Viktor. Anything.

If the father isn’t in the picture (through neglect or tragedy) then Jayce will step up! He loves Viktor too much to be selfish, even if it makes him feel sick that his love is unrequited.

Viktor meanwhile is screaming internally because he doesn’t know how to explain to Jayce, who he never even kissed, that it’s HIS child. Here he is, having quietly sighed and pined for Jayce for weeks, that sad broken version of Jayce, wondering how to go about getting together with his Jayce. How does he even start? “Hello Jayce, as you can see I am knocked up. Believe it or not it’s yours, yes I know we have never even been naked in the same room, trust me. I just happened to meet a time travelling version of you who fucked me. Don’t think about it too hard.”. They have nothing even approaching that sort of technology (yet). Jayce probably would think it’s a cruel joke.

So now Jayce is heartbroken and Viktor is watching Jayce be brave and selfless about it and acting so damn polite about everything

Idk I already wrote one kid fic, you people do with this what you want

[hellobitchlet]

Mavuika is the first archon that I genuinely have no interest in whatsoever. Like, no matter how badly written most of the other archons have been (no, it's not just Ei), and no matter how bad some of their designs are, everyone from Venti to Furina have been full of unique, interesting potential, and have a super cool aesthetic.

But Mavuika is just... really boring. At this point, I'm sick and tired of younger archons after getting 2 in a row, and we literally JUST had a 'human' archon. The biggest show of her being the pyro archon is portraying her with fire hair, which is a very stereotypical and overused concept compared to how unique the other archons are.

A big part of this is simply because Natlan itself is pretty boring. I know that I previously complimented Natlan on it's deeper connections to the Abyss, but thinking back on it and everything surrounding Natlan, this whole plotline is pretty...generic? Stereotypical? Compared to literally every other nation. You have a generic chosen hero plotline, and not much else. Yes, the plot of the aq is more connected to the nation's lore than the past couple aq's, but beyond a few small lore reveals, this lore is just re-hashing what we already know about Khaenri'ah, the cataclysm, the Abyss, and ley lines with an uglier coat of paint.

Almost everything in Natlan can be divided into 3 categories;

1- very generic ideas (see: the chosen hero plotline mentioned above)

2- plot points specifically made to copy Khaenri'ah, instead of just... oh idk... giving us actual Khaenri'ah stuff that isn't tiny shreads of info? Maybe?

3- stuff that is way too modern to exist in Genshin (and other cultural inspiration messes)

Mavuika's entire character revolves around the archon quest and stuff surrounding it, just like most of the archons, except that the aq this time around is a very generic hero plotline injected with direct copying of what very little we already know about Khaenri'ah.

[raining-anonymously]

i like delores aesthetically and i enjoy her as a character, but on a surface level i do not like her. i think we’re going too easy on her because she’s hot. the woman was a serial killer and a cult leader. tbh betelgeuse did whatever part of italy they lived in a favor. then she double-serial-killed people in the afterlife. she is EVIL and SCARY.

however, she is fascinating, both for the alternate light she casts existing characters in and in her own right.

this post was going to be about her but i got distracted so everything under the read more is about… geography? i think? and also languages, and also theorizing on how long delores was awake after she died.

based on the the guy who fell down the manhole at the beginning, it seems like wherever you die is directly correlated to what part of the afterlife you end up in rather than where you live. he died in the usa, so he ended up in the part we see, which is english-speaking and mostly has usamerican ghosts.

miss argentina, betelgeuse, and delores are not usamerican. sure, miss argentina’s beauty contest could have been in the usa, but betelgeuse and delores explicitly died in italy, and juno, who works in the usa sector of the afterlife, implies that she knows what it’s like to haunt places in italy. clearly, migration within the afterlife is possible.

re: charles and richard—ok i forgot where charles was flying from when he died. but if it was out of the continent, i think charles probably died close enough to the us that he got sent to that part of afterlife anyway. richard has been dead for years and had time to migrate. maybe that’s why he’s working civil service? as an excuse to switch sections? idk…

throughout both movies betelgeuse consistently displays an affinity for mimicking accents and voices, as well as being multilingual (he at least speaks spanish, italian, english). plus he’s been dead a long time. it’s believable that these combined factors led to him speaking english with an american accent rather than an italian accent. it is worth noting that his diction becomes more poetic and flowery when he’s speaking italian.

there’s also the thing where he says “mazel tov” during the flashback, but we don’t see his face while he says it, so that may not have been actually said at that time.

delores does have an italian accent. doylistically, this is because monica bellucci is italian. watsonian-wise, she’s probably just… not as good at vocal mirroring as betelgeuse. plus she hasn’t been awake for a large portion of her time as a ghost. but, and this is important, she has definitely been awake for some of it.

i do believe delores knew english when she was alive—her poison bottle is labeled in english. as for why she’d be speaking english to everyone around her? the first person who addresses her is the janitor, and he speaks english. from there, she correctly assumes that everyone else speaks english and responds accordingly. she also does the “betelgeuse is mine!” graffiti in english. and when she and betelgeuse are finally face-to-face, she speaks to him in english, too. doylistically, this is because the film is written in english and they didn’t want to overuse subtitles, but it is interesting that she wouldn’t address him in their first language.

still, even if we can’t use the language she speaks as a reason, i believe delores was awake before being dumped into a storage box. she adapts very quickly to the modern things in the afterlife (i don’t know how long spray paint and staple guns have been around, but i’m assuming they were invented post-black death). she doesn’t seem surprised or distressed by the fact that she’s dead or in multiple pieces, or by her soul-sucking / possession abilities. (she moves lydia with possession in the church.) she also navigates the afterlife fairly easily.

there’s also just no reason why she WOULDN’T be awake. the deceased can exist in pieces. look at the chopped-in-half woman in the first film.

so this gives us this mysterious block of time post-death where betelgeuse and delores moved to the usa and delores was eventually forced into the unconscious and separated state she’s in when the movie begins. no conclusion here, just food for thought.

anyway that tragedy sequence was so beautiful aauguhhhhhhhahahshjfjfj

[bringthekaos]

Listen

I know that "doomed by the narrative" has been so overused that is now a meme but honestly? How terrifying, how sad, that the moment you see them both together you already know how it's going to end. The final step of their journey is already written, it has been for kver a decade now. When Viktor saves Jayce's life, when he encourages him to pursue his dreams, and Jayce looks back at him with nothing but pure awe, and yet you, the audience know that they will end up hurting each other so badly, that everything will go up in flames, that they are destined to hate

The narrative is already set. We are just here for the journey.

🙃

Ughhhhhhh I guess my only hope is that they can maybe change it a little? Or maybe get through the really contentious divorce era, they go at each other’s throats all season, and come out at the end with… not reconciliation, I think that’s too much to hope for, but… mutual understanding? Like… they can’t be lovers friends again, they’ll never be close like they were, but maybe there’s a respect there? A lot of the League lore suggests that Jayce is very remorseful over what happened, and would leap at the opportunity to make amends. I always go back to the interaction in Jayce’s LoR story. He was just so ready to end the fight between them. And Arcane has certainly softened the image of Jayce (I know that’s so that he can be hardened by his life experiences, but… the writers have a daunting task ahead of turning this sweet, non-confrontational person into a stuck-up asshole), so my hope is that they lean on that softer image and maybe get to a point where he and Viktor can coexist semi-peacefully? And this is totally not at all spurred by my need to have something to work with fanfic-wise 🫣

Really as long as they’re both alive at the end of the season, I’m good. I will smush them together regardless. My one fear is that Viktor falls victim to the old “redemption by death” trope. The Kylo Renification, if you will.

Redemption by death is such a cheap cop-out, and I am so fucking sick of it. If you’re going to redeem a “villain,” don’t be lazy. Leave them alive to make amends, let them face the consequences and work through them. It can be done. Zuko from Avatar. The Digimon Emperor from Digimon. (don’t judge me, I am a Olde™). Loki.

Idk, I’m just keeping my fingers crossed that they tweak the JayVik narrative doom a little.🤞

[stalky-arsen]

well, that kinda aged poorly lol

i think i need to get it out of my system.

Firstly, I am not a professionnal psy. So everything I'm going to say about Yamato should be consider only as interpretation or headcannons.

Secondly, this man has C-PTSD for suuuuure. If he wasn't abducted, abused and even forced to kill for 15 years early in his life, he would have ended up being a complete different person.

Now let's get started.

Yamato. My man. You have high sociopathy. I tested it XD

But you're going to ask me "how could you say I'm a sociopath when you don't even know what it really is." I have wikipedia. There is probably better sources but I can get a general idea on what this is.

So, wikipedia says : "Antisocial personality disorder (ASPD) is a personality disorder defined by a chronic pattern of behavior that disregards the rights and well-being of others. People with ASPD often exhibit behavior that conflicts with social norms, leading to issues with interpersonal relationships, employment, and legal matters." Basically you lack empathy and morality and it could get you some troubles in your relationships.

I also tested your sociopathy level by roleplaying you on several quiz websites, and boy this is very high probabilities~ (i was bored okay.)

"But these are quizzes, it's not serious." You want to play that way ? Fine. I'm gonna list all the "symptoms".

Impulsivity

Honestly, this is very hard to see at first. You seem very cooled down. People wouldn't call you impulsive at first glance. But digging deeper, I was able to ask myself a question.

Your plan, during Sea of Sorrow, it was full of flaws. It relies only on reliabilities.

The first one being Union's presence. Why would you invite them on board ? What was the reason ? To threaten Konkuzan ? Don't you think Konkuzan would have suspected something ? You were lucky you ended up with Tang Xuan 'cause they came with detectives, but imagine if it was someone else like idk, Li Ling, Lewis, Lucas, David, Mona, Brynn, Q... No offense to any of them, but they wouldn't think like Tang Xuan, some wouldn't even bring a detective, some would just set the boat on fire recklessly.

(out of subject but Drew would be hyper effecient lol he would even save Yuuhime from Yamato lol)

Oh also, what would've happen if any of the guests you invited didn't come ? Like they would have been too scared and would flee the country instead ? Just a possibility. You surely had make sure they would definitely agreed to come.

Okay but what if Masato didn't attempted to murder Konkuzan ? What would you have done ? Again, you really had to make sure he wanted to kill him.

okay okay, maybe that wasn't enough, then what about the fact you just thought the music box would tired itself ? How come you were so sure it would tire itself from overuse ??? It was a wild guess ! Imagine if it weren't the case what would you have done then ?

Imagine you would have fallen completely under the box's control ? What would you have done ?

So, the important question is, What if something went wrong, what would you have done ? How would you reacted ?

This is a wild guess yeah but he would've breakdown on the moment. This man was so sure his plan would have worked the way it would, not making sure of every possibilities. He didn't even plan a backup plan. What makes me so sure of that ?

Tang Yun's presence.

That monkey boy shouldn't have been on board in first place. Sure the Shadow Decree had some tension with the Syndicate, but like Union, it would have been anyone else, it would have gone differently and unlike Union, they didn't have the obligation to come.

Your plan worked because you got lucky, but if it went any other directions, you would have a meltdown.

Reckless disregard for one's own safety or that of others.

Why the fuck would you eat Fugu on a daily basis ??? "Because it makes me feel stronger" That's certainly a cope out then (okay let's not count that)

And honestly, you wouldn't care for anyone's safety, we could argue about your sister's but domestic violence isn't something safe yk ?

Irresponsible behavior

Okay sure, you can argue on the fact that taking care of a criminal and an assassination guild is somewhat impressive, I don't what would have happen if Syndicate's assassins just went rogue. But you did endangered many bystanders during on the White Beluga, in New Milo, and also in the desert full of miramons leaving MC and others to their mercy.

Irritability

eeeeeeeh

well, the only thing I can think of is you don't give the time to explain your motivation to anyone else. Do you have the patience for that anyway ?

Inability to conform to social norms

You may be a lawyer but you still choose to be an assassin, a thief, a liar etc.

Lack of remorse

Yuuhime.

Just why ?

Marked tendency to blame others, or to rationalize plausible excuses

You sure are giving excuses to Tang Xuan at the end of Desolated Lands event.

so, 6 out of 7, you have a high sociopathy level based on wikipedia, and that's not even counting you would put your person above all else, even your own sister.

Yamato is a sociopath given it was due to his environment, not a psychopath, that he probably has C-PTSD and things that goes along. I'm sure in other circumstances, he would be a nice caring brother called Shouta. But he's Yamato.

I love to explore all facette of his character ♡