#not while you're fearful and hateful like this

[solxamber]

I loved the platonic Malleus helps Yuu get Idia fic and I was wondering if you could so something similar with Cater or Trey or Vil or Leona or Floyd? You can choose, anything like that would be amazing my liege.

you asked and i answered, i love this concept so much

Fae Courtship 101: Romance for Dummies || Floyd Leech

In your desperation to confess to Floyd, you made the grave mistake of recruiting Malleus for help—now the only thing you’re courting is death.

For reasons beyond mortal comprehension—beyond your own comprehension—you have fallen for Floyd Leech.

Floyd. Leech.

The man who treats personal space like a suggestion, bites people for fun, and once chased a first-year across campus while laughing like a slasher villain because he was “bored.”

The man who once tried to sell you to Azul in exchange for a really nice hat. The man who could, at any given moment, be contemplating something as simple as “what’s for lunch” or something as horrifyingly chaotic as “what if I threw the prefect off the third-floor balcony to see how they bounce?”

It’s a bad idea. Objectively, scientifically, in every single way, this is a mistake.

Grim and Deuce have been holding interventions. The ghosts of Ramshackle have been looking at you like they’re already preparing to welcome you into their ranks. You're rapidly losing the moral high ground in any discussion about Ace’s bad life choices.

But the heart wants what it wants. And unfortunately, yours wants to make terrible decisions.

Which brings you here, pacing alongside Malleus Draconia, crown prince of Briar Valley, king of ominous nighttime strolls, and your designated therapist for the evening.

“I just—I don’t get it, Malleus!” you wail, gesturing wildly as you stomp through the moonlit campus. “I should like normal people! People who don’t consider attempted murder to be a love language! I should have instincts!”

Malleus hums in thought. “Hm. Concerning.”

“Exactly!” You throw your hands up. “I should be running in the opposite direction! Instead, I’m over here, wondering if he’d bite me gently if I asked nicely!”

Malleus stops walking.

You stop too, looking over to see him gazing at you with a carefully neutral expression. There’s a brief silence. A beat. And then, slowly—gravely—he nods.

“Understood.”

You blink. “...Huh?”

He turns to you with the air of a man who has just accepted a sacred duty. “You have chosen a perilous path, Child of Man.”

You stare. “I—??"

“But fear not,” he continues, raising a hand to his chest in solemn promise. “I shall help you attain your romance.”

Silence.

A breeze rolls through the courtyard. A crow caws in the distance. Somewhere, Grim is experiencing a deep sense of foreboding.

“…You’re going to what?”

Malleus nods again, expression determined. “Leave it to me.”

You suddenly have so many regrets.

Grim looks at you the way a doctor looks at a patient about to flatline. Gravely. With pity. With deep concern for the irreversible damage.

"Okay, listen hench-human, I’ve let a lot of things slide, but this? This I gotta ask—do you hate life that much?"

You blink at him. "What?"

Grim waves his little paws dramatically. "First, you fall for Floyd of all people. That’s already a death wish. And now, you’re actually listening to Malleus for dating advice? What’s next? You gonna ask Kalim for tips on financial responsibility?!"

You open your mouth. Close it. You… okay, you really have no defense. But before you can say anything—

There’s a knock at the door.

And you don’t even have to guess who it is.

You open it to find Malleus standing there, his expression set in earnest determination. In his hands is a book that looks older than your grandmother. The kind of ancient tome that looks like it holds dark secrets, forbidden spells, possibly even a recipe for soup made from human souls.

Standing right next to him, grinning like a goblin, is Lilia.

You feel your soul leave your body.

"Ah, Child of Man," Malleus intones. "I have found it. The ultimate guide to fae courtship rituals. You shall use these techniques to win the heart of your eel."

"Oh, this is gonna be fun," Lilia cackles. "Do you know how long it's been since I’ve seen these methods in action? The devastation! The absolute carnage!"

You stare at them. You stare into the abyss. The abyss grins back.

Grim looks at you, his face a perfect picture of someone watching a loved one make the worst life decisions in real time.

"You’re really doin’ this, huh?"

…You sigh. "Yeah. I’m really doing this."

You are simply minding your own business, walking to class like a normal person, when you spot Floyd approaching from the other end of the hallway.

As always, you smile at him, because you have fully accepted your fate as a fool with horrible taste in men. You expect him to either grin back or threaten to suplex you for fun—classic Floyd things.

What you do not expect is the sudden sensation of a phantom hand shoving you forward.

And just like that, gravity wins.

You crash into Floyd with all the grace of a drunk goose, smacking into his chest with enough force to send both of you stumbling. Floyd barely moves (because he is built like a problem), but you rebound like a cartoon character, nearly falling over before his hands land heavily on your shoulders.

For a brief, dizzying moment, you stare at him.

Then, slowly, your brain remembers what just happened, and you whip around—

Only to see Malleus standing at the end of the hallway, looking extremely pleased with himself.

He gives you a smug, regal nod.

He is also holding a book titled "How to Romance for Dummies."

You are going to throw hands with a literal prince.

Before you can implode, Floyd’s grip on your shoulders tightens. You turn back to him, only to find him looking entirely too displeased about being your impromptu landing pad.

“Shriiiimpy,” he drawls, squinting at you like a judge in a courtroom drama. “What’s up with that, huh? Tryna tackle me first thing in the morning?”

“I—I tripped!” you stammer, trying to collect the shreds of your dignity. “I didn’t mean to crash into you, I swear!”

Floyd hums, unconvinced. Then, after a beat of consideration, he shrugs.

“Aaah, whatever.” His fingers dig just slightly into your shoulders, a slow grin stretching across his face. “You still ran into me, soooo… you owe me.”

You blink. “Wait. Owe you?”

“Mhm!” His grin widens, teeth sharp. “Now ya gotta hang out with me today.”

You blink again. Slowly. You could argue, but you have a sneaking suspicion that it won’t get you anywhere, and honestly? Maybe this is exactly the opening you need.

Maybe… Malleus isn’t that bad at this.

You take that last thought back immediately.

Because not even a day after that whole hallway fiasco, Malleus finds you again, pulls you aside with all the gravitas of an ancient ruler about to bestow divine wisdom, and insists that, in order to properly court Floyd, you must—

Compliment Floyd’s strength three times. At first, you thought, okay, easy enough, I can just tell him he’s strong and call it a day. But then—THEN—Malleus, in his infinite wisdom, handed you a quill and parchment and declared, “It must be in verse. Poetry carries the weight of true devotion.”

And now, here you are.

Standing in front of Floyd Leech. Holding a piece of paper with the most cringe-inducing attempt at poetry you've ever written in your life.

Floyd, to his credit, was already giggling the moment you approached with a look of sheer suffering. But when you clear your throat and attempt to actually read the thing—

"Oh mighty Floyd, with hands so bold—"

He just. Loses it.

Absolutely wheezing, doubling over, practically using you as a support beam to keep himself upright.

You glare at him and continue, determined to power through:

"A force unmatched, a tale retold—"

Floyd: "PFT—!!!"

He’s straight-up crying at this point. Tears. You swear you hear Jade laugh somewhere in the distance.

You don’t even make it to the third compliment. You just turn on your heel and walk away before your soul crumples in on itself like a dying star.

Malleus, watching from afar, sighs in clear disappointment. “You lack dedication,” he murmurs, shaking his head like an elder watching the youth fail at life.

You absolutely regret everything.

You don't know why you keep letting Malleus give you advice. Actually, no—that's a lie. You do know. It's because the second he heard you liked Floyd, his eyes lit up like he’d just been given a personal quest by the divine forces of romance, and now he refuses to rest until your love is secured.

Unfortunately, this means you are currently locked in yet another horrendous discussion about fae courting rituals.

"Scent-marking is a vital step in courtship," Malleus declares with the kind of grim authority that should be reserved for battlefields, not this. "He must recognize you as his."

You blink at him. "Oh, like giving him my hoodie or something?" That’s normal. That’s doable. That’s the kind of thing people do when they like each other, right? You’ve seen couples swap sweaters before. Maybe Malleus is finally onto something not-insane.

Malleus shakes his head gravely. "No. You must present him with something you have personally scented. Ideally, by rolling upon it."

Silence.

Rolling upon it.

You stare at him. He stares back. Completely serious.

You try to process what he’s just suggested. What he has just, with full sincerity, told you to do.

"Malleus."

"Yes?"

"You want me to roll around on an object like a dog and then give it to Floyd."

"Precisely."

You briefly consider just walking into the ocean.

It takes twenty full minutes to talk him down from this absolute lunacy and convince him that simply giving Floyd a sweater you’ve worn will do the job just fine. He looks at you the way a disappointed coach looks at a failing athlete.

"If you are not dedicated to the craft," he mutters, "you cannot expect great results."

You pretend you don’t hear him.

Fast forward to the next day, and you are sitting in class next to Floyd, who is draped over his desk in a deep and powerful boredom coma.

You pull out the sweater and awkwardly nudge it toward him.

"Here."

Floyd immediately perks up. Dangerously interested. He tilts his head, peering at the sweater like you’ve just handed him a rare treasure.

"Eh? What's this?"

"It's mine. You can have it," you say, trying to play it cool, despite the fact that your entire soul is trying to flee your body from embarrassment.

Floyd picks up the sweater and—without hesitation—presses his face into it.

You almost die. Right then and there. Instant expiration.

He leans back in his chair, grinning way too wide. "Heheh~ You smell nice, shrimpy~"

You barely manage to hold onto your composure. You are barely hanging on.

Malleus, watching from the hallway, narrows his eyes and mutters, "It is not the worst effort... but it lacks the impact of true commitment."

You ignore him. You ignore everything. You're just grateful that—for once—this wasn’t completely unhinged, and that Floyd somehow seems to like it.

"Nothing says romance like a meal made with your own two hands!" Lilia declares, slamming an ancient, definitely cursed cookbook onto the table.

You blink down at it. The title is in some language that makes your vision swim just looking at it. The edges are charred, the pages stained with substances you’re 70% sure are not food-safe, and Malleus—Malleus Draconia himself, looks a little unsure.

That should have been your first hint.

But you? A fool. An idiot. A desperate, love-struck buffoon? You press forward.

“Alright,” you sigh, rubbing your temples, already regretting this. “What ingredients do I need?”

Lilia beams, flipping to a page that looks like it came from an alchemist’s horror novel.

"Let's see! We’ll need:"

• Moonshade Truffle,

• A pinch of Sablethorn Dust,

• Three drops of Evernight Basilisk Extract,

• Seven Tears of a Joyful Banshee,

• And a Love-Smitten Fire Spirit’s Breath!

…

You stare.

"Lilia."

"Yes, beastie?"

"These sound like potion ingredients."

"Oh-ho!" Lilia chuckles, waving a hand. "You humans always get so caught up in technicalities. But what is cooking if not a kind of magic?"

…No. No, this is actual magic. You are not making a love potion, but this sure as hell sounds like one.

But, like the fool you are, you go along with it. You spend far too much money (your entire savings) at Azul’s Most Definitely Not a Scam Emporium for all of these ridiculous ingredients. He knows you’re up to something dumb. He does not care. He simply profits.

And now, here you are. In the Ramshackle kitchen. Grim watches from a safe distance behind a chair. Malleus stands off to the side with his arms crossed, looking like he is rethinking his life choices. And Lilia, that menace, is watching you mix the ingredients like a proud mentor.

Everything is going fine. Suspiciously fine.

And then—

"Alright, time to bake it!" Lilia claps his hands. "It says here to bake at 350 for 20 minutes!"

You nod. This is reasonable.

"However!" He flips the page. "In the olden days, we used a slightly different method."

Malleus frowns. Your stomach drops.

"Instead of 350 for 20 minutes…" Lilia hums. "It says here—750 for 10!"

…

"What."

"Don’t be shy! Give it a try!" Lilia gestures for you to do it.

Malleus shifts, looking like he wants to intervene. Grim is slowly backing out of the room. You ignore all of this.

Because you are an idiot.

You turn the oven to 750. You shove the pan inside. You watch in real-time as your dignity burns.

The oven makes a sound ovens should not make.

Something explodes. The smell is indescribable.

When you pull the pan out, it is a pile of pure, blackened charcoal.

You are horrified. Malleus looks concerned. Grim looks betrayed.

"Are ya tryin’ to kill me, Henchhuman?!" Grim yells. "I thought we were friends!"

But Lilia? Lilia is nodding approvingly.

"Ah," he sighs, nostalgic. "Just like how I remember it."

…This man should not be allowed in kitchens.

But you, an absolute buffoon, take the charred remains of your so-called courtship offering and bring it to Floyd anyway.

You find him in the cafeteria, dump the plate in front of him, and sit down. Defeated.

Floyd stares. Pokes it with a finger.

And then, he looks at you.

With pity.

"Shrimpy." His voice is gentle. You feel a chill of fear. "You goin' through hard times or somethin'?"

…

You die inside.

Your cooking was so bad that Floyd Leech—FLOYD LEECH—was feeling sympathy for you.

You have never known such shame.

You sit there, staring into the distance like a soldier who’s seen too much. A philosopher pondering the futility of existence. A person who has scent-marked a sweater and written poetry at the behest of a fae prince who thinks you’re simply not dedicated enough to the craft of love.

You are contemplating life, death, and the many, many decisions that have led you here.

And then, Jade sits beside you.

You don’t even flinch. You should. You should be wary. You should immediately launch yourself into the bushes and prepare to be interrogated in some terrifying eel version of psychological warfare. But you don’t. Because you have nothing left.

So you just turn your head slowly, look at him with the dull, hollow eyes of someone who’s really going through it.

Jade looks positively delighted.

"My, my," he says, in that syrupy, knowing voice of his. "What could possibly put you in such a state?"

You inhale. Exhale. Consider your options. Death is looking really attractive.

"I don’t want to talk about it."

Jade hums, obviously entertained, but then—then—he decides to make it worse.

"You know," he muses, "even Floyd has started to get concerned."

You blink.

"…Huh?"

"Oh, yes," he says, resting his chin on his hand, enjoying every second of this. "Between the odd gifts, the unusual behavior, and your general aura of suffering, even he has begun to notice. Which means you are being particularly obvious, because he rarely pays attention to anything that isn't entertaining."

You don’t even have the energy to be embarrassed.

"What’s your point?" you mutter.

Jade smiles like a predator about to land a final, devastating strike.

"You should simply tell him. Because this…?" He gestures vaguely at your soul-deep despair. "This is rather pitiful."

You stare.

You process.

And, somewhere in the depths of your heart, you realize he’s right.

You are in shambles.

Like, properly, horrifically, soul-crushingly in shambles. You’ve been through so much. You've spent weeks engaging in increasingly deranged behavior at the behest of a well-meaning yet hopelessly out-of-touch fae prince. You've endured ritual poetry readings, scent-marking disasters, and a culinary war crime that left you emotionally and financially bankrupt.

And now, standing in front of Floyd Leech—the very cause of your descent into insanity—you finally snap.

"I LIKE YOU!" you blurt, voice cracking like a cheap mirror. "I LIKE YOU AND I'VE BEEN ACTING LIKE A LUNATIC BECAUSE MALLEUS SAID I HAD TO FOLLOW FAE COURTSHIP RITUALS AND I—" your voice hiccups, borderline hysterical, "—I THINK I LOST A PIECE OF MY SOUL WHEN I TRIED TO BAKE THAT DAMN CAKE BUT IT'S FINE, BECAUSE APPARENTLY THAT'S JUST WHAT LOVE IS??? AND I DID IT ALL FOR YOU, FLOYD, BECAUSE I AM A DUMB IDIOT WHO LIKES YOU FOR SOME REASON."

You gasp for air, because this has been a lot.

And Floyd?

Floyd is laughing.

Not just a chuckle, either. No, this menace of a man is bent over, hands on his knees, actually wheezing with mirth as if you’ve just performed the comedy routine of the century. His shoulders shake. His teeth glint in the light. He looks absolutely delighted.

And you? You just stand there, a broken, hollow shell of a human being.

"You should’ve just told me, Shrimpy~!" he cackles, wiping a tear from his eye. "I like you too, y’know?"

...

There’s a moment of silence as your poor, battered brain struggles to process this information.

"WHAT."

Floyd grins, like you haven’t just endured weeks of psychological torment at the hands of a dragon prince. "I mean, you’re fun! You make me laugh, and I like squeezin’ ya. ‘Course I like ya!"

Before you can even begin to formulate a response, he lunges forward and grabs you in a hug so tight that your ribs beg for mercy. You are crushed, consumed, engulfed in the sheer force of his affection. Your spine may never recover, but at this point, what’s another injury to your dignity?

And honestly? You don’t care.

Because he likes you.

Floyd likes you back.

Which means—you realize, tears pricking your eyes in relief—you never have to perform another insane fae courtship ritual again.

No more humiliating poetry. No more dubious scent-marking. No more playing Russian roulette with your digestive system in the name of romance. You did it. You won.

And then Floyd leans down, cups your face, and kisses you.

It's a little rough, a little overwhelming, but you melt into it anyway, because Sevens, you earned this.

Somewhere in the distance, Malleus Draconia watches from the shadows.

Arms crossed, nodding sagely, he looks upon his greatest success.

"My expert techniques," he murmurs, pride swelling in his voice, "have secured my child of man their eel."

Behind him, Lilia wipes an imaginary tear.

"Beautiful," he sighs.

Masterlist

[tjelestial]

Pick A Lana: Your Person's Fantasies of You 18+

PAC: Your Person's Fantasies of You 18+

☆ How to choose your pile: Take a deep breath, hold it for a sec - exhale slowly through your mouth. Close your eyes and focus on the question. Once you're ready, take a look at the number and choose the pile you feel drawn to.

If you feel called by more than one pile, there might be more messages for you.

Remember: This is a general reading, therefore I'd be picking up messages for collective audience. Take only what resonates and leave what doesn’t. May you find your message!

PILE 1

Hi Pile 1, welcome to your reading! Okay, right of the bat Pile 1, your person is giving ✨possessive✨ I just heard “You’re mine.” Damn. It’s the ultimate "I own you, and you own me" energy. There’s no in-between, just a raw, unshakable pull between you two. It’s almost obsessive, the way their body craves yours, the way their mind keeps coming back to thoughts of you, even when they try to focus on work and other things.

They fantasize about taking their time with you, making you beg before they finally give you what you want. I heard “arguing is foreplay”. It’s the kind of connection where even your arguments hold heat—one second you’re challenging them, the next, they’ve got you against the wall, their mouth on yours, hands gripping tight because they can’t keep their hands off you. Your body is like a prize they’ve won, and they’re going to worship every inch of it. For some of you, your person don’t shy from PDA and they like to show you off.

You’re someone who set high standards for yourself and actually put in the work to meet them. Whether it’s in your career, social circle, or relationships, you exude the energy of someone who knows their worth. For some of you, I’m getting IxTP/xxFJ vibes.

Your person is a provider. I almost thought it’s giving sugar daddy vibes, with how much they spoil you materialistically. But there’s this insecurity within them. Maybe they think you’re too good to be true? Maybe it’s fear of losing you? Maybe you shine so bright? But they don’t want to let you go. And in the heat of it all? They can’t resist you. They want to fuck the insecurity out of their system, to make you scream their name until they know you’re theirs in every way possible.

They love taking you from behind too, it’s one of their fantasies, gripping your waist, pulling your hair against them because they need to feel all of you. They’re possessive with their hands, their touches—palm against your throat, choking (consensually), fingers tangled in your hair, nails digging into your hips. They don’t just want to make love to you; they want to mark you with hickies, claim you, make sure you remember exactly who’s fucking you so good.

They love the way you let them take control, but they also love it when you push back—when you straddle them, pin them down, show them that you know exactly what you’re doing, it drives them crazy. They want to own you, but at the same time, you own them just as much. And they’ll make damn sure you never forget that. For some of you, there’s also cuddle/spooning fantasy going on. They want to hold you tight after, in that sweet afterglow. But even while they’re holding you, their hands are gonna wander, teasing, exploring. Honestly they just can’t help it 🤷‍♀️

PILE 2

Oh, now this is the seductress irresistible pile. Your person? They don’t just want you—they ache for you, in a way that borders on desperation. What did you do to them Pile 2 🥵Your person hates how much control you have over them, but at the same time, they wouldn’t have it any other way.

They can’t stand it when you play with them, when you act all innocent, when you act like you don’t know exactly what you do to them. But you do know. You’re giving that "Who, me? I would never officer..." energy while knowing damn well you’re driving them insane. It’s not outright teasing, it’s subtle. You don’t have to try to be alluring; it’s just who you are. You don’t deny anything outright, but you never fully give in right away either. It’s that delicate push-and-pull that drives your person up the wall.

And you love it. You love making them work for it, love seeing them lose their composure, love the way their hands shake slightly when they finally get to touch you after being deprived.

It’s no brainer that they fantasize about you driving them insane—about you dragging things out, taking your time, leaving them with pent up frustration. But once they snap? Once they’ve had enough? That’s when they lose control, that’s when they take you the way they’ve been day dreaming about. Bending you against the nearest surface, with their hands gripping your waist. Spanking you, punishing you. They love to see you squirm, love to see you struggling to keep up with them, love the way your body arches against theirs, silently pleading for more.

Before I continue, if you feel drawn to Pile 1, that’s because there might be a message for you there.

For some of you, your person is obsessed with your mouth—there’s something unique about it. Could be your lips is pouty, or it’s unusually red, could be it has hyperpigmentation on the outer lips so it looks like you have lip liner on, could be the shape is plump and full, or it’s just that you have a smart mouth. Whatever it is, they just can’t get enough. The way your lips part, the way they run their fingers around it—it’s intoxicating. They’ll kiss you like they’re starved.

They like to see you. Mirror sex might be present. So they can take in every shift of your expression, every little gasp and whimper that escapes your lips. They want you to see exactly what they do to you, want you to watch the way your body moves against theirs, want you to witness the complete mess they turn you into.

PILE 3

Ah, Pile 3, your person is craving that deep emotional and physical connection—this isn’t just about lust, your person wants to make love to you. This pile got me listening to Make Love to You by Boys II Men and All My Life by Kci and Jojo. Your person is very passionate, loving and tender.

You are the indulgence they can never resist. You feel like a luxury, like a hidden treasure or something rare. They fantasize about giving you everything, pampering you with the finest things, worshipping you with their hands and touches. They want to be the only one who gets to see you like this—laid out for them, body relaxed, eyes hazy with pleasure as they take their time with you. The way you respond to them, the way your body shivers under their touch, the way you take all that they give you—it’s maddening for them.

They also fantasize about being taken care of and indulging in pure sensuality—slow, lingering touches, bodies tangled in sheets. There’s whispered praises, there’s physical craving—running hands over warm skin, feeling soft lips, savoring the connection fully. They also dream of devotion, they want you to crave them, to cherish them, to treat them like something precious and irreplaceable. Your person might have Leo/Aries in their big 3.

They fantasize about being wanted and wanting you so badly that restraint is impossible for both of you. The moment when all that confidence, all that dominance, turns into need. Because as much as they want to own you, as much as they want to be the one in charge, you have a way of turning the tables. They think they’re the one running the show, but then you touch them just right, whisper something sinful in their ear, look at them with those eyes, and suddenly, they’re the one falling apart.

They don’t even realize how much power you have over them until it’s too late. Until they’re groaning your name, gripping you tight like you’re the only thing keeping them grounded. Until they’re letting you do whatever you want to them because, fuck, they need it. They need you. It’s rare for them to lose control like this, but with you? You pull it out of them effortlessly. They fantasize about you taking from them—taking your pleasure, pushing them to the edge over and over until they’re left breathless and completely wrecked.

It’s not just the sex, though. It’s the connection. They want all of you, body and soul. That’s why they never stop at just one round. Even after the fire dies down, they’ll hold you close, fingers trailing lazily over your skin, pressing soft kisses to your temple. Because for them, this isn’t just lust. This is everything. And Pile 3 they’ll never get enough of you.

PILE 4

Welcome to your reading Pile 4! Your person fantasy carries a heavy emotional undercurrent, it’s not just about physical desire but something deeper, unspoken, and possibly even unresolved. There’s a sense of longing, nostalgia, and emotional intensity, as if their thoughts about you are tangled between wanting, missing, and aching for something far away or unattainable. This is more than just fantasy; there’s something real and deep about the way they think you. For some of you, this person could be an ex.

Your person’s fantasies might be tinged with frustration or a sense of emotional distance. They want you, but something always feels just out of reach. They imagine scenarios where they try to get your attention, but you’re so detached—which only makes them crave you more. There could also be a desire for an unexpected, intense moment that breaks through the emotional barriers.

Now if this is an ex, for them, you’re the one that got away. The one they can’t forget, the one they can’t let go of, no matter how much time passes. Their fantasy isn’t just about having you—it’s about getting you back. About fixing what was broken, about proving to you that no one else will ever know your body the way they do. Because no matter how much they try to move on, no one feels like you. No one haunts them the way you do.

For the action, they fantasized about a night where the past no longer matters, where it’s just you and them, tangled together in sheets that smells like longing. No more distance, no more hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered need. Their feelings go beyond just sex —they want to reclaim you. To remind you, through every slow drag of their fingers, every deep, desperate thrust, exactly who they are to you. They want to see it in your eyes—the way your walls crumble, the way you give in to what’s always been there between you.

You could undo them with just a single touch. And they know it. That’s why, when they have you under them, all soft gasps and breathy moans, they take their time. This isn’t just about pleasure—it’s about proving a point. That no one else will ever make you feel like this. That no one else will ever know you the way they do.

They love how your body trembles when they push—push you to the edge, push you to need them just as much as they need you. You’re so familiar, yet somehow, every touch feels brand new. And it has them consumed, you have them mad.

There’s a strong nostalgic, bittersweet and sentimental quality to their thoughts. They might fantasize about reuniting, rekindling an old spark, or returning to a time when things felt easier. There’s also a sweet yet intense craving for deep emotional intimacy, wanting to feel truly connected, known, and seen by you.

[thebreakfastgenie]

I really fear the takeaway from Trump's successes are, democracy rewards mindless obedience more than independent thinking. Republicans ruthlessly stamp out dissent and got a rock solid voter base. Democrats tried to encourage critical thinking and questioning convention and only enabled ratfucking splinter groups and grifters.

I mean, yeah, democracy rewards a party that can make its voter base turn out unfailingly every single time. If you encourage your voter base to think critically, sooner or later they're going to question you. And you want that, in theory, for moral accountability and all that. The problem is that people lose perspective and forget that dissent is all well and good but there are situations where you need to put on a united front, like elections.

One underrated aspect of Republicans' ability to maintain a solid voter base is that hate is part of their platform. Rabid bigots are willing to ignore a lot of other stuff to vote for the people who not only hate the same people they do but actively validate their hatred. That's why Trump ran those horrible transphobic ads in Pennsylvania. I think it's also why the Republicans have just continued going full steam ahead on being openly racist and found success that way. Democrats can't do that, because fundamentally their platform is not based on hate, so they can't appeal to that same psychology. Democrats have tried it with the populist hating rich people thing and that hasn't worked out and you can talk about hating the bigots but it's still not as effective.

Democracy basically rewards the lowest common denominator. It's just harder to get people to hear and respond to complex and often boring truths than it is to concise and sensational lies. This has always been a problem but social media has amplified it. And let's face it, "we are always striving to be better" is a more responsible but less appealing mentality than "we have god on our side." I'm not necessarily saying this was great, but for a while there was a certain veneer of class expected from both parties, which leveled the playing field somewhat. Republicans have become the party of the mean and dumb. They're not just appealing to the mean and dumb, that's who a lot of actual Republican elected officials are.

The only way to avoid mindless obedience in a democracy is to get your citizens to use their minds. Often mindless disobedience is mistaken for critical thinking. We all hate the Electoral College (as we should) and that specific system was a compromise no one especially wanted but everyone could live with, but there's a reason some of the framers were hesitant about direct elections. You're counting on the public to be informed and think for themselves and exercise good judgment. That is a tremendous amount of faith to place in people and as we're seeing now, it doesn't always pay off. I can't convince myself there's an acceptable alternative to democracy so I have to continue to believe the public is capable of better. It can be very demoralizing, though.

[suiana]

hi hi hii!! I saw your requests are open so may I pleade request for more yandere classmate oneshots/fics/headcanons anything that is a yandere classmate content cause I really love your writing and those yandere classmates hcs/oneshots you wrote♡♡!! if you need me to be more specific here's a suggestion/scenario:3...(that's a bit too specific if you don't mind hehe)

Yandere classmate transfer to reader's school and class. Yandere meets reader and boomshakalala typical yandere scenario where he falls inlove with reader. Yandere finds out that reader is getting backstabbed and bullied by their classmates. Reader is an extrovert and silly but like can't do anything about the bullying so they just ignore their classmates comment. Reader can be gender neutral or fem, whatever feels more comfty for u to write:>>! yan is a male!

Also, if you're in a writer's block, u don't have to force yourself! Also jst ignore this if u don't feel comfty writing this. Take of yourself and sorry if this is a bit too specific or demanding !

xoxo - Anon

hey anon! you just pulled me out of my writers drought so please have this for valentines

Yandere! classmate who's the new kid and is trying to fit in. Right, the average new kid experience. You're not popular, not a loner, just somewhere in between and trying to get by with all the horrors school can throw at you. No one has enough time to bother with others when they have to focus on themselves.

But there is.

You know how there are some people who peaked in highschool that take out their sadness on others? Yeah, that's right. Those people. And he just so happened to walk into one of these sessions.

Some grown ass man pouring milk over- oh, it's you.

Yeah just like how there's the losers who peaked in highschool, there are the popular kids who remain popular throughout their life. Aka you. And he's fallen for you hard.

It all began one fateful day... When he bumped into you while running on 2 hours of sleep and simply passed out because of the force at which he walked right at you. That's right. He fainted from walking into you.

Anyway, when he woke up, he found out that you had dragged him to the nurse's office and had stayed right by his side until he woke up.

How fucking cute.

He was definitely attracted to you. That was for sure, he still could feel it even when he was still woozy. I mean, you were his type from head to toe! Physically at least.

But now you're telling him you stayed by his side and waited patiently by his side until he woke up? You've got him hooked. So he gave you his number, got you to be his friend, and everything else fell in place.

He started noticing you around campus, talking to everyone and socializing like a freaking butterfly. Figures. You were clearly an extrovert and loved being just an absolute sweetheart. Sweet and kind to everyone around you. He would give you the world if you asked for it.

Then, he started noticing the bullying. The whispers, backhanded compliments... Just everything about it enraged him. It's bad enough that people are being mean, it's even worse that they're called your friends. How could they do such a thing to you? You were a blessing to be around! These people should be grateful that you even wanted to befriend them! Hell, they should be grovelling and begging on their knees for even as much as thinking wrong of you!

The worst part of it all?

You don't retaliate. Or rather, you can't. These "friends" of yours are all kids of rich and powerful people. And you? You're just poor old you, unable to talk back in fear of them ruining your reputation and maybe even worse. They could have you removed from the school, falsely accused of a crime... They're scum of the earth and they know it.

He hates them.

He hates them.

That's why he's taken it upon himself to get rid of them! No problem if he isn't as powerful or rich as these... "friends" of yours... Who can fight back when they're dead after all? The dead don't speak, they can't. They're the best type of sinners, people who've dared to lay their filthy hands and words on your beautiful soul.

Of course... He doesn't let you know that. You're too kind for this world. You'd freak out and have a panic attack if he told such a thing to you! You wouldn't understand. He wouldn't want to scare you anyway. You think of him as just another tired student that's your really nice friend. So he's kept all this hidden away.

But right now? When he's faced with this? Milk? On you? While you're just... Forced to take it all?

How can he not act out?

"You think this is funny?"

His hands are on that losers neck in a second, depriving him of any oxygen possible. Damn you, damn you, damn you. This waste of space should just die now. He was even laughing when he was pouring the fucking milk over your head? Unacceptable.

Simply unacceptable.

"You're a fucking loser."

"You smell like piss and shit, did you piss yourself?"

"Not so much of a big guy now, huh?"

This guy's body is larger than him, muscle and veiny all over. Yet... His body was slowly losing... to him? An average joe?

Then he hears it. Your voice.

He gets pulled out of his rage by your voice. Oh... Your sweet, sweet voice. It's like an angel's touch, the warmth of spring after a cold winter. Usually it would be comforting to him, make his heart soar and face warm. Right now though? it's sending nothing but dread through him. Shit, he's exposed himself.

"Uh... Fuck, I didn't mean to-"

He's stammering, bumbling on his words like a fool. No, god no, he's messed up now. You'll surely hate him and think he's a violent creep. You'll never want to talk to him again and-

-You reached out to him and mutter a thanks? For standing up for you? With that smile and gentle hands? What was that? Did you just ask him to release the guy and go on a walk? Was that a date? He hopes it's a date. Ah, it's on valentine's too. Do you like him? Is this a sign? He's not overthinking it right?

...

Ah.

He's so cooked.

[gingerteafairy]

𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 + 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞

𝐝𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐤𝐢 – 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

Dave would have nearly all the love languages, but these two fit him best. As Kick-Ass, he would go out of his way to solve conflicts in your life, often being a bit nosy. If he found out someone made you cry, that person could expect a serious conversation (a real talk—he couldn’t actually fight them). He loves hugs and never misses the chance, even when you’re busy. He adores studying and gaming with you on his lap. "Would you mind sitting on my lap? It's for my exam. Really important, okay?" #1 PDA king.

𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐢 𝐯𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐲 – 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

Alexei would be the biggest fan of long night walks and picnics, where he could admire you and take in every detail of your world, from the sound of your laugh to the subtle way your breath deepens when he gets too close. If the conversation faded, he’d simply trace his fingers over your face, memorizing the texture of your skin and every hair in your brows, cherishing even the tiny imperfections you hated. "If you ever change, i fear that stars will fall with me to the ground. you're perfect this way."

𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐞 – 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬

He loves holding hands and kissing, yet he’s not a fan of being overly clingy and prefers other ways to show affection. He’d write songs for you, teach you how to play bass, and share headphones with you. He’d love when you visited the shop but wouldn’t let you help with the heavy work—he didn’t want you to get overworked. "You can help the cashier. You're good with numbers, right? Always thought you were smarter than me."

𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐫 – 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬

Tom is used to being praised, he loves having his ego stroked. This carries over into how he handles romance, where he’s quick to compliment you without overthinking it. “That’s really good, you’ve got talent.” “You look great today—did you do something with your hair?” Random gifts? Absolutely. Part of it is because he had the money and liked showing off, but deep down, it was because he loved seeing your surprised smile. “This? Oh, just bought it on sale.” (5K dollar jacket.)

𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 – 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

Pietro is impulsive—his actions tend to come before he fully thinks things through. If someone upset you or made you insecure, even if it was in the past, he’d probably end up in a scuffle. Too tired to go grocery shopping? In a flash, he’d grab everything you need. Forgot to thaw the meat for dinner? No problem, he’d use physics to handle it in no time. "You saw that? Only for you, baby."

𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 – 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Because his job is so unpredictable, Tangerine prefers to show affection when he’s with you. He’d sit you on his lap and listen to you talk about what happened while he was gone. It was his way of forgetting all the work chaos and focusing on how normal life could still be. He even taught you how to trim his mustache just to have you close. And of course, he’d always compliment your talents, beauty, and everything you did—with that signature dirty mouth of his. “Shit, darlin'. You’re so fucking good for me. love ya."

masterlist

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of death, violence, terrorism, poor writing, ooc writing,

part 14: busy

🔹🔹🔹

You don't forget things easily, never have. You consider it a skill to memorize the intro to a book, remember passwords you spot out of the corner of your eye, but sometimes you wish you could shut it off.

Tonight you woke in a cold sweat, the too warm sheets twisting around you and holding you captive as you desperately try to shove the memories out of your head. the fear in their pleading eyes, the smell of nervous sweat, the desperate heave of their chest as if trying to savor every breath, the breathless pleas for mercy, you've never forgotten your first kill.

You shakily untangle yourself and slowly sit up, your heart is racing like you've ran an Olympic marathon and had to then run home. You hate how the large room feels smaller as you try to stand up on shaking legs, you feel cornered despite being alone.

The floors cold as you pad out of your room, it feels strange to call it yours you don't really have a destination in mind, it's late, or early? You didn't check the time before leaving, you just know it's pitch black outside whenever you pass a window. Right now you just need to…. Move, you wish there was a punching bag here.

There's a faint light on down the hall, you're near one of the sitting rooms by the library and You doubt a burglar would turn a TV on so you creep closer without worrying about a weapon, yet you still shift your feet to roll your weight differently and keep your knees bent as you silently approach the cracked open doorway.

Alfred's in the room, watching TV with a hand pressed over his mouth in tense silence, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stands in front of the TV. Your attention shifts to what you can see of the screen and you watch as a news station live reports about an ongoing incident, an old warehouse is up in flames and there seems to be a fight between some people attempting to throw Molotov cocktails and the heroes in this City. You recognize the bat-man guy and the other one, red Robin right? It's clearly a bad time as the heroes, along with a few more you don't personally know, are trying to stop the morons from burning themselves everytime they drop their bottles.

You catch most of it despite Alfred blocking the view somewhat, a hero in black and blue whisks civilians out of the way of broken glass and burning fuel while a short one is that a child!? assists, one in black and purple swings off a grappling hook and kicks one of the Molotov throwers in the chest right before he lights up another bottle, knocking him to the ground. You bet that hurt.

Alfred steps closer to the screen, blocking more of your view. Your eyes narrow and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the wood frame to see around him, he hasn't noticed you yet and for some reason you feel you should keep it that way.

The news reporter speaks in relieved tones, is it wrapping up? You're about to pad back down the hall and go back to your room when Alfred grunts at the same time as the reporter starts yelling something quickly.

“-AND IT LOOKS LIKE WE'VE GOT A META ON SCENE! BATMANS BEEN TACKLED INTO THE FIERY BUILDING AND HAS DISAPPEARED FROM GOTHAM LIVES VIEW! YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST FOLKS THERE'S A META ON SIGHT AND THINGS ARE RAMPING UP-”

You pull back around the corner as Alfred starts to turn, you're already tucked in a corner when he shuffles out of the room. luckily he goes the opposite way and disappears into the library, the heavy doors shutting behind him with a loud thud.

🔹🔹🔹

You don't sleep the rest of the night, everything about that rubbed you the wrong way and you hate it. After laying down for an hour and rethinking every part of what you saw, you can't take it anymore. You get out of bed and train some more, your muscles ache and protest like hell but you push through, you're not useless or defective. And you're sick of living like you are

Breakfast is…. Off, much weirder than any other time you've been here. For one thing there's no sign of Bruce, and the kids are silent as church mice as they eat. It's weirdly somber as you walk in, even Tim is there, you'd started to think the kid was living somewhere else.

“…. Morning.” You mumble as you shuffle in, pretending your body isn't screaming at you for overdoing it.

Alfred's the only one to reply to you, voice clipped as if personally offended you've shattered the fragile silence. “Good morning. Eat and get ready for your therapy trip.” While he's not downright nasty, his body language says a lot. Clenched fists, head tilting back as he forces calm breaths, you've never seen Alfred so out of sorts.

You don't have to fake a confused tone as you reply. “…. Alright?” you grab yourself a cup of coffee and take a seat at the table beside Tim, who seems to stiffen up at your close proximity.

The silence is quickly uncomfortable so you decide to take the plunge. “Is everything alright?” Your tone takes on a timidness, feigning meekness as you glance around the table at Duke, Damian and Tim. Dukes gaze flick towards you, he's the one closest to breaking.

“…. There was a lot going on last night..” Duke mumbles after meeting your stare, a loud thump echoes under the table and Duke flinches, Damian just kicked him.

“A lot of?….” You press harder when the other two avoid your eye, you lean back when Alfred sets a plate in front of you but you don't break your concentration on the boy.

He looks away when Tim gives him a look, what the hell are they hiding?

“…. Some kind of attack I guess, everyone's been texting everyone about it in the school chat….” His voice gets quieter, he's lying and poorly.

Your expression doesn't even twitch, when he gives no more details you sigh and change the subject. “Where's Bruce? He's usually chugging caffeine like it's water at this hour.” You look away from Duke, finally sparing him as you start in on your breakfast.

“He would be at work, apparently there was an emergency meeting in response to the fires. Fear of Wayne warehouses being targeted next I believe it was.” Alfred replies as he nudges Damian to eat his nearly untouched food, still clearly tense.

That doesn't sound right, why would he leave so early for that? And without Tim? this has to be another cover up of sorts. Your eyes dart around the table, do the kids know?

“sounds awful, you said there was a fire in an attack?” You tilt your head, feigning complete confusion. Tim shifts uncomfortably beside you.

A kettle in the stove whistles, alfred slowly pours himself a tea and sits down at the table beside Damian, taking his sweet time before he answers.

“That's correct, around two am last night there was a group attack on an empty warehouse that used to house fireworks in the nineties, things would've been catastrophic for downtown Gotham if the fire department and the vigilantes didn't respond so quickly.

He doesn't mention which heroes, he probably thinks you don't know of any of them, If only the knew you've met two of them. “An attack on a building that used to house explosive material? Sounds like domestic terrorism to me.”

you lean back in your seat and cross your arms over your chest, you find yourself pondering on the bat hero again. The one that visited you in the hospital and assured you about your attackers facing justice while insisting on wrapping his cape around you. How'd he fare the fight with the ‘Meta’ last night? They're not called mutants here?

Breakfast is quick and silent after that statement, no one finishes their plates.

🔹🔹🔹

You're just walking out of the doctor's office, having finished your physical therapy appointment, when Alfred approaches you outside the doors, a grim expression on his face as he silently takes your arm and helps you towards the car. As soon as you're buckled in and starting to take off your sunglasses Alfred breaks the tense silence.

“Bruce got into a car accident this afternoon.”

🔹🔹🔹

M.list | prev | next

Taglist: @cxcilla @mercuryathens @dind1n @redsakura101 @ninihrtss @let-me-dance @ladykamos @one-piecelover @cuntiesweet @omnivirgo @shirp-collector-of-fixations @spidermanluvr444

A/n: poor Bruce ey? Wonder what happened to him 👀👀👀 thank you all for the well wishes and lovely comments! I appreciate each and every one of y'all and want to send Internet hugs. Hope you're all having an amazing day/night and drinking plenty of water! 🥺💗💐💜

[yanderes-galore]

Levi Ackerman romantic concept, please?

I'll try, sure! I just hope I got him accurate.

Yandere! Levi Ackerman Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Possessive behavior, Violence, Blood, Death/Murder, Isolation, Stalking, Paranoia, Fear of loss, Kidnapping, Dubious relationship.

I feel Levi is easy to misunderstand as a yandere.

He tends to hide his emotions so many may think he just doesn't care for others.

In reality, he's far from that.

Levi struggles to express care because of who he is.

He's known as humanity's strongest soldier, he's been forced to learn how to fight, and he feels responsible due to that reputation.

He's had people die under his command, he's used to losing those he's close with.

Which is why when he finds an obsession... It's a struggle for him.

Levi seems like he'd be more likely to be a protective yandere.

He looks like he'd be possessive and his actions can be read that way.

However, he mostly fears losing you than actually being upset over affection.

Not that he doesn't get jealous though.

Levi most likely meets you as a fellow Survey Corp member.

Which is another reason he hesitates on getting close to you.

In a way his yandere behavior is similar to Erwin, he doesn't want to be attached and often denies his obsession or feelings.

Except it's less about personal goals... and more about the fear of him sending you off to your death.

I understand I write a lot of AOT yanderes as 'protective', yet the environment they're in tends to push that.

Everyone here fears losing those they love, which makes them intense yanderes.

The thing with Levi is while he's protective... He seems like he either doesn't care about you or comes off as controlling and possessive.

Sure, maybe his actions stem from his want to keep you safe...

But that doesn't mean him isolating you is a good thing.

I imagine Levi's obsession starts as... indifferent.

At least, it seems like he is.

Levi wants to see you as just another soldier under his command.

He's aware expeditions have a high mortality rate when it comes to Titans.

Getting attached should not be an option, he even lost his own close group during the Female Titan situation.

He tries not to think much of you.

He oversees your training, he watches your ambition...

He hates how you're managing to make him warm up to you.

Levi would find his feelings towards you distressing and frustrating.

Even when you manage to prove yourself as a Scout, Levi still hesitates to get close to you.

Imagine Levi's your captain yet he's always harsh on you.

To him, distancing himself is the best way to avoid the pain of loss.

It's the reason he's so emotionless.

In reality, those that know him can see how he's truly feeling in his eyes.

You don't understand why he gives you extra cleaning or extra harsh training lessons.

Levi does it to test you... and uses it to distract himself from his feelings.

He does care about you, that's the annoying part to him.

If he's used to, he fears he'll get attached.

Considering the feelings he's processing... He fears he may already love you.

Levi likes to 'look out' for his obsession.

During camps or just at the main base of operations, Levi likes to know where you are.

He tells himself he's your captain, that's all he should be.

If he was anything else... He couldn't let you go out beyond the Walls anymore.

Levi tries to hold off his obsession for your own good.

Unfortunately... It doesn't work as planned.

Levi would rather you think he hates you than admit he loves you.

He feels that way you're safer.

I don't think he'd confess unless backed into a corner, honestly....

For example, if his obsession was being reckless and challenged him when he declines a mission...

He may just back you up when you ask 'why'...

Then he'll tell you that you've been driving him mad....

His sudden confession would take you off guard.

Levi would probably even be blunt with it, saying he essentially loves you before ordering you back to your quarters.

You make Levi lose his focus.

He can't stop thinking about how easy it would be to lose you.

It's dangerous.

I feel his obsession is even worse after he loses his squad.

He's lost people right before his eyes before.

He keeps worrying that will happen to you.

If you knew him enough, you could read the troubles look in his eyes.

If you didn't, it just seems like he's targeting you.

He wouldn't kidnap you, but he would hold you back on missions.

You may protest, but Levi never listens.

He's your captain, you're meant to follow his orders.

He doesn't like to confront his feelings as that would mean admitting he loves you... and admitting he could lose you.

Levi grew up mostly alone.

Him loving someone romantically never came to mind until now.

He knows he shouldn't, but nothing he does will suffocate his feelings.

Levi shows irritation to most other people, yet even more so when they're around you.

It's hard to tell the reason for it sometimes.

It could be jealousy, which would explain why he's so tense when you're smiling and laughing with others.

It could also be him getting anxious about others when you're training or on missions.

Even if you're careful... others around you could easily get you killed.

Titan Shifters give him even more of a headache.

In terms of if he'd kill for you, it's complicated.

He's usually very controlled so I don't expect him to randomly kill another Scout or anything like that.

If he really didn't enjoy someone around you, he'd intimidate them or give them extra work to do.

What he kills are true threats.

That's Titans, or by the time of Season 3, other humans if they could harm you.

He doesn't care if you're unnerved by the sight of blood on him.

His blades are usually always covered in the stuff, he just bluntly reassures you what he did was the right thing.

Titan or not.

Levi is isolating with you, often monitoring you and intimidating those around you.

You can call him out on this, he'll deflect it.

You could even accuse him of being jealous and he'd deny it.

However, if you said he's being overprotective, he'd quickly shut you down.

Of course he's protective.

You've managed to break down his damn wall... which means you're stuck with him.

He isn't going to lose you like so many others, he'd die before then.

Levi will be manipulative if it means you'll stay beside him.

He'll order you to listen to him then say he knows what he's doing.

Even if it's him preventing who you talk to.

Levi probably hesitates to start formally dating his obsession.

You may become more of a target... yet at the same time.

He likes the idea of you being his.

If Levi manages to get you in a relationship with him, he wants you in his sight at all times.

He hates to admit he's paranoid but... He is.

Levi can sometimes be affectionate, pulling you close and occasionally kissing you on the lips, neck, or cheek....

It's not often, but he does find joy in giving you affection.

He doesn't need to kidnap you to make you his.

He just needs to isolate you and manipulate you.

He's quiet when you fight with him, when you beg him to let you go on missions.

Sometimes he does consider locking you in a room to keep you safe.

It would ruin your freedom, but Levi doubts anyone is really free.

Call him possessive, petty, selfish, controlling, overprotective, whatever you wish...

To Levi, what he's doing is right.

Even if it means locking you away for his eyes only.

You need to be off missions, yet also in his arms.

He'd keep you somewhere safe, perhaps underground.

He'd make sure you're comfortable, he'd take care of you....

You'll just need him, only him.

Then he'd never have to give you up.

He hates admitting it, but he can't lose anyone else.

When you fight, he calls you a brat and ignores your questions.

All you need to know is two things...

You're his... and he plans to keep you safe as your captain.

His orders are final, even for his beloved.

[supernotnatural2005]

His Only Exception

Pairing: Solider Boy/Ben x Reader

Summary: Ben isn't a fan of Valentines day, but he's come a long way since the fall of Vought and the days before. And maybe, you're the exception.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings/Tags: Swearing, mentions of past trauma, implied spicy times, established relationship.

AN: Okay so this is my first Solider Boy debut. 😅 This idea just came to me and thought it would be a great idea for the holiday >❤️< For the sake of this story, I have set this in an alternate reality where Solider Boy had killed Homelander and Vought's no more... I hope you all enjoy, and let me know what you think 💕

Masterlist

Valentine’s Day wasn’t exactly Ben’s thing.

Hell, he thought it was a cash grab—just another excuse for couples to pretend they were happier than they really were. Romance, flowers, chocolates? That crap wasn’t for him. The only good thing going for it was getting his dick wet. At least, that’s what he told himself.

And yet, here he was, standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment, fidgeting with the edges of a small, beat-up gift box like it was a live grenade. He’d been up before you, slipping out of bed without waking you—something that never happened. Normally, he was all over you in the mornings, shamelessly getting handsy while groaning about wanting breakfast. But today was different. Today, he was a little nervous.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

After everything he’d been through—the bloodshed, the betrayal, the torture—he’d finally found some redemption. 

Homelander was gone, Vought had crumbled, and he was free to go on as he pleased. Within limits, of course—that was the agreement. But he didn’t know what to do with himself. All his so-called friends were dead—not that they were really his friends. Just ungrateful fucking leeches who got what they deserved. He had no family, and now, he was forced to navigate a world he barely recognised.

Women showed a whole lot more ass and tit than they used to, and weed was legal in most states, so there were perks. But surprisingly, Ben didn’t care much for those things anymore. 

He’d always wanted a family - to settle down, have a few little rugrats running around. But he knew he had to change in order for that to happen. Women stood up for themselves a lot more now, called him out on his bullshit, some even avoided him outright. It wasn’t like the old days, when they’d beg to suck his cock just because of who he was.

Now, he was just some washed-up, century-old superhero. A man who had killed, not only his own son, but America’s golden boy. He was either hated or respected. Never loved.

Until he met you.

Feeling lost and wallowing in self-pity, he’d reluctantly taken advice from Grace—who, despite hating his guts, had suggested he try a support group. She’d claimed that maybe, buried beneath all the ‘misogynistic, disgusting, selfish bravado’ he liked to throw around (her words), there was still some trace of humanity in him.

He hadn’t exactly helped his case when he’d laughed in her face and scoffed, “therapy is for pussies”, though.

But eventually, the loneliness, the emptiness of his old life—it all got tiring. He wanted more.

When he first saw you, sure, he thought you were easy on the eyes, a knockout really. You had nice curves, a pretty face to go with them. And you seemed like the kind of woman who respected herself, but in a sexy/ professional kinda way. But what stood out most was your kindness.

You knew who he was—everyone in that room did. Most either looked at him with fear, disgust, or curiosity. But not you.

You looked at him like he was just another guy trying to get his shit together. Just another person wanting to change. And though he’d never admit it, that’s what hooked him. It’s why, despite his disdain for that kind of thing, he kept coming back.

For once in his life, you made him feel normal. Accepted.

So when you finally took a chance on him—and it hadn’t been fucking easy to get you to—he knew he had to make it count. Now, almost a year later, he was a semi-changed man.

When you finally emerged from the bedroom, wrapped in one of his t-shirts - he was still getting used to the way the sight of you like that made his chest warm - rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Ben leaned back against the counter, trying way too hard to look casual.

“Morning, sunshine.” You gave him a soft smile before noticing something unusual. No crude morning remarks, no immediate attempt to pull you into his arms, and ravish you on the kitchen counter. Just him, standing there, looking...shifty.

Your eyes flickered to the small box in his hands. “What’s that?”

Ben huffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s stupid. Nothin’.”

You stepped closer, reaching for it, and he let you take it—though he grumbled under his breath, “It ain’t a big deal.”

You ignored him as you opened it, revealing a simple, delicate necklace. It wasn’t flashy, nothing over-the-top, but it was beautiful. Your fingers brushed over the small pendant, noticing the faint engraving of his initials on the back.

Your chest tightened. “Ben…”

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Look, it’s not, like, a thing.” His voice was gruff, defensive, but there was no real bite behind it. “I just figured, I dunno... chicks like this kinda shit. And I didn’t wanna be the asshole boyfriend who forgot.”

You smirked, stepping into his space, pressing your hand against his chest. “You’re such a liar.”

His brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You care.” You tilted your head, studying his face. “You’re acting all tough, but this meant something to you. Admit it.”

Ben scoffed, scooping you up effortlessly and tossing you over his shoulder, making you yelp. “Jesus, you get one little gift and suddenly go all Dr. Phil on me.”

You laughed, smacking his back playfully. “You’re embarrassed!”

“I’m not fucking embarrassed,” he grumbled, carrying you back toward the bedroom. “And besides, Valentine’s Day is about one thing and one thing only, sweetheart.”

With a cocky smirk, he tossed you onto the bed, leaning over you. “And that’s me making you scream my name.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest lingered. He still had his rough edges, cracks that hadn’t fully sealed, old habits that died hard—but he was trying. And that’s what mattered.

You reached up, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for a slow, lingering kiss. He groaned low in his chest, settling himself between your legs, his cock hard and heavy as it pressed against your core through his sweats. When you pulled back, you whispered, a little breathlessly, “I love you, Ben.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, like he was still trying to figure out how the hell he got lucky enough to have you. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d said it, but every time since, it hit him in a way nothing else ever had. Being loved—not for his fame, his money, or some character Vought had portrayed him be, but for who he was—was a feeling unlike any other. A high better than any drug he’d ever taken. And he’d taken a lot.

Still, the words never came easy. Vulnerability wasn’t in his nature, and saying it out loud made it real—something that could be taken from him.

So instead, with a smirk and that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes, he showed you just how much he loved you. And, true to his word, it ended with you screaming his name.

AN: I hope you guys liked this one! And HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!! ❤️❤️

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[andarthas-web]

@clayandsorcery Again: Israel has run a very intense and very SUCCESSFUL propaganda campaign, where it equated Israel with Judaism and with Jews everywhere in the world. So yes, if you're jewish, a LOT of people will assume you are a-ok and supportive of what Israel is doing right now (Heck, a lot of diaspora Jews are. Miriam Adelson anybody? Or Ivanka and Jared Kushner?) Israel achieved this, starting with such things as Birthright tours for everybody jewish and even going so far as to internationally push and establish a definition of antisemitism that equates criticism of the state of Israel with antisemitism. (Btw a definition that even it's key author, has criticized as having been turned into a tool to shield Israel from criticism and from accountability for its' actions.) And far too many in the Diaspora let them. Far too many in the Diaspora kept silent as Israel violated Human Rights and International Law left and right, again and again and again. Including you and your family, sounds like.

And as you yourself said, you (and many others) were taught to view yourselves NOT as a part of the community you were living in, yours to shape and to participate in, but as a group apart, with your loyalty before all towards Israel. And yeah, that too is something people around you will notice and react to. (Mind, not saying that doing so would have made all antisemitim magically evaporate, because it wouldn't have, but actively othering *yourself*? Certainly makes it easier to spread distrust, fear and hate against you.) And now Israel has upped the ante, has gone from "mere" Apartheid, illegal occupation, bloody and violent oppression and ethnic cleansing over to full-on war crimes and genocide. And here's the thing....I'm pretty sure you're familiar with the saying "What do you call 10 people sitting down to have dinner with a Nazi? - 11 Nazis”. So while Zionists might not be Nazis, they're sure doing they're damnest to follow in their footsteps where it comes to committing genocide, and anybody siding with that carries responsability for that as well. And yeah....nobody likes the people who commit crimes against humanity. They tend to be rather hated and people can and will shut them out. So even people who used to be neutral or even moderately friendly towards Jews will no longer be as supportive. Heck, a lot of them will / have become hostile. Because again, nobody likes people supporting war crimes and genocide. So yes, they will blame Jews for Israel's crimes....just as Israel intended. Because Israel always needs new recruits to feed its' war machine, and they're hoping this will incite more Jews to make Aliyah and bring them more soldiers to send into Gaza, the Westbank, Syria and Lebanon. P.S.: It's a long read, but where it comes to Israel following in the footsteps of the Nazis, I usually recommend jewish-israeli Holocaust scholar Omer Bartov as an intro:

i hate this timeline i hate this timeline i hate this timeline send me to the timeline where jews are safe please i don’t want to be here anymore i am just so tired please send me to another timeline

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

This isn't gonna be in line with my regular posts, but I wanted to rant/have a discussion about dating/romance as someone who falls under the asexual umbrella (demi).

To my fellow aspecs, is dating really supposed to be this hard? Is it suppose to feel this hopeless? I haven't been involved with anyone in over 2 years now, and we weren't even dating, it was a FWB situation. Looking back at it, I shouldn't have let get that far. I am still friends with this person because I do care about him and I understand that he never meant to hurt me. We're not as close as we used to be, but we still talk occasionally. But it took me a while to realize what happened between me and him just kind of broke me in a way.

I thought that if I gave him just enough, he would care for me like I did for him. When I reached my limit of what I was willing to give him, nothing changed. The pain I felt was torturous. I'm doing better now but sometimes when I think about how it all went down, I want to cry and yell at myself for letting it go as far as it did. Now I just can't find the strength to put myself back out there again.

On the very few dates I've been on (all prior to the situation between me and my friend), all they wanted was a sexual relationship. I don't want that, I've never wanted that. And I don't know what I have to do to find someone who feels the same way as me. I want to get to know someone, become close friends, fall in love...I want that fairytale ending but it seems impossible for someone like me to have. All I've ever wanted was to be loved for who I am and for my boundaries to be respected.

I don't want to give out my whole life story, but I have not gone all the way with anyone yet. (I'm not going to go into what I have done, that's TMI.) And for me personally, waiting till marriage is extremely important to me. I know for a lot of people, that's super out of date and old fashioned. I am in no way passing judgement on what anyone else does, that's your life to live and as long as your happy, that's all that matters and I'm happy for you! I just want my real first time to be with the person I love most, the person who has shown that they love me just as much as I love them, making a commitment to me and to us. I hope this all makes sense.

But going back to my original point, dating right now just seems...impossible if you're aspec. How am I supposed to find the right one when I can't find someone who holds that same values as me. I've honestly felt like I'm just a piece of meat to these people, just someone to use for their own gratification. Especially since I'm a bigger girl (more so in the past, but my point remains.) But it feels like they think I will accept any kind of attention because they think I'm desperate enough to forego my values. I almost let that happen with my friend, and I don't want it to come to that point again. I shouldn't have to give up who I am for the chance of experiencing love.

I know romantic love is not the end all, be all to relationships. I have a lot of platonic friends, new and old, that I love and care about deeply. I really hope this rant does not come off as me being bitter or envious, that was not my intention. I just wanted to know if there are others who feel this same way...I know myself, I know I am a very fragile person. I am a people pleaser, I feel as though I have to hide my true self around most people because I want them to like me. I overcompensate, I become meek because I am not confident in the way I look. In my mind, I think "if I make them laugh, if I'm compliant, if I'm soft spoken, maybe they'll overlook the parts of me I hate the most." It's not healthy to think this way, I know. But it's been a habit for 29 years and I'm not sure how to break it.

So, as another Valentine's day approaches where I am single once again, I'm left with this reoccurring thought that true love will never find me...and my biggest fear is that I'll have to learn to be okay with that.

[jetii]

Step by Step

Contribution to @clonexocweek | Theme: Conflict

Pairing: Tech x Sarad (Zeilla Pillian, Jedi!OC)

Words: 4,106

Tags/Warnings: hurt/comfort, reluctant colleagues to friends?, a little flirting, a little pre-relationship feelings realization

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Sarad and Tech are left stranded alone together on Mygeeto. While Sarad deals with her fear of not being good enough to lead the Batch, Tech deals with his inexplicable feelings toward her.

A/N: This is a small part of a future larger series of short stories from Tech and Sarad's pre-relationship era, set shortly after their first mission together. Tomorrow I'll have some Thorn/Senator to share :)

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist | Tech and Sarad Masterlist

Tech watches her sleep.

It’s only two hours into his watch, his back to the wall and his body turned toward the mouth of the cave where the snow drifts are piling higher. His legs are aching, his feet are numb, and he's cold, even under his armor.

He wants to get up, to pace, to distract himself, but he doesn’t want to wake her, doesn’t want to disturb the rare peace Sarad seems to have found. He watches as the snow falls outside, thick flakes drifting down from the gray sky and collecting on the ground. It's a beautiful sight, and the quiet is peaceful, but it's not enough to keep his mind occupied.

He doesn’t understand why she hadn’t been better prepared for the storm. It had been obvious, and yet, she hadn't done anything. Hadn't even warned him. Instead, she’d simply sat down, pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders, and started meditating. He had been annoyed, and concerned, and slightly angry, and his words had been sharper than he'd intended, but she hadn't reacted. Hadn't said anything. Just stared blankly at the wall, her eyes distant.

And then, after what had felt like an eternity, she’d curled up and fallen asleep.

He hasn’t slept yet, hasn’t allowed himself to. Not when he's so worried about her. About how she’s reacting, and why, and what it all means.

His eyes drift over to Sarad, taking in her form. She’s tucked under the shock blanket he’d insisted she take from the emergency kit, her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped around herself.

She looks smaller than he's ever seen her. Small, and fragile, and breakable. It's an unfamiliar sight, and one he doesn’t particularly enjoy. The feelings it stirs in him are equally strange and unwelcome. He doesn’t like this. Doesn't like the concern, and the worry, and the fear. It's too intense, too overwhelming.

And, yet, he can't stop.

He shifts, stretching his legs out in front of him and flexing his toes, trying to return some feeling to them. It doesn’t work, and the discomfort only grows, so he settles back into his position and resigns himself to the ache.

The snow continues to fall, the flakes dancing outside the cave. He knows, from studying the weather patterns on various planets, that the snow can be deadly. It can bury a ship, or an animal, or a person. It can kill, if you're not careful.

And, right now, he doesn’t think Sarad is being careful.

Tech’s eyes dart to her still form, and he feels a rush of unease. He doesn't know why. It's irrational, illogical, but the feeling persists. It's a weight in his chest, and it won't go away, no matter how hard he tries to push it aside.

He doesn’t know what to do. He's never felt like this before. Never felt so powerless, so unsure.

He sighs, a long, low exhale, and his breath fogs the air in front of him. He hates this. Hates the waiting, the not knowing, the uncertainty. He doesn't like not being able to fix things.

Tech lets his eyes close, the darkness soothing. It's better, when he can't see. When the image of Sarad, huddled and shivering under the shock blanket, is gone from his vision.

It's not right, seeing her like this. Seeing her weak, and vulnerable, and hurting. She’s always so strong, so composed, and the sight of her breaking is disconcerting. He selfishly wishes it had been one of the others who were stranded out here with her. Any one of them would know what to do.

Well, perhaps not Crosshair. He probably wouldn't have cared. But Hunter would have known how to comfort her, and Wrecker would have known how to distract her.

And, if not, they would have at least been better company. They wouldn’t have made her cry, the way Tech had.

The memory still stings, and he tries not to think about it. He hadn't meant to be so harsh, but he couldn’t help himself. It had been a long day, and he was frustrated, and he hadn’t been thinking clearly.

Not that it was an excuse.

He's learned by now that Sarad needs a soft touch. That she’s sensitive, and empathetic, and easily wounded. That she responds better to compassion than criticism. And that, while she has the strength of a mountain, her heart is soft and gentle.

It's a strange combination, and it's one that he finds fascinating. She’s a paradox, a contradiction, and it fascinates him as much as it frustrates him.

The sound of a whimper breaks the silence, and Tech's eyes snap open. He turns, looking over at her, and sees that her body is trembling, and her face is contorted in a pained expression. He frowns, and leans closer, his hand reaching out to grasp hers.

"No," she mumbles, her voice cracking. "Please."

"Sarad," he says, keeping his voice soft and even. "You're dreaming. Wake up."

Her hand jerks away, and he blinks in surprise. Sarad’d breathing is coming in short gasps, and her head is thrashing from side to side, as if she’s trying to escape. He's never seen her like this before, and the sight fills him with a sense of panic.

"Sarad," he repeats, his voice louder this time. "Wake up."

He reaches out, his hand closing around her shoulder, and he shakes her, gently, but firmly. Her eyes fly open, and her body tenses, and he can feel the muscles beneath his hand straining.

"No!" she shouts, lashing out with an arm. It connects with his stomach, and the force of the blow knocks the wind out of him. He takes in a wheezing breath, and his hand clenches around her shoulder, trying to keep her still.

"Sarad, it’s me," he rasps, fighting through the pain. "It's just me."

Sarad freezes, her eyes going wide, and he can see the terror in them.

"Tech?" she whispers, her voice barely audible.

"Yes," he replies, his hand still gripping her shoulder. He realizes he’s rubbing slow circles on it, and wonders, briefly, if he should stop. But then she shifts, leaning into his touch, and his fingers continue their movement. "It's me."

She blinks, her brow furrowing, and she glances around the cave, as if she’s not sure where she is. As if she’s not sure what's real. He’s seen this before, with his brothers. The look of confusion, the disorientation. The aftermath of a nightmare.

"It's okay," he says, trying to keep his voice calm and reassuring. "You're okay. We're in a cave on Mygeeto, and we're waiting for the storm to pass. You were having a nightmare."

"I..." She hesitates, glancing away, and he can see the tears brimming in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he says. He hesitates, unsure if he should ask, but he's never been able to control his curiosity. His other hand reaches out on its own accord to tug the blanket tighter around her shoulders, and he feels a flash of satisfaction when she sighs. "Do you...want to talk about it?"

Sarad bites her lip, a gesture that he's come to realize is one of nervousness. And one that never fails to make his heart beat irregularly.

"No," she murmurs, shaking her head. "I can't."

"Alright," he says, trying to ignore the slight disappointment he feels. "If you change your mind, I will be here."

"Thank you," she replies, giving him a small, watery smile.

He nods and lets his hand slip from her shoulder, and the loss of contact is strangely upsetting. He doesn't want to let go. Instead, he settles beside her, his leg pressed against hers. It's a small gesture, but it seems to have the desired effect. She leans into him, her body relaxing, and he's pleased when the tension seems to leave her frame.

The silence stretches between them, and he finds himself enjoying it. There's something peaceful about being in a cave, surrounded by snow, and with only the sound of the wind to break the stillness. It's calming, and quiet, and the opposite of his life.

"Tech," she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

"Hm?" he responds, glancing over at her.

"Thank you," she says, the words quiet, but firm.

"For what?"

"For staying," she replies. "For not leaving me."

He looks at her and sees the sincerity in her gaze, and his breath catches in his throat.

"Of course," he says, his voice coming out rougher than usual. "I am not going anywhere."

Sarad smiles, and the sight is so bright and beautiful, he feels his pulse quicken.

“I cannot leave due to the storm, of course. It is highly unlikely that I will survive long enough to reach the nearest settlement on foot," he adds, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. "And, even if I could, I would not. I would not leave you alone, Sarad."

She chuckles, a soft, warm sound that brightens the dark cave.

"Even if I’m an obstinate, frustrating, impossible person with no survival skills and no common sense?"

Tech blinks, and his lips tug into a small smirk.

"Especially if you are," he replies, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Though I did not say the last part. You added that on your own."

"Yeah," she says, grinning. "But it's true, isn't it?"

"Yes," he agrees. "It is."

"See," she laughs. "Frustrating."

"Impossible, as well," he teases, his eyes darting to the snow falling outside the cave.

"Thanks," she snorts, nudging his shoulder.

"You're welcome," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching.

She rolls her eyes, but the grin remains, and he can't help but notice the way it softens her features. The way it makes her seem more at ease. More relaxed. He finds that he enjoys seeing her like this. Carefree and happy.

"I'm glad you're here, Tech," she says after a moment, her voice growing quieter. “You were right, before. About my plan not working. If you hadn't been here...well, I'm not sure I would have made it."

He swallows, his throat tight. The idea of her stranded out here, alone, without him, is not a pleasant one. He doesn't want to think about it. Doesn't want to consider the possibility.

"I'm glad you're here, too," he admits. He pauses, gathering his thoughts, and then continues. "And, for what it's worth, I am sorry. About what I said, earlier. It was not fair of me."

"Don't be," she replies, shaking her head. "It was deserved."

"It wasn't," Tech counters, his brows drawing together. "You made a decision, and I did not agree with it. But, you are still the leader. I should not have questioned your authority."

"I wasn't a very good leader, though, was I?" she murmurs. "I almost got us both killed."

"Almost," he points out.

"And if we hadn't found the cave, I would have," she sighs, shaking her head. "I don't know why I'm so bad at this. It should be easy, and it's not."

"Perhaps it is not a task suited for you," he suggests.

"What do you mean?"

"You are not a soldier, Sarad," he explains. He turns and glances at her, and sees the surprise on her face. "I am not saying this to offend, or upset you. But, as someone who has trained and served alongside soldiers for most of my life, I have a better understanding of how these things work. And I can tell you that, while you are a skilled individual, you are not a soldier. It is not in your nature."

She's quiet for a moment, and he can see the wheels turning in her mind, processing his words.

"I've never really thought about it like that," she admits, a slight frown tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Well, now you have," he says. He turns his attention back to the snow outside, his gaze tracking a flurry of flakes drifting down and disappearing into the white. She's silent and still, and the only sound is the gentle rasp of her breathing. He waits, patiently, giving her the time and space to think. He knows, better than most, how difficult it can be to reconcile one's own nature. 

She's not suited for the military life. She's too gentle, too kind, too soft. It's not who she is, and it's not what she was built for. She was created to care, to heal, to protect. To nurture. It's not a weakness, or a flaw. It's a strength. A powerful one. But, in the harsh, unforgiving world of the army, it's also a liability.

Tech knows, because he's experienced it. Knows what it's like, to be different, to be the odd one out. He's always been an outsider, and he's always been seen as an oddity. But, even with all the training, all the conditioning, all the time spent trying to fit in, there's a part of him that will never be able to. Because it's not who he is. And, no matter how hard he tries, or how much he wishes, he will never be able to change that.

She's similar, in that way. She's not a soldier, and she's not meant to be. And if he had his way, she would never have to become one.

"I guess you're right," she finally says, breaking the silence.

"I usually am," he quips, and she snorts, shaking her head.

"That's debatable."

"You would be wise not to argue, Sarad,” he drawls, and he's surprised at how light and playful his voice sounds. He's not used to teasing, not used to joking. Not unless it's with his brothers. And yet, with her, it comes so easily. It feels natural. It feels good.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she chuckles. "I'd probably lose."

"Precisely," he smirks.

She rolls her eyes before she shifts closer, and she rests her head against his shoulder. Tech freezes, unsure of what to do. The two of them have never been this close, not intentionally, and he doesn't know what the correct response is. Should he pull away? Or should he stay, and let her rest against him?

She seems to sense his hesitation, and she sits up, pulling away.

"I'm sorry," she says, a flush spreading across her cheeks. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It's alright," he assures her quickly. "I do not mind."

"Really?"

"Really," he says.

She bites her lip, hesitating. But then she moves, settling against him once more, and he can feel his muscles relax. He leans back, letting his head fall against the cool stone, and closes his eyes, a long, slow exhale escaping him. He doesn't know why, but the weight of her body against his, the warmth of her skin against his armor, is comforting. Soothing. And, for the first time since the mission began, he feels a sense of calm.

"So," she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. "We've established that I'm not a very good leader."

"Correct," he confirms.

"And apparently, I'm not very good at surviving in the wilderness, either."

"You have not given me much reason to doubt that," he agrees, his tone dry. She huffs and smacks his shoulder, and he feels the corner of his mouth tug into a smirk.

"So, what do you think I should do?"

"About?"

"About this whole...leader thing," she replies. "You've got to have some advice, or suggestions, or something."

"Well," he starts slowly. He knows, deep down, what she needs to do. What he would do, if it were him. But the words are harder to say than he expected. Harder, and more meaningful. And the realization that it means something, that she means something, is jarring. "It is not my place to say, Sarad. But, if it were, I would advise you to step down."

"Step down?"

"Yes," he confirms, and he opens his eyes, turning to look at her. Her gaze is sharp, intense, and there's a flicker of emotion there, something that he can't quite identify.

"And then what? Go back to Coruscant?"

"No.” Tech swallows, his throat feeling tight. The thought of her leaving is unsettling. Disturbing, even. "If I may, I would suggest you stay with the squad."

"With the squad," she repeats, and he can hear the surprise in her voice.

"Yes," he replies. He takes a breath, and then continues. "You could…let Hunter take over as our leader again. Then you would not have to worry about the responsibility of commanding. You could simply be a member and focus on the mission."

"Oh.”

“We could use your skills. You are an effective medic, and you have proven yourself to be a capable field agent," he says, his voice growing quieter. "And, I must admit, your presence is...not entirely unwelcome."

"Thanks," she laughs. "I think."

Tech smiles and turns his attention back to the snow, the flakes dancing and drifting down to join their companions on the ground.

He wants to say more. He wants to tell her how much he appreciates her, how much he's come to care for her. But the words won't come. They're lodged in his throat, trapped by the uncertainty and fear that have plagued him for weeks.

The silence stretches, and he's tempted to fill it, but he forces himself to be still. To wait. Because she deserves the chance to think. And he needs the time to collect himself.

He's not sure when his feelings changed. When he started seeing her as more than just a comrade. But he knows they have. He can feel it, a warm glow in his chest, and a strange fluttering in his stomach. It's not something he's familiar with, and it's not something he's comfortable with. But, at the same time, he doesn't want to let go.

"You really think the others would want me to stay?" she asks quietly.

"Yes," he answers, his tone firm, his gaze still fixed on the snow outside. "I do. They have grown quite fond of you. They respect you, Sarad. They like you. They will want you to remain."

"Do you?"

The question catches him off guard, and he's momentarily at a loss for words. He had not expected her to ask him.

He hesitates. He knows the answer, of course. Knows that, if given the choice, he would want her to stay. Would want to have more time with her. But the words are harder to say. Harder than they have any right to be.

"Yes," he admits.

"Why?"

Tech pauses, searching for the right words. There are so many reasons, and he's not sure which one to choose. Which one would be the most helpful. Or the least revealing.

"You are intelligent, and brave," he begins. "And you have an impressive array of skills. Your medical knowledge is valuable, as is your combat ability. Your analytical skills are second to none, save for mine, of course. And, despite our frequent bickering, we make a good team. We are compatible. Our abilities complement each other. I believe it would be a shame, not to mention a waste, to see those talents go unused."

He feels her shift beside him, and he glances over at her. She's looking at him, a small, pleased smile on her face.

"That's a lot of compliments, Tech," she teases, raising an eyebrow. "You're making me blush."

"I am simply stating facts," he says, and his heart rate picks up, the rhythm erratic. He hadn't realized how personal his answer had been, and the sudden realization that he's shared far more than intended is disconcerting.

"Facts, huh?"

"Yes."

"So, I'm not just useful," she presses. "You like me."

"As I said, we are compatible."

"I'm touched, Tech," she chuckles.

"You should not be," he replies, trying to sound casual. "It is an objective evaluation."

"Uh huh," she hums. "Sure."

“You are insufferable.” Tech huffs, rolling his eyes. But, despite himself, a grin tugs at his lips, and he finds himself leaning into her, enjoying the feeling of her warmth pressed against his armor.

"You should rest, Sarad," he says, his eyes darting back to the snow outside.

"I will," she promises.

"Good."

"But, before I do," she says, and he can hear the hesitance in her voice. "There's something I want to say."

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she says, and he glances at her. Her eyes are wide and earnest, and there's a sincerity there, a warmth, that he's rarely seen.

"For what?"

"For everything," she replies, and his pulse quickens. "For staying. For talking to me. For believing in me. For listening. For being so prepared and organized, and for not letting us freeze to death. I know I can be difficult, and frustrating, and that I don't always make the best decisions, but you've always stuck by me. And I'm grateful."

Tech stares at her, his heart thudding against his ribs. Her words are unexpected, and they're affecting him more than he would have thought. He's not sure how to respond, or what to say, or what the right response is.

"I...appreciate your honesty," he finally says. “But I don’t need thanks. I did what was required of me."

"Well, I'm grateful for it, and you, all the same," she replies.

"I...see," he stammers.

"Is that okay?"

"Yes," he says, his voice coming out rough. "Of course."

"Okay," she smiles. "Good."

"You should rest," he murmurs.

"I will."

"Good."

He watches as she curls up, the blanket drawn tight around her body, and he lets out a breath. He feels strange, a little dizzy, and he blames it on the lack of sleep, the stress, and the cold.

It's not until he's settled back into his position, his eyes fixed on the falling snow, that he realizes, perhaps, the true reason for the odd sensation. And, when he finally admits it, he's shocked by the strength of his feelings. By how much they mean to him.

He likes her. Really, truly, likes her. In a deeper, more meaningful, more intimate sense than he's ever felt before. It's a terrifying realization, and one that leaves him reeling. He's not sure how to deal with it. Not sure what to do.

He's not used to this. To having these feelings. He's not used to wanting to be around someone. Not used to caring, to wanting to protect and comfort. He's not used to any of this. It's new, and unfamiliar, and slightly overwhelming.

He tries not to let it show, but his eyes are wide behind his goggles, and his heart is beating rapidly. He hopes that she is far enough along in sleep that she won’t be able to hear his thoughts that are racing a mile a minute.

He's never felt this before. Never felt the desire to hold someone. Never wanted to protect someone as much as he wants to protect her. It's an alien feeling, and it's one that he's not sure how to deal with.

Tech doesn't understand it. Doesn't understand why her, or how. Doesn't understand the effect she has on him, or the way she makes him feel. Doesn't understand why he wants, so desperately, to keep her safe. To keep her with him.

His mind drifts to the times he's spent with her, and he thinks of the jokes they’ve made, the conversations they’ve had, the looks they’ve exchanged. He thinks of the times he's felt his pulse quicken, and his chest tighten, and his palms sweat. He thinks of the times when they’ve been close, and he's been tempted to reach out and touch her. To hold her.

And, the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes, with startling clarity, that it's not going to go away. That these feelings are not fleeting. They're not just an anomaly, they’re a part of him. And they're not going anywhere.

It's illogical. It's irrational. And it's overwhelming.

And yet, somehow, it also feels right.

The snow continues to fall outside the cave, a silent blanket of white, and he finds himself relaxing, little by little. Finds his body sinking deeper into the ground, his muscles loosening. Finds his eyes drifting closed and the fatigue catching up to him.

Tech lets his head rest against the stone wall, his mind starting to drift. And as the darkness of sleep descends, he's only half aware of the fact that, despite everything, he doesn't regret a single thing.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @champagnejaig

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@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

[louisthepillowprincess]

After watching Olurinatti's review on Interview With The Vampire, I fear I need to rewatch with my Black✊🏾 cap on, rather than my "lets just take this in as it is,"🫶🏾 initial viewing.

As someone who started watching because of the TikTok edits and loving my fellow queers I started watching the show, with no prior knowledge of anything except that everyone was a cunty vampire, constantly serving face.

But I fear, this rewatch will make me HATE Lestat... Because the micro/MACRO aggressions he does throughout season one we're not completely lost on me, but I did not analyze further.

Unless you're Black I do not imagine many look at the story this way, considering Louis is white in the original book but, him being a Black, Creole, gay man during Jim Crow is VERY important to the way he acts and people treat him, including Lestat.

The identity of Louis is why I attached myself to the character and love him so much. Because I understand the plight. Being Black and queer with a religious family is NOT for the faint of heart bb, let me tell you.

And I get really agro with the way some people talk about him as if he crashes out for no reason, when there is one, but it's one you wouldn't understand.

It's also why I fear people trying to BlackMan™ him with a hyper masculine approach to his character, when he's never been allowed to truly show all the facets to himself because of the way people view Black men.

EDIT: What I mean by this is people do not know how to take a Black gay man who is not acting in the 'stereotypical' way gay men usually do, like Lestat. So they assign this hyper masculine identity to his character.

When I see Louis in the way he carefully styles his clothes, the care he puts into his hair, the way he sits with his legs crossed; keeping his back straight, constantly trying to keep control of everything around him because he has to, if not things fall apart.

At least this is what he is made to believe by his family and everyone around him. That it's on him to provide, to fix and contain himself while doing so.

Not to absolve Louis of anything because my pookie did some fuck shit, (cough) choosing dudes over his daughter multiple times, throwing Armand's abuse back in his face, using woman as prostitutes for profit, etc,.

Even still, I feel he's a character many do not know how to take or analyze properly because of the disconnect they feel with his identity and his actions.

I hope this shit makes sense. 😭

TL;DL I'm rewatching IWTV with a more Black Analysis approach.

[apeachty]

₊ ˚ ⊹ ♡ . ⠀wild roses | chapter 1 ; the roots

⠀⠀⠀neighbour!yeonjun x fem!reader

♡ you're here ♡ | to chapter 2 →

genre ; soulmate au, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, humour, smut            wordcount ; 17.5k

warnings | tags ; unhealthy relationship with pain [mentions of self-inflicted pain]; yeonjun does some kinda questionable stuff; a bit of self-hate and self-pity.

smut warnings ; dom + soft sadist yeonjun x sub + soft masochist reader. wet dreams, heavily based on pain kink [choking, marking, spanking and so on]; male masturbation.

✉ notes ; oh wow... my first collaboration event ever and it was AWESOME. the idea was just incredible and i'm honoured to be a part of the event and write for the idea. i want to thank each one of beautiful talented moa who took part in the event, please-please-please, read other event fics, all of them are wonderful

i got a tiny bit carried away, so there are going to be two more parts. that just... happened. i was possesed

⠀⠀⠀[ event masterlist | my masterlist | wild roses masterlist ]

it felt like a cruel joke of fate, destiny, the universe or whatever force might be pulling the strings of your life. you were sure you could post an advertisement for your services—“spend a few days with me and find your soulmate. 100% guarantee”, because yet another one of your colleagues had returned from her vacation particularly glowing—she had met her, her soulmate, the one she had been waiting for her whole life. 

she couldn't keep quiet about it, and you couldn't blame her, despite the tiny, bitter part of your mind whispering that you were a lucky charm for everyone else, leaving yourself with nothing but emptiness and heartbreak. you'd only been working here for a year, and four of your colleagues had found their soulmates before your very eyes—five, including the one who had announced it today—and each time, the quiet whispers of pity behind your back only grew louder. of course, you heard the hushed “shh, don't be so loud” that meant to show care—you had stopped paying attention to it long ago. 

the bond you had once shared with your soulmate was a complicated one, tangled in endless conditions and rules, most of them uncertain, suspended between truth and myth. it had already felt impossible to navigate it, while you still had it, but now, when it was broken for years, finding them felt like a distant dream. you weren't even sure if they were still alive, if you were being honest, but thinking about it unsettled you to the point of near-physical pain, so you chose not to think about them at all.

your mind sometimes thought differently, though, keeping you awake until early morning and haunting you with visions of you staying alone until your last days. on those days you’d find yourself deleting your browser history in shame and embarrassment on your way to work—“would you know if your soulmate had died”, “is it possible to get another soulmate”, “is it possible to have more than one soulmate”, “wild rose bond”. you hated those nights and the days that followed, because your brain wouldn't stop overanalyzing everything you'd read, twisting every possibility into something even more unbearable—hope. 

but more than anything, you feared returning to the dark months after you had felt your soulmate for the last time. looking back, you wondered if their heartbreak had somehow resonated with your own—the one that had started just a few hours before. you had felt a faint sensation of nails dragging down your back from your shoulder blades, as if someone was scratching at your skin with their nails, but it wasn't your back, it was their back. you had thought you were devastated then, but a few hours later, when the real weight of it hit, you felt like you couldn't breathe anymore, and it wasn't your pain.

all of it plunged you into what was probably the darkest period of your life, making you realize how truly ugly your bond was, because it was either an endless cycle of intensifying pain—feeding off your soulmate’s suffering and giving it right back to them until it returned to you—or nothing at all. and when you woke up empty, feeling nothing foreign that had become an important part of you over the years, it was as if you had lost the constant touch of a lover. even if that touch had only ever caused pain, you still tried to get it back. 

you didn't know if you were trying to get your soulmate to respond to you, or if, in some twisted way, you were just to mimic the pain they had once caused you—desperate for anything that might keep you from feeling so utterly alone. but it never worked—they never replied and you never felt any relief. 

and now you felt yourself slowly sinking into that darkness again—the more happy stories told behind your back you heard, the stronger the itch in your fingers became. what if—just a tiny what if—they would reply to you if you pinched your arm just a little? what if they pinched back? what if you could finally do something you had wished for years you had done earlier—agree to meet somewhere through morse code? the sickening feeling of hope was so much worse than that mutual heartbreak had ever been. 

you shook your head—no. the “unbreakable bond” that was supposed to never fade—not by time, not even by death—was broken, and the was nothing you could do about it. maybe some people were simply meant to stay alone, and maybe you were one of them. so what? surely, you weren't the only unlucky one like that, there was no way everyone in this world had a person they were destined to live and die with. after all, you could be your own soulmate—at least that bond would never shatter.

the overly confident thoughts, which felt more like bravado than anything sincere even to you, took up all your attention, and you reached out for your coffee cup, completely forgetting it was still too hot. the burn on the pads of your fingers made you wince, a quiet "shit" slipping past your lips—all these existential crisis thoughts, that were creeping in more and more often recently, were making you a bit too careless, and that was a dangerous match to the way you were starting to perceive pain. again.

“you okay?”

you looked up at soobin—another one of your colleagues, but not annoying one— and pressed your lips into a thin line. “i’m fine. please don’t join them in looking at me like i need pity, i beg you.”

he smiled and shook his head. “wasn’t going to. you’re overthinking it, you know?” he glanced over your shoulder at the suddenly quiet, happy circle before returning his gaze to you. “well… you’re overthinking my behavior, i guess…”

you sighed—of course. “they’re looking, aren’t they?” he replied with a tiny nod, making you bury your face in your hands. “with pity?” you mumbled, your words muffled.

“yeah…” he admitted, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. he wasn’t one to enjoy much attention, but sitting across from you left him no choice when their conversations inevitably turned to soulmates. “hey,” he tried to get your attention, holding out his paper cup to you over both of your monitors. “it’s the same as yours, but not as hot anymore. haven’t drunk it either.”

the man was a savior sometimes. you took his cup, giving him yours. “thanks. what would i do without you?”

“drown in pity gazes and whispers?”

you laughed. “most probably.”

he smiled at you, glad that your face was no longer painted with ridiculously funny determination he knew you faked—trying to make yourself believe it—and got back to work, mirroring you.

but you had trouble focusing on your work anyway, and the worst part was your boss, who kept throwing worried glances at you whenever he passed by—it felt like a few more found soulmates in your branch, and he'd start asking if you wanted to take a day off or work from home for a few days whenever someone said. after all, whenever someone announced—because it was impossible to keep it inside—that they had found their soulmate, he always reacted the same way.

you already had the ick from the word—soulmates this, soulmates that. all those “don't worry, you're still young” reassurances coming from people you had met maybe three times in your life while making yourself a coffee in the office kitchen. it wasn't even about your age—though there were countless depressing myths about soulmates and age, especially when it came to wild roses—it was about the nature of the bond itself that made people pity you.

you had no idea why in the world they cared about their colleague—nothing more!—finding or not finding their soulmate. and worse, you'd never told anyone about your lack of one, nor about what kind of bond you had. yet, somehow, someone must have seen your mark—which wasn't too hard to notice, but the situation had to be very specific for anyone to actually see it—and now people knew about it before they had even met you, the rumours about you entering the room first. 

as if that wasn’t bad enough, at some point, they started matchmaking you with any soulmate-less new colleague. you were still sure those glances at you interacting with soobin meant something, just because he didn’t have a soulmate either. it was funny how they barely cared that he wasn't a wild rose—and you didn't even question how they never seemed to care about what the two of you actually thought of it, just being two introverts in an office full of extroverts. 

but soobin was nice enough not to care about it and was basically the only person here you talked to about something other than work, and you were thankful he was there for you without trying to assure you that you were still young and that your soulmate was still out there somewhere. he knew everything that had happened around your bond and understood that wild roses didn’t have it easy, so he never bothered you by feeding the hope you kept buried deep inside. 

“you know…” soobin started while you two were packing up to go home—you both started your workdays half an hour later than everyone else, meaning you stayed half an hour after everyone left, which was basically the reason for shifting your work hours in the first place. “i haven’t met my soulmate either, and…”

you shook your head, giving him that ‘are you serious?’ look. “soob, don’t start. you haven’t met them because you either work or play league.”

soobin laughed, nodding. “you’re right. but i just wanted to say that soulmate or no soulmate, it doesn’t define you—or anyone—as a person,” he smiled reassuringly, grabbing both of your jackets and handing you yours. “you’re perfectly complete without someone who was chosen for you by something unknown.”

you nodded, biting your lip and fidgeting with the pull on your jacket. he always knew what to say, and it was always sincere—probably, because he was in the same situation as you, but with a completely different perspective on it. soobin seemed much more mature than you could even hope to be. no—you pushed these thoughts away. you weren’t going to pity yourself. he was right—it made no sense. 

“thanks, soob. you always know the right words.”

he smiled. “i could say i’ve been there, but i think they bother me much less about not having a soulmate,” he scratched the back of his head in thought. “male advantage?” he assumed, and you both laughed—maybe it really was male advantage. “keep you company on your way home?”

you shook your head, checking the time. “you won’t be home by seven if you do,” you patted his shoulder, and he tilted his head in question. “it’s thursday. your league-i-promise-she-is-just-a-friend will be waiting for you,” you sing-songed, making him press his lips together in an attempt to hide his smile—a failing attempt—and you couldn’t help but mirror it.

soobin opened his mouth to tell you something, but it seemed like every thought he had about his “just friend” only made his smile grow bigger and harder to hide, so in the end he just shook his head with a shy but obviously happy smile. “okay. you sure you'll be fine?”

you nodded, giving him a quick goodbye hug. “completely. be safe too. and don't stay up too late!” you waved before turning around. soobin was a nice guy and deserved all the happiness in the world—you hoped things with his “just friend” would work out, whether she was his soulmate or not.

still, your head felt like a too-crowded beehive, a dozen thoughts overlapping each other, refusing to let you focus on any of them before stealing your attention away to another. you had a bond when you were younger. yes, now it was a distant memory that felt more like a dream—you weren’t even sure you would recall how it felt to experience someone else’s pain or discomfort, but you refused to believe you’d been imagining it for almost ten years of your life, ever since you first understood that some feelings weren’t caused by yourself.

and that connection… it was supposed to be unbreakable, because it was one of the strongest bonds between soulmates—it was based on pain. you could never stop experiencing it, even if it happened rarely, you would still burn your tongue on tea from time to time or hit your elbow in just that spot, and your soulmate would feel it, just as you would feel their pain—there was no way to break it. that’s what you thought, at least—before it was broken. 

these thoughts kept looping in your head, all the information you had read about the bond between wild roses throughout your life swirling in your mind, as if you hadn’t already gone over it hundreds of times, trying to find something you had overlooked—something that could solve the problem you had. but that kind of connection was surrounded by chaos of myths, assumptions, and lies from people pretending to be wild roses. you could never know what was true unless you experienced it yourself and, preferably, discussed it with the other end of the bond. 

and you weren’t even sure of what you had gone through yourself, because you had no idea what your soulmate had done for you to mirror their pain more intensely. it was believed that the strength of the pain you felt from your soulmate grew with distance, and you assumed that, a few years before the heartbreak and the breaking of your connection, they had moved far away from where you were—probably another side of the world. the faint touch of guitar strings on the tips of your fingers had become cruel, invisible marks and calluses, awakening a habit of scratching the pads of your fingers with your nails, trying to get rid of the sensation. the habit stayed—but because you missed the way it felt now. 

the quiet ding of the elevator pulled you out of your thoughts, even through your earbuds. you opened the case, carefully placing each one inside while waiting for the doors to open, and your soul almost left your body when they did, hand flying to your chest to calm your racing heart—a man was sitting on the floor, headphones on his head, too immersed in something on his phone to notice you.

you knew the man—he was your neighbour, but you had never really talked to him, so you weren’t exactly sure how to get his attention, especially since he was wearing headphones. so you stood in front of him like a complete weirdo, looking down at him, your brain still not fully functioning after a busy workday that was made worse by your overthinking. 

but you didn’t have to do anything—he noticed you almost immediately, looking up and quickly standing, pushing his headphones down to his neck. “oh! hey. don’t be freaked out, please,” he said, holding out his hand for a handshake. you hesitantly took it, shaking uncertainly—his hand felt… nice. “i’m your neighbour from—”

“apartment 139, yeah…,” you finished for him slowly, your hand still in his, now just held. “just across the hall. i see you sometimes, but you never greet back, always wearing headphones,” you shrugged—it wasn’t a big deal. he never seemed rude, more like he was always in his head, his hands and head making little weird moves, so you assumed he was dancing to the music in his headphones, the outside world forgotten.  

“oh…” he pulled his hand away and ran his fingers through his hair. “i’m sorry. i tend to get too into my work sometimes, not noticing anything or anyone around.”

you shrugged again, pulling your keys from your pocket, the bunch of keychains jingling softly. “it’s fine. just be careful on the streets. sometimes drivers are…” you scrunched your nose, and he chuckled. “reckless? some make me wonder if anyone can just go and buy a driver’s license now, without even graduating from elementary school, where they give you basic knowledge on traffic rules.” 

he looked at you with an amused smile, and you mentally slapped yourself—it was your first conversation, and you were already burdening him with the grumpiness of a ninety-year-old lady no one liked. no wonder your soulmate had broken the bond even before meeting you, the thought made you smile mentally despite how bitter it actually was—it was a good joke. you made a note to repeat it to soobin tomorrow when telling him about encountering your neighbour. 

but he only laughed, nodding a few times. “i see where you’re coming from. you can never be too careful when it comes to traffic,” he adjusted his headphones, turning them to rest on his collarbones with the ear pads facing in, and your gaze fell to the bare skin of his upper chest for a brief moment, making you involuntarily touch the tight collar of your t-shirt. 

“so…” you fidgeted with the strap of your bag nervously—small talk was nice and, dare you to say, comfortable, especially considering you'd never talked to him before, but he couldn't be sitting here for no reason, could he? “what happened?.. i mean, why were you sitting here?”

“oh! right,” he cleared throat. “i lost my keys. i was going to call for locksmith services, but i don't want to lockpick the door to the corridor,” he paused, because it suddenly started sounding stupid, but shook his head—too late to rethink it now. “so i was waiting for someone to open it.”

you nodded a few times, and he let out a breath—at least you weren't looking at him like he was a complete idiot, and he certainly felt like one. you simply took the key and opened the door to the corridor, letting him in before locking it behind you—he thought that he probably should've been nicer to you instead of just giving a tiny nod as a greeting once every few weeks, which, as it turned out, you didn’t even notice. 

he dialed the locksmith service, throwing glances at you as you unlocked your door. he noticed you pause, your key still in the lock, fingers rubbing it nervously as you stared at it, seemingly lost in thought. he wanted to ask you if everything was okay, but the moment he opened his mouth, a man on the other end of the phone line introduced himself and asked how he could help. 

you glanced at your neighbour as he turned away, still on his phone, his hand rubbing the back of his head. eavesdropping wasn’t good, but you wondered—if the locksmith was going to take some time to arrive, maybe he’d need a place to wait? you could invite him in… he seemed like a nice person, so— you shook your head, he’d probably prefer to wait at the convenience store across the street. with that, you pulled the key out and opened the door. 

“at least half an hour?” he asked, checking the watch before chuckled. “of course. not like i have any other choice,” he listened to whatever the person on the other end was saying before nodding. “yes, five minutes is fine. thank you,” the ‘beep’ of the ended call was almost loud in the empty corridor as he turned to look at you, still standing by your ajar door. “thank you. really,” he smiled warmly. “i’m yeonjun, by the way. it was nice to meet you.”

“[ yn ]...” you replied quietly, still debating whether you should invite him in—half an hour seemed long, but then again, sometimes waiting for an elevator to arrive could take five whole minutes. if he was unlucky, he’d only have time to buy something at the convenience store before having to come right back. no, you thought. don’t be stupid. “it was nice to meet you too,” you almost shut your front door when you realized how much of an idiot you were—just a few minutes ago you basically locked him in the corridor. “wait.”

“huh?” yeonjun looked up from his phone, confused. ‘wait’ for what?.. not like he had anywhere to go right now.

you grabbed the spare key to the corridor door from the key rack and walked up to him, holding it out. “here. you lost yours, and i have a spare one, so you can take it,” you felt so stupid, but it was too late to back out now. “for now or til you get a new one or… or you can keep it,” you finished quietly, each word sounding worse than the last.

yeonjun smiled and shook his head. “i have another one at home, don’t worry. i won’t need it until then anyway, i was going to wait here.” 

you pressed your lips together, cheeks burning, before asking quietly. “how would a locksmith get inside here?..” 

yeonjun froze. he hadn’t thought about it at all. it was almost funny—how he, the one who had that confident, almost intimidating aura, had somehow managed to make himself look like a complete idiot in front of his nice neighbour. not only had he lost his keys, but he also couldn’t think thirty minutes ahead. usually, he didn’t care much about what people thought of him, but he still expected himself to feel ashamed now. but he wasn’t. somehow, it felt like you wouldn’t see him that way—probably because you were just as awkward. 

he took the key from your hand, the little rose keychain getting his attention, as its tiny silver thorns nestled against his skin. yeonjun looked up at you, puzzled—a rose keychain wasn’t strange on its own, he had seen countless of them, but most didn’t have a stem, let alone thorns. he felt his heart skip a beat—the small silver trinket reminded him of a part of himself that he tried to ignore. you only shook your head, though, clearly telling him to not pay any attention to it. but he still didn’t like coincidences like that one. 

you nodded goodbye to him one more time and had already turned away before pausing and biting your lip. “look,” you said before you could stop yourself, turning back to face him. the worst thing that could happen? he would decline, and things between you two would get awkward. but—if you were honest—what things? there were no ‘things’ between you two. you took a deep breath. “you can wait for the locksmith at my place, if you want. it’s warm, and you wouldn’t have to sit on the floor or stand for half an hour. if you want.”

it was inviting. it sounded really nice, actually. yeonjun already felt like his butt was as flat as the floor he’d been sitting on for an hour before you appeared and saved him from what he jokingly thought of as flat-butt disease. but you had just met—neighbours or not—and even though he knew he had no ill intentions, he wasn’t sure you felt the same way. making you feel uncomfortable or, worse, unsafe in your own home was the last thing he wanted. “are you sure it'd be fine? we just learned each other's names a few minutes ago.”

“well…” you frowned and tilted your head—what kind of things was he thinking about? “yes?.. i mean, do you have any… bad intentions?”

yeonjun was taken aback by your question. “um, no?” oh god, pull yourself together, yeonjun! why do you sound so unsure? he cleared his throat and repeated more firmly. “of course, not. but… is that it? you're just going to believe my ‘no’ and let me in?”

you took a few steps toward your door, glad to see him following you. “yep?.. do you really think maniacs would ask in the first place?” you asked him, opening the door and stepping aside to let him in.

yeonjun glanced at you, narrowing his eyes. “do you really think maniacs would just say ‘yeah, of course, i have all the bad intentions in the world’? it sounds…” he tapped his chin, pretending to think. “naïve?”

“yeah? then why would you put these thoughts into my head? sounds like you’re giving me a lesson on how to spot a maniac,” you said, hanging your jacket on the coat rack and pointing at the free hook next to it. yeonjun immediately got the hint and hung his jacket there too, without letting either of you get distracted from the conversation. “so—” you glanced down at his shoes. “i can give you slippers, if you want. brand new. still unpacked even,” you added, waiting for his nod and little ‘thanks’ before continuing. “so. why would one of them do it? give me a lesson on it, i mean.”

yeonjun let out an exaggerated, dramatic sigh. “to lull your vigilance, of course. to make you ask yourself exactly that question and come up with an answer that it doesn't make any sense for a maniac to explain things like that, so it can only mean that this person isn't one,” he ‘explained’, waiting for you to take your shoes off and walk further into the apartment before crouching down to untie his sneakers—he didn’t want to risk making you feel uncomfortable, like he was looking up your skirt. 

“ah, really?” you held the slippers out to him. “why would you—or maniac—tell me that, then? why give further explanation?” you asked, waiting for him to put the slippers on and grab his bag before leading him toward the kitchen. you were enjoying this conversation a lot. maybe even a bit too much, but who cared? “no, no, no, let me answer it myself. to lull my vigilance?”

“exactly!” yeonjun sat down on the bar stool, his smile wide—not because you got something ‘right’ in that silly little banter, but because it felt so comfortable. he couldn't believe you two had never talked before, given how easy it seemed for both of you. “the same thing, but a bit more layered.”

“wow, you seem like a really thought-out maniac, yeonjun. just piling on layers to lull my vigilance,” you sighed in exaggerated awe, pressing a hand to your chest with a little bow of your head. “it's an honour.”

“well,” he shrugged nonchalantly, straightening his back in mock pride. “just doing my best at everything, you know?” 

you let out a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. he was… cute. funny too, and so easy to talk to—it felt like you had known him your whole life but had just forgotten. it wasn't unusual for you to get loud or talkative, but you usually needed more time to get used to someone before feeling comfortable enough to do so—much more time. but it wasn't like that with yeonjun; he made you feel at ease around him almost immediately. you assumed it was his confident aura that didn't waver even when he was being playful or silly. that level of confidence, unspoiled by arrogance, was truly admirable.

you bit your lip, though—you weren't sure how to reply, but you gaze fell on the coffee machine. “do you want something to drink, by the way?..” you asked, washing your hands in the kitchen sink. “i don't actually have too many bottled drinks, but i have a coffee machine, ice and a bunch of syrups, or i can make you tea.”

it actually sounded tempting. yeonjun still had a bit of his coffee when he left the elevator on this floor and realized he had lost his keys, but that was long gone. he hadn’t risked leaving the spot to buy something to drink, afraid someone would come home while he was away, so now he was pretty much thirsty. but he wasn’t sure if he preferred burdening you over just waiting for half an hour, so he shook his head. 

“no, thank you. but… do you mind if i wash my hands?” yeonjun asked, getting up and rubbing his palms on his jeans. and then what? what was he going to do when he came back after washing his hands? he wasn't socially awkward, but staying with a barely-not-a-stranger in a small space with no one else around—and no alcohol to loosen the atmosphere? he should've just agreed to the coffee to make things a bit less awkward for both of you—he doubted you'd eat or drink something while he was just sitting there. was it too late to say he'd changed his mind?

“oh! kitchen sink or…” you walked out of the kitchen and he followed you, standing next to the kitchen door in the hall. you pointed at a door. “the bathroom is the only door to the right. a small gray towel on the towel rail is for hands, and…” you turned your head to look at him, still leaning on the door frame with the front of your shoulder. “i can bring you another towel if you want to rinse your face or anything. it was washed and dried that morning, so you can be sure it wasn't used.”

yeonjun blinked a few times, looking at you, his mind completely blank—he couldn't even find the words to describe how… adorably weird everything you were doing and saying was. why would you ask him if he wanted to wash his face? it was fine and clean—he had checked in the mirror by the door when he entered out of habit—but you were still unbelievably nice, offering another towel in case he wanted to do it. it felt like the thoughts in your head were completely random, yet it was interesting that you weren't afraid to say them out loud. 

“no, thanks. just hands,” yeonjun said, giving you a small smile before following the direction you had pointed to.

you watched him shut the door before turning back to the kitchen—it wasn't that you felt like you had to keep an eye on him, making sure he didn't wander somewhere he wasn’t supposed to, it was just somehow he already occupied your thoughts, and you only snapped out of it when he disappeared behind the door. but as you sat at the bar table, your overthinking started again. everything was… weird. good, but still weird. you’d never met someone you clicked with this quickly, and it felt almost… suspicious.

you threw a glance toward the bathroom as if you could see through walls, before shaking your head—you had been overthinking too much lately. if you were honest, you always did. maybe it was time to stop thinking and just… be? just accept that you had met someone you felt comfortable with immediately, without questioning it? making new friends—ever heard of it? you thought. yep. it was time to just live your life without looking back at any soulmate issues—past, present, or future.

yeonjun found you with a strangely determined expression on your face and chuckled to himself. he liked that you were like an ajar book—not fully open yet, but easy enough for him to read at least your basic emotion, and it also seemed like you weren’t trying too hard to hide them either. he thought that maybe he should be just as honest.

he cleared his throat, getting your attention. “i know i said no,” he started when you looked up at him, all your focus on him immediately, “but i think i’d actually like something to drink,” yeonjun admitted, watching you standing up immediately to start preparing something, but he was quick to reassure you. “water would be fine, though.”

you paused, hand on the cupboard, looking at him. “water would be ‘fine’ or ‘preferred’?..” you asked, unsure if it sounded too blunt—you didn’t want to sound pushy or impolite, but you could make him something specific, if he wanted. it wasn’t a problem. 

yeonjun hesitated, but admitted nevertheless. “to be honest, i wouldn't say no to some tea. i guess it's a bit too late for an americano,” he smiled warmly, sitting back where he was sitting before, his eyes following your movements. 

he was surprised to see how excited you got, reaching for a box on the top shelf, standing on your tiptoes, the tips of your fingers trying to grab it. he had to almost force himself to stay where he was, resisting the urge to rush over and help you—the scene inside his head immediately played out in slow motion, filmed in third-person with a random lyrical song and that weird corner-whitening effect they always used in dramas for moments like this. he cringed at the thought.

yeonjun still kept an eye on you in case you asked for help or needed it if everything started tumbling down, but you successfully won that round against heights and gravity, placing the now-open box in front of him. it was filled with different colourful foil bags—he was sure anyone would find something they liked here.

“you can choose any you want,” you said, grabbing the kettle to fill it with water the moment he nodded and started going through the box. you turned the kettle on and were about to sit back down when you suddenly realized you were still wearing your office clothes. “do you mind if i go change?..” you asked hesitantly, but yeonjun only nodded.

“of course. i promise to behave,” he lifted his hands in mock surrender, smiling—and making you smile back—before you disappeared around the corner, and he returned to choosing tea, wondering which one both of you would like. 

you tried to change quickly, not wanting to make yeonjun wait, but you froze the moment your gaze fell on your reflection—the t-shirt you were about to put on still in your hands. a huge mark, resembling a thorned rose stem, stretched from your left collarbone down to your right ribs, crossing your chest in a jagged line, and stood out even in the dim light of your bedroom. 

involuntarily, you pressed your fingers to the top thorn, right under your collarbone, as if expecting to feel it pierce the skin of your fingertips. it didn't, though—of course, it didn't—the skin felt the same as the rest, smooth and unbroken. if you didn't look at it, you wouldn't even realize it was there—you wished it was that way. ut no, you knew every detail of it. you knew the exact placement of each thorn, each uneven ridge in the stem. you knew where it started and where it ended. you could draw it with your eyes closed and get every millimeter right. 

the way you tugged the t-shirt on was almost harsh, the tight collar scratching your nose slightly on its way down—you just wanted to hide that reminder as soon as possible, even though you knew you couldn't keep running from it forever. one day, you would have to accept it as part of you—which it was—and stop seeing it as a reminder of your broken future, misfortune, and a cruel fate. but not today. maybe, one day, your view on it would change naturally, when the way you saw soulmates did?..

but for now, you would opt for t-shirts with tight collars and turtlenecks, whenever someone else might see you. alone? crop tops and tank tops were fine—if you tried to avoid looking at the mark—but not in public, and not in front of someone you barely knew. for many other reasons too, of course. 

when you entered the kitchen again, yeonjun was almost done choosing the last kind of tea—he grabbed the foil package from the box and placed it on the table next to six others. he turned to you, a bit surprised at your precise timing, and gestured toward the table. “i chose the ones i’d like to try. the final choice is yours,” he said with a smile, leaning his back on the wall and watching you. 

his choices were great. at first, you thought about suggesting that each of you make tea in your own cup to avoid drinking something you didn’t like, but all seven options were good, so you could actually brew tea in the teapot for both of you. 

you took two packages and placed it closer to him. “one of these. i can't choose,” you said, turning to the kitchen counter to grab the teapot and pour hot water into it, bringing it to the table along with two cups. yeonjun handed you the tea bag that he had chosen, and you dropped it into the teapot, waiting for the tea to brew.

as yeonjun busied himself putting the packages back into the box, the kitchen fell into silence. it wasn't the tense, uncomfortable kind of silence you might expect—it was a soft one, where both of you seemed to be lost in thoughts without worrying about getting silently judged for not supporting some awkward small talk. it felt like either of you could start or continue a conversation easily whenever you wanted, so there was no need in trying to fill the air with meaningless, forced words.

you were already sipping your tea, when yeonjun's voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “there’s a lot of handmade stuff,” he noted, looking at the wall to the side of you. you followed his gaze and nodded, waiting for him to continue. “a great variety too. sewing, collages, patchwork, crocheting, pressed flowers, diamond mosaic… have you done all of that?”

you nodded, taking another tiny sip—your tea was still too hot. “yep. all of these were done by me,” you said, glancing over the countless little handmade things scattered all over the wall, and it felt like you lwere looking at them from a completely different perspective than before. “but i do none of these seriously. it was… some kind of attempt to find myself,” you admitted. a failed one, you added mentally. none of these felt completely you. 

“successful?” yeonjun asked, his gaze fixed on a small patchwork of a rose, the only rose work out of a dozen—it would’ve been almost cute with the pale pink flower, some parts not sewn to the canvas, giving it some volume, but, just like the keychain, this one had thorns, carefully stitched onto the dark green stem. he lifted his hand to touch them almost unintentionally, but stopped, glancing at you.

“you can touch,” you said, and he gently pressed his finger to the top thorn of the rose, making your heart skip a beat. the stem was a smaller version of the mark you had on your chest—you made it in hope it would help with accepting your hopeless soulmate situation—and it felt strange, seeing how gently and cautiously yeonjun's fingers caressed it exactly where your own fingers had been not so long ago. you shook these thoughts away, though—close stitches were just nice to touch. “but no. not successful, as you can see in variety,” you chuckled.

yeonjun hummed—your works looked neat, at least in the eyes of someone who only knew the names of some of them, so if these were some of your first works of every kind… you were impressive. “do you like roses?” he blurted out and immediately realized the question made no sense—your apartment wasn’t full of roses, he had focused on only two things just because of his own issues.

but you simply shook your head and let out a tiny, sincere laugh. “i don’t. hate them, actually,” you admitted, making him nod in acknowledgement. “i know it makes no sense that i made that one—” you threw a glance at the patchwork he had been paying so much attention to. 

“no, it’s fine,” yeonjun interrupted. “i can see why you’d want to make it despite disliking roses. the picture itself is beautiful,” he said. he used to hate roses too, but he’d learned to only hate one. he caressed the length of the stem one last time, not noticing the way you swallowed thickly at his words and movements, eyes glued to his finger. he turned to you with a smile. “i have a silly question, but i assume you cross-stitched too, and i’ve always been curious about something.”

the speed with which yeonjun switched topics almost gave you whiplash, but you tried to compose yourself. “uh, yes. yes, when i was a child. not a too enjoyable activity for me, but i did.” 

he tapped the pad of his finger with his nail as if imitating a needle. “do people often pierce themselves while cross-stitching?” 

you tilted your head—the question wasn’t exactly weird, but it was unexpected. “i don’t think so?..” you weren’t completely sure, since you’d never really discussed it with anyone—you’d only had your own experience. “i mean, you might when you only start, but you learn to avoid it pretty quickly, and pierce your skin on accident to the point where it hurts, maybe… a few times in a few projects?” 

yeonjun hummed, his thumb rubbing the pad of his pointer finger on his left hand. maybe they were just careless?.. or it wasn’t cross-stitching at all? what else could it be, then? just sewing? 

you thought for a second before continuing. “but… i guess some people use their finger pad to feel the needle while piercing the fabric or canvas?..” you said, uncertain if that’s what he wanted to know or if it made any sense in general. “you know… instead of turning the canvas back and forth, you just control the needle with one finger on the back and another one in the front,” you tried to mimic the moves but it looked ridiculous. “it doesn’t really pierce the skin, but it’s technically poking your finger with a needle constantly…”

yeonjun frowned, trying to recall the feeling. “does it hurt? or is it just uncomfortable?” 

but before you could reply, his phone buzzed, breaking the conversation. he threw a quick glance at the number and grabbed the phone, accepting the call hurriedly, mouthing ‘locksmith’ to you. you nodded, watching his back as he rushed to the front door, quickly tugging his sneakers on, phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder, the rose keychain attached to the corridor key dangling out of his back pocket.

you felt… weird. it was a long-forgotten feeling, so you didn’t recognize it at first, but you felt like a child whose best friend's parents had come to pick them up from kindergarten, so not only you were left without your best friend, but alone in general, because the other children had already left, and you were left to wait for your own parents. longing and disappointment were a bit too strong of words for that, but it felt like them, in that childish way. 

yeonjun stopped in the middle of tying his shoe, though, listening to what the person on the other side had to say, before slowly untying his shoes and taking them off. he ended the call and turned to you, making you look at him in question. 

“something happened, and they had to move me further in order…” he mumbled, sitting back, embarrassed now at the way he’d hurried to leave the table. he only wanted to deal with the locksmith as quickly as possible so he could get back and continue talking to you, but by the way you looked at him—a tiny bit like a beaten-up puppy—he realized that it looked completely opposite of that. “they said i have to wait for an hour or two. they’ll call ten minutes before arrival.”

you nodded, rubbing the edge of the cup nervously. was he going to leave, as he now had much more time to go back home from some cafe and didn’t have to stay at your place? you didn’t want him to, but at the same time… you wouldn’t be surprised. 

yeonjun, on the other hand, was unsure how to show that he wanted to stay without making you feel like you had to let him stay if you didn't want to. but… food was always an option, wasn’t it? “it’s around time for dinner. are you hungry?” 

“oh!” you didn’t even realize that you were hungry, too consumed by the conversation. you stood up and went to the fridge. “i can cook somethi—” you paused, your shoulders falling—it was almost empty. just some snacks, milk and an egg. you were going to go to the convenience store after changing into something more comfortable, but that lost keys situation messed it up.

yeonjun looked over your shoulder at the fridge, holding back a chuckle—a typical fridge of a bachelorette (he assumed you were one based on the way your apartment looked), his own looked exactly the same. but it actually made the situation much better. “i can order something if you want? or we can go somewhere,” he proposed. “a friendly dinner as a thank you for giving me a place to wait.”

you froze for a second—he wanted to stay? you cleared your throat. “ordering something sounds great,” you admitted, shutting the fridge and sitting back. “i’m craving pizza, to be honest.” 

he smiled widely. you didn’t want him to leave—it was great. “pizza it is!” he unlocked his phone, laying it on the table between you two. “choose anything you want.”

you started scrolling through the app. “i’m the host, i’m paying…” you mumbled, adding a pizza and a drink to the order. yeonjun replied with a little ‘mhm’, turning the phone to himself. you wish, baby, he thought, choosing food for himself. 

of course, you didn’t pay. yeonjun had sworn he chose the “pay on delivery” option and even took your card when the doorbell rang. his face had been so trustworthy, you didn’t think twice. but it turned out his skill at lulling your vigilance was far better than you could expected. when he walked into the kitchen carrying the pizza boxes and a plastic bag of drinks, his expression was one of absolute shock. he announced that something had gone wrong—the order was already paid for. and, of course—how could you doubt him?—he had absolutely nothing to do with it. perhaps, he suggested, some kind soul (most likely a very handsome one, he added) had paid for it instead.

yeonjun had a way to make the atmosphere around him lighter and people around him more comfortable, you didn’t have to spend too much time figuring it out. but he also seemed to be stubborn—if he wanted to do something and thought it was right, he would do it, or find a way to do it if he was told not to. and he didn’t feel any remorse for that. but at the same time it was… fine? you didn’t want to confront him about paying for pizza, because you could easily find a way to return the favour some time later. ‘later’. the word made you feel warm inside, and you pushed all the questioning thoughts aside. yes. later.

“so,” you got yeonjun’s attention and he looked up at you, his mouth full of pizza—as if he tried to push the whole slice into his mouth without biting, which was almost cute—so you continued. “pineapple on pizza. yes or no?” 

he made a face, which was ten times funnier with his stuffed cheeks. “absolutely no,” yeonjun announced as he finally managed to swallow. “like, absolutely. you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. you just shrugged, your face sly, and he made an expression of pure horror. “don’t tell me—i can’t believe i’m living next door to a psychopath! were you lulling my vigilance for the past hours just to hit me with this news?” 

you couldn’t help but laugh your heart out at his endless drama skills, and he obviously had troubles keeping up the act and not laughing too. “it’s not that bad, yeonjun. don’t be so judgy! did you know,” you pointed at him with a pizza crust before biting into it, “that sweet and sour sauce is heavily based on pineapple juice?” 

yeonjun rolled his eyes dramatically. “everyone knows it, girl. but it’s different,” he made a huge accent on the last word. “okay. my turn. mint choco ice cream.”

you scrunched your nose. “nope. but don’t tell me it’s a yes from you,” you warned jokingly and he smirked in response. “and you dared to call me a psychopath?! you? a mint chocolate ice cream lover?” it was getting harder and harder to keep your laugh inside, especially as he kept on laughing himself, but you tried to do your best. “i’ll be much more careful while leaving home now.” 

“actually,” yeonjun tried to say it through laughter, but was completely failing. “it makes you a psychopath one more time, because mint choco is awesome! so you’re a double psychopath while i,” he pointed into his chest, “a poor victim of someone with questionable taste.” 

you shook your head—you felt so full, content and comfortable now, it was almost unbelievable, but you loved it. “okay, expect a few tones of mint choco ice cream at your door as revenge for your shameless lie about paying for pizza.”

yeonjun laughed. “you don’t really understand the concept of revenge or punishment, do you?” 

“invite me when you’re trying to find a way to store it, and ask me that one more time,” you stuck your tongue out at him, your cheeks already sore from laughing and smiling. “you’ll be watching it slowly melt while not being able to do anything about it, because you don’t have enough cold space.”

yeonjun pressed his hand to his chest, absolute terror all over his face. “a psychopath, no doubt… will you tie me down and feed me pineapple pizza next?” he asked, doing his best to keep his face straight.

“well, if that’s what gets you going…” you winked at him, but the ridiculousness of the exchange made you crack into a grin and laughter. 

he moved a bit closer to you over the table and whispered. “really wanna know?” he winked back at you, but he was so bad at it, basically just blinking with both of his eyes, making your smile only bigger.

“okay-okay, keep it to yourself, perv,” you replied through laughter, and yeonjun moved back with a grin of a winner, grabbing another pizza slice. 

talking with him was easy—he knew so much, able to continue basically any conversation, but most of them still were silly and ridiculous. you talked about everything and nothing at the same time, getting to know each other better all the while. yeonjun was a choreographer and a dance teacher. he used to be a dancer in his late teenage years, but eventually started giving lessons, making his own choreography and, well, giving lessons on his own choreography. he joked about missing the sore muscles after endless dance practices some days but always reminded himself he wasn’t that young anymore.

at some point you both somehow stumbled into a soulmate topic. it was a pure accident—you wouldn’t be able to recall how it happened or what led to it even if you tried, but you quickly changed the subject to friends, and you could swear he looked relieved for a second before composing himself. but even just a few words were enough for you two to realize that you both had some issues in that area and wandered around soulmate-less. 

you barely even noticed how another hour passed, and yeonjun’s phone buzzed with a call from the locksmith. he didn’t rush to take the call that time, though, knowing it’d only mean that this tiny two-people party was over, as if the longer he would take to answer, the more time he’d get with you. but he knew it didn’t work that way, so he accepted the call and listened to the locksmith, who was saying he’d be there in ten minutes.

yeonjun ended the call, and stayed still for a second, looking at his phone screen before tapping a few times and holding it out for you. “save your number, please. or kakao id. whichever you prefer more.” 

you hesitated, but he shook the phone softly to hurry you a bit, and you obeyed, taking it and typing your kakaotalk id in the “add friend” section. you paused, thinking of a way to save yourself, throwing a quick glance at yeonjun. he wasn’t so smiley and warm anymore, clearly dissatisfied—you were surprised how strongly his mood affected the atmosphere around him. or was it affecting just you?.. you typed in the safest option you could come up with—‘[ yn ], apt. 138’ —and tapped “add” before handing his phone back.

yeonjun looked at his screen, noticing the ridiculous name, small smile appearing on his face, as he quickly opened the editor and changed it to ‘little psycho’. he made sure you could see it just to witness your reaction, and he didn’t regret it a second, because you looked at him with one of the cutest angry expressions he had ever seen—your lips in a small pout and brows frowned.

“i’ll save you as ‘mr. maniac’ then,” you stated, but it only made him smile. you realized you were happy to make him smile and be the reason why he stopped being a thundercloud with tiny lightnings all around him—even if it was just for a second. 

“please, do. i like the way ‘mr. maniac’ and ‘little psycho’ sound,” yeonjun said, checking the watch—he had to go soon. “i’ll even put red velvet’s ‘psycho’ as your ringtone, hm?” he proposed it like it was the best idea in the world, smug about coming up with it. the lyrics flew quickly in your mind, making you press your lips together, and he noticed it immediately. “no, nevermind, sorry—”

but you composed yourself quickly. “but only if you’re getting stray kids’ ‘maniac’ as yours. fair and square,” you said, trying to keep the most serious face you could manage, holding out your hand to “seal the agreement”. yeonjun took it just as seriously, shaking it a few times, but not letting go when it was clearly time to do so. you tilted your head in question, and that was the moment you realized you should never expect anything good from that man.

yeonjun stood up from the bar stool, placing his other hand behind his back and bowing slightly as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. “deal, milady,” he said, a foxy smile playing on his face—you were sure he wasn’t even trying to hide it, no attempt to pretend not to do it on purpose just to play with you! 

you narrowed your eyes at him, turning your hand a bit to pinch the skin between his thumb and index finger, making him tsk at you, but it quickly turned into a chuckle when he noticed the way you hissed as his ring scratched exactly the same spot on your hand. 

yeonjun's grin grew bigger at that. of course, he didn't do it on purpose, but it was funny nevertheless—the way your intent to “hurt him” turned against yourself. “the revenge was quick that time, wasn't it?” he asked mockingly, with no actual bite to his words, and somehow he was sure you knew it. his phone buzzed, though, and he realized he’d lost track of time again. “i’ll text you, okay? ‘mr. maniac’. don't forget,” he warned jokingly, trying to make you smile as he saw your face slowly falling. 

you nodded and followed him to the front door, watching him open the corridor door for the locksmith and let him in. they both came closer to you, the man asking for yeonjun's id to confirm he was living there. you almost retreated to your own apartment, not wanting to create a crowd when it obviously wasn't needed, when your eyes fell on yeonjun's wallet that he had taken out to get his id. inside, in a small window people usually used for photos, was a tiny pink pressed rose bud, the little flower made your heart skip a beat. why would he have something like that?.. even the locksmith's question didn't tear your attention away from it; it was yeonjun's soft, almost concerned ‘[ yn ]?’ that pulled you out of your head.

it was impossible to describe how embarrassed you were, trying to quickly recall what the question had been. “uh, yes, that man is my neighbour. of a few years,” you said quickly, and the locksmith nodded, giving yeonjun his id back and saying something about two confirmations being better than one, to which you only nodded absentmindedly, image of the flower still in front of your eyes. 

you waved yeonjun goodbye and mumbled something about having a good day to the locksmith before disappearing behind your door—completely unaware of yeonjun’s worried look.

the moment the door was locked, the last ‘click’ going through the heavy air, you realized how stupid you were for overthinking it—it was probably a little nothing from someone important. a girlfriend, perhaps. yes, he didn't have a soulmate, but that didn’t mean people who hadn’t met their soulmate couldn’t date anyone else—after all, your own soulmate did the same thing so many years ago. and you wouldtoo, you admitted to yourself, given the opportunity—that endless chase for someone who was god knows where, if they even were, was exhausting.

you didn’t even turn away from the door yet when your watch buzzed and you saw ‘be a cute psycho, not a sad psycho ;)’ on the screen. you looked into the peephole, and there he was—sending his failing wink at you and making you smile. you unlocked your phone and sent a quick ‘okay, mr. maniac’, accepting his friend request and changing ‘choi yeonjun’ to the nickname he wanted. you thought for a second before taking a screenshot of his name and sending it to him, getting a reply almost immediately—’good girl’. you paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure how to reply, when another message came in: ‘tell me when i’m too much, okay? don’t put up with my behaviour if it makes you uncomfortable’. it was nice—really nice, warmth spilling inside, as you sent ‘okay. but it’s fine so far, don’t worry’.

the conversation didn’t stop there—just like you two were talking about everything and nothing when yeonjun was sitting in your kitchen, you continued talking through texts, completely losing track of time—friends, families, funny stories from work. turned out he was three handshakes away from you—one of the guys who took yeonjun’s dance lessons about a year ago and became his good friend was regularly playing league with soobin. the guy he moved to japan a few months ago and kept complaining to yeonjun that his playing buddy chose a girl over him until three of them started playing together. 

it was past midnight when yeonjun said that it was time for you two to sleep, and you couldn’t even fight him on it—you tried to, but he kept correcting your sleepy typos instead of answering, and you quickly realized once again it was useless to go against him, because he would find a way to get everything done his way. so you wished him sweet dreams and locked your phone, putting it on the bedside table, your sleepy gaze still glued to it. you hoped yeonjun wasn’t finding you annoying—you liked talking to him. 

just like your head was full of him for the previous few hours, your last thoughts before finally falling asleep were the same.

the pain caused by him was delicious. it reminded you of caramel—his touches were drawn-out, hot and so, so sweet. no pleasure had ever come close to the sweetness of the pain he was inflicting upon you—he took his time, making you savour everything he was giving you and crave more. 

it felt like he was everywhere, coating every inch of your body; pain, just like honey, glazing every nerve—you could feel him tugging your hair, fist firm against the back of your head, could feel his fingertips sinking into the flesh of your thighs, craving to leave marks on you—you prayed they did—and his nails digging into your skin as he ran his hand down, leaving trails along your legs—just as burning and sweet as melted chocolate. 

his fingers around your neck felt like the only necklace you would ever want to wear from now on—hand firm, warm and sweet too. if only he tightened his hand—he did so immediately, making you roll your eyes and part your lips, and he didn't let the opportunity go to waste, sliding his index and middle finger into your mouth, the other ones and thumb digging into the gentle skin of your cheeks. 

but the most delicious pain was brought by his teeth, sinking into the skin of your neck and chest, holding it as he sucked the soft surface in, making the lonely thorny stem on your chest bloom, as he held you pressed into him. it was as if he wanted to merge you together, never letting you leave him, and you would beg him to even sew you two together just to never stop feeling that pain. would beg for more of it. 

you felt him part your legs, one hand still on your neck, another one digging fingers into the inside of your thigh as he opened you for him, sinking his teeth into the flesh of the other thigh. he leaned in, and the feeling of his warm breath between your legs made you lose the last shred of sanity you still had after all the sweet torture he put you through. at least, you thought so until his wet, warm tongue pressed against your aching clit. 

you arched your back, clenching the bed sheet in your hands. “yeonjun—” you choked out, eyes flying open, heart pounding in your chest. the ceiling of your bedroom felt pressing and heavy, trying to bury you under its weight, as if the guilt and disgust at your own dreams weren't heavy enough. 

everywhere his hands had been just mere moments ago felt dirty, as if every inch of you was covered in filth instead of the sweet honey his touches had coated you in. you wanted nothing more than to go shower and scratch away the remnants of the disgusting dream you’d had, but even the thought of touching yourself—not sexually, just touching yourself anywhere—made you want to throw up.

yeonjun was nothing but kind to you, making you feel warm and comfortable, asking if you were fine with his behaviour almost on the clock, and you paid him with having a fucking wet dream. not even a soft vanilla one—though, that one wouldn't have made the situation much better—but a dirty one, where you craved him to hurt you, and absolutely nothing was fine about it. it was that stupid masochism again, the one you tried so hard to ignore.

you sat up slowly, wincing at the uncomfortable feeling between your legs—you touched the fabric and it was basically soaked, feeling under the pads of your fingers adding to the guilt, because you weren't sure when was the last time you'd been that wet. you had to pull your panties off just not to feel your wetness against your skin—cool night air making you hiss.

the floor was cold under your bare feet, but you didn't care, finding a clean pair and pulling it on almost violently. you needed some water—your throat and lips were dry, and you prayed to all the gods that you had been just as quiet while having a wet dream as you were while touching yourself. if you remembered correctly, your and yeonjun's apartments were mirroring each other, meaning his bedroom was just behind the wall from yours. 

you stood by the counter, your fingers clutching the glass—you two were sitting just a few hours ago behind your back, and you wondered how you'd be able to look him in the eyes now, if you couldn't even look at yourself. 

just a wall away from where you were only a few minutes ago, yeonjun stirred awake with a soft groan on his lips, head thrown back. his heart was beating like crazy, and his entire body was covered in a thin layer of sweat, as he struggled to catch his breath and grasp at least one coherent thought amidst the dozen flying through his mind. but most importantly, he wanted to focus on anything but the images that stayed in his head even after he woke up.

yeonjun couldn't believe these thoughts, these fantasies were back. they weren't too hardcore, but he still had been pushing them down and ignoring their existence for years. no matter how he tried to phrase it, none sounded good—‘i’m a sadist’? he was, but he was a softcore one—that wasn't what anyone would think when hearing the word, though. ‘i enjoy causing pain’? it was even worse. and even knowing the truth himself, he couldn't accept it, too afraid of being labeled a psychopath. again. 

but they were back, and in the worst way possible—dreams. something yeonjun couldn't control. and what dreams they were—about the sweet neighbour he had only started getting to know better, and never wanted to make her feel uncomfortable. but his brain thought differently. too differently, throwing in images of the way your skin felt between his lips and teeth, of the way his fingers fit perfectly around your neck, as if it was made for him to hold it, of the way you trembled and clenched at every little glimpse of pain he was giving you.

yeonjun felt himself twitch in his boxers—pictures too vivid in his head. he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling the damp bangs away from his sweaty forehead and tugging at the roots. he didn't want to do it, truly didn't, but it was almost hurting, and his free hand—almost on its own accord—drifted down to jerk his tank top higher and then palm his hard cock through his boxers. he groaned at the feeling that was releasing at least a bit of pressure—pressure so unbearable, it almost shadowed the guilt he felt over thinking about you in such way.

the fabric was soaked through with precum, and yeonjun pushed it down with a quiet, low moan, freeing himself, his pulsing cock slapping against his stomach and leaving a smear of precum on his skin. he wrapped his hand around the shaft, stroking it slowly, images from the dream finding its way back into his mind—he tried his best to keep his fantasies to the needed minimum, not letting anything else in. he was doing it only to get rid of a boner.

but you felt so good beneath him there, your expressions, your sounds, the little trembles of your body and the way you clung to him, begging for more—all of it was sweeter than honey. yeonjun couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering. was it possible to make you even sweeter? of course, he thought, cock twitching in his hand even before he finished the thought. because he could want anything, crave anything and you would give it to him, because you craved the same thing. like his lost puzzle piece. 

yeonjun stroked himself faster, his grip tightening around his throbbing cock as he started losing himself in the fantasy, much more dangerous than the one he had dreamed about, but he was in too deep to stop, because you—the one from the dream—was her. the one he had craved so much but had buried deep inside, down to the last thought. the one who wanted everything he wanted to give and could give—in exact same amounts. just perfect for him down to the smallest whimpers of pleasure found in the pain he gave you.

the thought made yeonjun groan, his hips bucking up into his fist as he felt his release building fast. he could almost hear your mewls and sobs of begging to never stop, feel your hands on his body, holding him and accepting him and his every dark part. he came, biting into his lip hard to muffle his moan of your name, as thick ropes of cum painted his stomach and hand. 

yeonjun tried to catch his breath, guilt slowly creeping in—much stronger than before—but there was something worse. the word was still bright, almost blinding in his mind, and he couldn’t believe a mere wet dream and just jerking off had awakened in him something that he had been hiding from himself for nearly a decade.

he looked at his hand, covered in cum, in disgust and grabbed the pack of facial tissues, pulling them out harshly to get rid of the reminders of everything that had happened. yeonjun wasn’t disgusted by his cum—he was a grown up, after all—but he hated everything that was somehow connected to it this time, and tissues weren’t enough. he threw the box somewhere on the bed and got up to go to the bathroom to at least wash his hands properly. 

yeonjun didn’t even bother to wipe them dry, just pausing in the doorway on his way out and shaking the drops off, as his gaze fell on the key you had given him, the silver rose keychain dangling down from the shelf, reflecting a light that went through the window from somewhere outside in the night. it was too dark to see the thorns, but he knew they were there, mocking him with the cruel coincidence. 

the way yeonjun tugged his tank top off on his way to the large mirror was almost cruel—he couldn’t care less if he tore it, he needed to look at it. he turned his back to the mirror, looking at the reflection over his shoulder, and there it was—mark of a wild rose, a thorned rose stem crossing his back. looking at it was almost foreign, feeling like a distant memory of someone who he had been years ago. 

yeonjun had always thought he was lucky to have it somewhere he just couldn’t see it—wild roses didn’t always find their soulmates, and their marks were a constant reminder of that, so he felt sorry for those who had to look at it regularly. he had the privilege of only seeing his own when he wanted to, and he never did—he hadn’t seen it for years. but had it helped him now? 

had his dismissal towards it helped him, when his tired and stressed brain clung to the nicest and most relaxing thing that had happened to him in weeks and distorted it into something dirty and disgusting, which had awakened a craving for something that he had given up on getting long ago, because his soulmate was nowhere to be found? 

had his pretending helped him, when he came with the thought of just being accepted? 

everything melted under the morning light, though—just like how it could turn the monster in the dark corner into a coat carelessly hung on the coat rack, when you were a child, in the same way, it transformed all the thoughts, fears and, most importantly, guilt into indifference for both of you. 

in the darkness of the night, you weren't sure how you could even think of yeonjun, but now, as you were applying healing lip balm to you sore lower lip—that you, perhaps, had bitten too hard last night—while trying to type with your other hand, you didn’t see any problem—you couldn’t control your dreams. your brain had probably been so overloaded with yeonjun for hours before you went to sleep, that it just continued thinking of him even subconsciously. god, you even had a wet dream about soobin once, after you two stayed in the office until almost midnight and you were just too tired. 

yeonjun would never know about it anyway—unless you told him, and you surely weren’t going to. you were going to just go with the flow and let stuff happen the way they were supposed to, without ruining everything for yourself by feeling ‘guilt’ and ‘disgust’ toward your subconscious. you would just deal with the consequences later—if there would be any, of course. you sure there wouldn’t be.  

and it was the same for yeonjun, who was almost embarrassed with how dramatic he had been in the dark shadows of his apartment and thoughts, longing for a soulmate who would ‘accept’ him. yes, his soulmate would—just as he would do the same for them—because his darkness aligned and blended perfectly with theirs. that was the point of soulmates. but who said his soulmate was the only one who could do it? his friends accepted him—yes, it was different, but it was still acceptance. who said there was only one person in the world that could accept him as a lover? bullshit.

and when it came to the filthiness of thoughts yeonjun had about you… he wasn’t so sure it was truly you, if he was being honest. in the chill morning air, it felt more like a phantom of his soulmate—one he secretly craved so badly to hold—had shaped itself into your form just because he spent so much time with you yesterday. it probably had to do a little with you as… you. too little. almost nothing.

so yeonjun had almost no remorse sending you a good morning text in the form of ‘so, are you having pineapple pizza for breakfast? or are you going to add pineapples to kimchi maybe?’. before he could even wonder if it sounded a bit too rude or aggressive, you hit him back with ‘okay, jokes aside, serious question now. do you put choco mint ice cream on your fried chicken or do you prefer to dip it?’, making him smile—you matched his sass, and he loved it.

yeonjun asked you if you wanted him to keep you company on your way to the ground floor, so you wouldn’t get bored waiting for the elevator and in it—a kind man he was—and you hesitantly agreed, not wanting to burden him, but keeping in mind that he was the one who offered. he didn’t have to, but he still did, so it was safe to assume he at least had no problems with it—and at most, wanted to. so you chose not to think for him and just be honest. 

it was awkward, leaving the apartment and seeing him by your door, waiting for you, but you brushed it off—it reminded you of a friend waiting for you to walk to school together, and it wasn’t a big deal. what was a big deal was the way your heart skipped a beat when you saw him, images from the dream still haunting you, a weird feeling blooming in your lower stomach. seeing him after the way you had felt him in the dream was unsettling, but you tried to push the images away—of course, they were still there, barely any time had passed.

it was the same for yeonjun, his breath hitching when he saw you—so composed and neat compared to how messy and ruffled you had looked in his dream and his fantasies. he quickly corrected himself—not you. his soulmate. with your appearance, but still not you. but he didn’t realize that it took him a bit too long until your question pulled him from his thoughts.

yeonjun was looking at you so intently that you felt an almost overpowering need to make yourself seem smaller. he couldn’t read your mind, could he?.. “is there something on my face?” you asked uncertainly, your hand shooting up to touch your lips. you didn’t have a coffee mustache, did you? that’d be so embarrassing!

“huh?” yeonjun quickly ran his eyes over your face. “no, nothing,” he shook his head, but almost immediately narrowed his eyes, leaning in just a bit closer, making your eyes widen. but then he shook his head and straightened back. “nope, nothing.” 

that man was something else, you thought. “what did you think you saw?” you asked curiously, as you both headed to the elevator hall.

“hm?” yeonjun threw a quick glance at you. “it seemed like you had a whole pineapple slice in the corner of your lip,” he shrugged nonchalantly, but the tiny smirk tugging at his lips gave away his intentions to tease you. he continued, “probably imagined it.” 

you quirked an eyebrow at him, keeping the play up as you stepped into the elevator. “really? just a few hours with me, and you are already imagining pineapples everywhere?” you leaned your back against the mirror, watching as he stood a bit to the side to adjust his hair. “what’s next? ordering pineapple pizza in the middle of the night so no one sees it?” 

gosh, yeonjun thought, throwing a quick glance at your reflection. you fit right into the circle of people he enjoyed spending time with. and what was even better, he knew he’d always have the last word with you. “mhm,” he turned to you. “wait til you look at mint choco ice cream in a convenience store, and the next second, you find yourself eating it with a tablespoon in the middle of the night, thinking of me,” he smirked.

you rolled your eyes playfully, covering up the weird way your insides reacted to ‘thinking of him in the middle of the night’. “you wish,” you stuck your tongue out at him, knowing he’d take it as your defeat. yeonjun seemed to like making you flustered and having the upper hand, and you could get flustered easily sometimes and had never been too sharp-tongued, sometimes struggling to come up with extremely clever and sassy responses—but he didn't seem to mind.

but ‘keeping company to the ground floor’ became ‘keeping company to the nearest bakery’ to get morning coffee for both of you—yeonjun said that he since was already outside, he might as well use the opportunity to get americano for now and some baked goods for later. you weren't sure who was the first to joke when he handed you your cup, but his question about whether there was a pineapple slice in your coffee blended with your question about him deciding against adding chocolate-ed toothpaste to his coffee this time, and neither of you had even finished—your shared laughter filled the little bakery instead. 

when you parted your ways, though, yeonjun realized that while talking to you made his exhausting thoughts disappear and he could just stop worrying about basically anything—which was only weird because you had met a little over twelve hours ago, as his friends were able to do the same—whenever you two weren’t talking, his mood became even worse than before, thoughts about not meeting his soulmate yet coming back to haunt him. he thought he had stopped caring a few years ago. 

it wasn’t easy to keep himself from turning around to look at you, but he managed to, gripping the cup in his hand tighter, the ice cubes clicking together and cooling his skin even through plastic. was the temporary happiness worth the dark thoughts that crept in the moment he hadn't heard from you for a minute? he wasn't sure. it still wasn't too late to go back to being just neighbours—you still had nothing between you two except one and a half inner jokes. it'd be easy to pretend things just didn't work out. 

yeonjun unlocked his phone, the chat with you still open on the screen. his eyes ran over the lines of the morning conversation, a soft smile appearing on his face. he wasn't sure he could do it—to pretend it just didn't work out—because it did, and your messages were perfect proof of it. he wasn't a weak man; he knew how to fight bad habits and addictions, and he could fight this one too, but… did he want to?

you, on the other hand, felt like you were shining from the inside. it seemed like the universe, destiny, fate, or whatever else was up there had heard your intentions of letting the soulmate situation go and sent yeonjun to support you along the way. maybe yeonjun was a sign, hitting you right over the head, telling you it was time to move on and focus on something else. for example, building a good friendship with someone nice and kind? it probably was. what else could it be? 

it became a regular habit—not a daily one, but yeonjun kept you company on your way to your work until the bakery at least two or three times a week, when his schedule allowed him—sometimes, his lessons started early in the morning, and he left while you were still sound asleep. he usually told you about it the morning of the previous day, adding something like “just don't miss me too much” or “i hope you won't cry on your way to work”.

yeonjun developed a habit of visiting the bakery and paying for your regular order beforehand these days, but of course, when you asked him about it, he had sworn it wasn't him—just some other kind and extremely handsome soul. perhaps the same one that paid for the pizza the first day. but you weren't going to let it slide, so whenever you both visited the bakery, it turned into a competition who could pay for both orders faster, and eventually two orders became one—to make it impossible to have a tie and to minimize the playful wrestling your competition was turning into.

what surprised you the most, though—because yeonjun's desire to pay for you didn't—was that he and soobin somehow got into contact, probably through beomgyu, and almost made a schedule. whenever soobin couldn't walk you home after working extra hours—either because he had his own plans or because you were the only one who stayed behind—yeonjun was right there, waiting for you. you knew you could tell soobin you wanted to go home alone that day, and he'd text yeonjun, telling him not to worry, but somehow, you were sure yeonjun would still come, not wanting you to walk alone when it was getting dark even before you left work. and you liked spending extra time with him, so you never fought him on it.

every time yeonjun saw you and your bright smile directed at him, he thanked his past self for deciding against pretending things between you and him didn't work out. he realized it wasn't you who was a problem despite triggering these dark thoughts, he was one—he had never really worked them through, choosing to just ignore them until they disappeared. and he thought they had, but of course they hadn't. yet somehow, it felt like just your presence was slowly healing him, motivating him to work his issues out, and it was getting better, even though he never shared his burdens with you. 

unexpectedly enough, you hadn't visited yeonjun's apartment in these two months, and he had only visited yours on the day you two talked for the first time. your schedules just didn't seem to match well enough—your nine-to-five job barely aligned with his packed weekday evenings (some days he had to rush back to the dance studio after walking you home) and almost full weekends, where he could have up to twelve hours of lessons each day. 

“as i spent two hours at your place the first day,” yeonjun once stated while walking you home, your fingers wrapped around his arm, as he held an umbrella over you both, “it'll be only fair if you spend just as much time at mine,” he threw his regular glance at you to check if you were fully shielded from rain.

it pulled you out of your head and you looked at yeonjun with a little ‘hm?’ but your brain caught up before he could repeat himself. “two hours? don't tell me you're going to set a countdown and push me out the moment it runs out,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

“nah, don't worry,” yeonjun assured you, poking your shoulder. “i’ll set a countdown and won't let you out until it goes out,” he paused for a second, wondering if he should say that, but jokes like that had become more or less regular between you two pretty quickly. he just hoped you'd tell him if he ever made you feel uncomfortable. “might even tie you up, hm?” 

you looked at him with ‘are you serious?’ expression, trying to contain your smile. “you're such a perv, jun,” you said, shaking your head, but you weren't serious about it, and he knew it—you often were the one to start these jokes. “how did we get from jokes about tying you up to jokes about tying me up, though?” 

yeonjun shrugged. “got to know each other better?” he was only half joking—he had enough experience to be almost completely sure where exactly you leaned on that… coordinate line. and considering you were keeping up with that direction of jokes, he assumed he was right. 

you narrowed your eyes at him—were you that obvious? “what does that mean, choi yeonjun?” you asked with mock pressure, but he only laughed, shaking his head. “are you free to hang out today?” you asked quietly, hoping he was. why would he mention it in the first place if he wasn't?

but yeonjun only shook his head, sighing. “no, sorry, mouse,” he squeezed your hand on his arm with his in an attempt to comfort you at least a bit. “i have classes in twenty minutes and almost til midnight,” he said. he hated to upset you—you never said it outright, but he could hear it in your voice. and he knew he’d hear that little hint of disappointment now too. 

of course, he did… you nodded, eyes glued to the tips of your shoes. “okay…”, you mumbled, looking at the reflection of you both in the puddles. it was his job, and he already somehow managed to find time between classes to walk you home when soobin couldn't and woke up early some days to keep you company on your way to work. you wished you could hide your emotions better, but it was difficult to pretend with him. you wanted to be sincere. “sorry. don’t think about it, okay?”

yeonjun pressed his lips together—you both still hadn't passed that stage. you could show your emotions to each other, but never really shared deep feelings, quickly pushing them away and covering them with a smile. and he couldn't ask you to open up, because he wasn't sure he would be able to do the same. “okay,” he smiled warmly at you. “i’ll record myself dancing between classes and send it to you, okay?”

you nodded, already happier—you loved watching him dance because you could see how much he enjoyed doing it, basically shining from the inside when he was doing it, his happiness almost contagious. and yeonjun enjoyed showing his skills to you too—he had only showed you his dancing in person a few times, but each time you looked at him with such awe, as if he were performing miracles rather than just moving his limbs. it fed his ego to no end, if he had to admit.

a few weeks later, though, yeonjun managed to free up his schedule a little and finally invited you to his place, swearing he didn't have any mint choco ice cream there, and you promised your pockets were free of pineapple pizzas. he had admitted he had nothing against pineapples on pizza less than a week after joking about it for the first time, and you said you were only joking about mint chocolate too, but the joke still stuck—it was your first inside joke (or the second one, after the one about yeonjun being a maniac one).

you found out he played guitar—the tips of your fingers itched at the memory, but you pushed it away—but he hadn’t played much recently, barely having time to practice anymore, so he figured he had probably lost all his skills. but yeonjun tried to remember a melody, playing it for you as you sat in his living room, watching him try to recall finger placements. and he was actually good, making you wonder why he gave himself so little credit sometimes. he was a great singer too—another skill from his middle school years—and while the highest notes weren’t his strongest suit, his soft, breathy singing was one of the nicest voices you had ever heard.

since then, yeonjun managed to free up even more time to spend it with you and his other friends—he was glad you motivated him to do it, because he realized he had been overworking himself like crazy for the past two years, taking on more classes than he could realistically handle while still enjoying his job. he could finally sleep properly too, minimizing the number of classes that started too early or ended too late, which also gave him opportunity to meet his old friends more often and spend time with you at his or your place almost on daily basis. 

it made you both slowly start opening up to each other about your current problems—work, friends, families—as you sat on the couch late at night,the room dimly lit by a paused movie or tv series on the screen, a slightly open window letting in cool air and making you wrap your blankets tighter around yourselves. all of it made the atmosphere too comfortable, almost intimate, making each of you think about the things that were burdening you and stealing the desire to keep them to yourselves when getting asked about them. 

often, you were the one who shared your burdens, and yeonjun listened, giving advice or, more often, sharing his point of view on the things you were worried about. you never expected him to be so emotionally mature, if you had to admit—he was extremely stubborn and even short-tempered some days, occasionally seemed to have issues when his authority was questioned, and you had noticed some light possessive tendencies, but his advice was always great, and most of the time, he was able to help you decipher your own feelings and emotions when you were completely confused.

yeonjun preferred to keep his burdens to himself—not just from you, but from almost everyone. he was the oldest in his friend group, and didn’t want to burden others in general, especially the ones who were younger. and, he once admitted, he also felt even more protective over you. he never said why, but you knew—he saw you weak. not in a bad way, just as someone who needed protection, and he wanted to take that role, which meant he wasn’t allowed to make you feel worse in any way, even if it was worrying about him. 

but at the same time, yeonjun tried his best to open up about things he was sure wouldn’t worry you too much—an annoying person in his class, spoiled milk because he forgot to put it back in the fridge, or a takeout order that was delivered wrong. things that made him annoyed or angry, not upset or hurt, because he was afraid you’d mirror his feelings, and being annoyed was much better than being upset. but even so, it still helped him open up more and more to you.

the only thing neither of you ever mentioned in these months was soulmates—the first slip into that topic had drawn a line you both didn’t want to cross, realizing how difficult it was even without knowing the details. mostly because it was the same for both of you. but at the same time, neither yeonjun nor you worried too much about it recently, too focused on maintaining a newly found friendship. of course, some dark thoughts still haunted you in the dead of night, but it happened much less frequently. 

wet dreams started happening more frequently, though. so often, you didn’t even bother anymore, simply going right back to sleep after waking up from another one in the middle of the night. all of them were based on the same thing—pain, which was more or less understandable, given your type of soulmate bond affected your relationship with it a lot. but you couldn’t wrap your head around yeonjun being the one in your dreams. he seemed so gentle with whatever he touched, so soft, a complete opposite of how he was in your dreams, and despite him being an extremely handsome man and everything anyone could want in a partner, you weren’t sure you were sexually attracted to him. at least, not until yet another wet dream that made you look at him differently for a few days.

for yeonjun, it was even worse—the fantasies he had been suppressing for years started creeping closer to the surface, which didn’t match well with his already naturally high libido, more free time from work, and not wanting to look for a friend with benefits or even a one-night stand. some nights he even managed to jerk off and clean up while being half-asleep, waking up in the morning with only a fleeting memory of what had happened. he felt more annoyed by it than guilty, but refused to admit it even to himself—the thought felt extremely selfish and wrong. he wasn't sure why you were the one who pushed his pain kink to the surface, unable to find an answer no matter how much time he spent thinking about it.

it became such a regular thing for both of you, that you just went about your days like nothing had changed, neither of you trying to put any distance between you. you kept getting closer, and at some point, yeonjun gave you a spare key to his apartment—he wasn't sure why, but said it felt ‘natural’. you joked that at least he wouldn’t have to worry about losing his keys anymore, before giving him a spare key to yours—it felt ‘natural' too. 

while you barely used yeonjun's, he used yours almost regularly—his uneven working schedule was giving him an opportunity to go grocery shopping in the middle of the day sometimes, so he started buying groceries for both of you, so you wouldn’t have to bother with it after work, leaving them at your place. of course, he always asked beforehand if he could come into your apartment or if you'd prefer him to keep them at his place until you could take them later, but you had no problem with him visiting your place, so you always gave the green light.

yeonjun never took it as a “permanent green light” though, and kept asking for your permission. so when one friday evening you texted him about not feeling too well and probably having a cold—just to explain why you couldn't hang out with him—he asked if he could check on you in the morning and maybe cook something for you. you agreed hesitantly, under the condition of him not getting too close to you so he wouldn't catch a cold too. you both knew perfectly well that he'd do whatever he wanted anyway, but it was obvious he wouldn't visit you without your permission. still, he'd worry his ass out if he didn’t, so you just agreed—you’d take care of him if he got sick. 

in the middle of the night, your fever got much worse, your temperature rising significantly and you were so cold, that you could do nothing except pull thick warm pajamas over the skimpy top and shorts you usually slept in and add another blanket, wrapping yourself in two of them like a hot, feverish burrito. and that was exactly how yeonjun found you in the early morning.

it was still dark, but yeonjun decided he could check your temperature in the dim glow of the city lights filtering through your window—he didn't want to wake you by turning on the bright lights, so he stepped to your bed, already feeling uneasy at the sight of how little of your face was visible between the uneven layers of blankets.  and it only got worse when he crouched down next to the bed and touched your cheek with the back of his hand—you were practically burning.

yeonjun almost jumped up, quickly slapping the nightlight lamp you had on your bedside table, the room filling with a soft yellow glow as he started unwrapping you from the layers of blankets. “come on, mouse, don't be stubborn,” he mumbled, when you tried to cling to the fabric, but he was stronger in general and you were weakened by the cold, so he had no problem uncovering you. “shit… are you trying to burn yourself alive?” he cursed, when he saw how thick your pajamas were. 

but that's when yeonjun froze, towering over you, his knee on the bed as you tried to keep warm, curling into a ball, your back facing him. he wasn't sure you were wearing anything underneath—panties, most probably, but a top…? cautiously, he slid the pajama top up your back, revealing the thin fabric of a crop top, damp with sweat and clinging to your skin. your skin felt like fire under his fingers. shit, he thought. please, don't hate me. 

he turned you on your back, trying to tug your pajama top off, but you clung to his arms with quiet sniffles. yeonjun thought his heart was breaking at the way you kept softly sobbing his name, saying how cold you were—he wasn’t even sure how you recognized him in that state, but you did. 

“baby,” he whispered, trying to lift your arms, but you only tried to wrap them around him, desperate for even a bit of his warmth. “we need to lower your temperature. please, let me take this off.”

you only whimpered his name again, your nails digging into his forearm. “jjun-ie… it’s so cold,” you sobbed quietly, and yeonjun’s heart skipped a beat—you had never called him that way before, and the way you did now made him want to protect you from everything. or give in. but he knew better. “you’re so warm…”

yeonjun hushed you, quickly throwing a glance at the medicine and glass of water on your bedside table beside the thermometer—you prepared it before going to bed. good girl. “i’ll warm you, i promise,” he murmured, pressing his palm to your side—your temperature was only getting higher. “just let me take this off, okay?” he said, tugging the pajama top up slightly. 

you nodded with a quiet ‘okay’, and yeonjun, finally getting permission even though a questionable one, pulled the over your head—at least you cooperated now—and froze with it in his hands, his eyes locked on your skin that wasn’t covered with the short top. he almost forgot how to breath. 

when he realized he had to undress you, he had told himself this was nothing, that he had seen enough women naked before, that there wouldn’t be anything new. and there wasn’t anything new. but there was something he had never expected to see—the mark. the one that resembled the one on his back. the same mark he had seen on the bodies of other wild roses he knew. half of the stem hidden beneath your top.

you were a wild rose. yeonjun felt like a complete idiot—everything had hinted at that. all the wild roses he knew disliked or even hated roses before meeting their soulmate, yet they always had something connected to roses on them. some wore jewelry, some had keychains or little paintings of one in their phone case. he had a pressed rosebud in his wallet, and you never took off a velvet bracelet that—he now realized—would look like a thorny rose stem if you laid it down. 

you had some issues with connection or your soulmate—yeonjun didn’t know the details, but he had never met a wild rose who had it easy. that type of bond being probably the least stable and the most unpredictable one. and you also tried your best to be extremely carefulб even in your clumsiest moments—that was something wild roses learned early on. and, well, you hadn’t met your soulmate, which wasn’t too strange before, but made sense now—many wild roses wandered alone for a really long time. 

yeonjun almost touched the thorn under your collarbone as if hypnotized when your sob of his name pulled him out of the haze. you sat up, reaching for him, and he was actually glad you did, because he needed you to take your medicine. he sat on the bed next to you, and you clung to him almost instantly, one of your hands slipping under his hoodie to press against his back, as you tried to warm yourself. he froze—his own mark was there, and even though you couldn’t feel it, it still made him feel weird. 

but yeonjun only adjusted your position slightly, settling you between his legs, your side pressed to his chest. he suddenly felt weak, wondering if the discovered information was already taking its toll on him. but he shook his head—not the right time to think about it. he popped the pill out and grabbed the glass, placing the medicine in your palm and guiding the glass to your hand, his own holding it over yours in case you were too weak. 

you stopped sobbing about being cold, though you still shivered and trembled slightly in his arms. maybe, the fresh air in your room had cooled you down a bit, clearing your mind, but either way, yeonjun was glad you had calmed down a bit—it made you much more cooperative. you took the medicine almost without needing his words, earning a quiet  ‘good girl’ from him, which you probably paid no attention to.

your arms were around yeonjun’s waist the moment he took the glass away from you, holding him tightly as you pressed your chest against his as much as you could in that position. he quietly asked you if he could take off your too-thick pajama pants as well, and you nodded with a quiet ‘yes’, your head resting on his shoulder, breath warm against his neck. you even lifted your hips slightly to help him pull your pants down, getting another ‘good girl' in response.

yeonjun put the thermometer into your mouth and rested his palm on your bare knee, as you pulled your legs closer to your chest, cold now as your pajamas were gone. he tried to warm you at least a little, but mostly, he let you warm yourself against him the way you wanted to, like your own personal human heater—it was the first time you two had been this close, and it was extremely close compared to the simple hello and goodbye hugs, which had been the closest you’d ever gotten. and he was too lost in thoughts anyway to think about how to warm you actively without crossing any boundaries. 

somehow, the discovery was horrifying, and mostly because yeonjun had no idea why it scared him so much. was it because it made him feel so much more protective over you, knowing perfectly how painful that type of bond could be? or because of how close it would naturally bring you together in search of comfort whenever it came to anything about soulmates? or maybe because he knew he would have to open up now and tell you who he was—because he knew who you were, and it would only be fair. because he was afraid to open that pandora’s box he called his soul. afraid to do it again, and realize, too late, that he had chosen the wrong person. one more time.

but as you finally fell asleep on his shoulder, your breathing even, your hold loosening and your skin no longer burning—the second temperature check confirming it—yeonjun knew he would never tell you how much you clung to him or how helpless you had sounded, unless you remembered it yourself. he didn't want you to feel embarrassed, especially when there was nothing to be embarrassed about in the first place. he caressed your cheek without thinking, surprising himself both with the action and with the way you instinctively leaned into his cool hand.

carefully, yeonjun laid you back down on your bed and covered you with a thin blanket, holding himself back from pressing lips to your forehead the way his mom always did to him, even when he had grown up. he got up slowly—he still felt weak, but he had to cook something for you, so you’d have something to eat when you woke up. he slapped the nightlight one more time to turn it off, and threw one last quick glance at you before leaving the bedroom. 

you were much more surprising than he could ever expect, and he had no idea what to do with these surprises. 

♡ you're here ♡ | to chapter 2 →

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[alilabaroli]

You were supposed to retire. After nine years of living on the outskirts and hoping your past wouldn't catch up to you, you decided to call it quits — your biggest nightmare was proclaimed dead, old faces forgot you, and you were nothing more than folklore by now. But life wouldn't be this easy. Not when a letter from your old tutor arrived, asking for help and raising suspicions, forcing you into your past again.  It's been almost a decade, but you're still Atlas Fyndor. You're still a vision of seers. You're still everything they're afraid of.

Play as a “retired” soldier whose future was taken away, and force your way through court intrigues, messy political matters, and personal vendettas to find your tutor and uncover the mysteries surrounding their disappearance. Prove yourself as a curse or a blessing to the people of Braeles, and see the chance to kill what has been killing you for the past decade.

choose your appearance, sexuality, pronouns, alias, personality and skills;

forge platonic relationships from enemies to foes, gathering enough people to help you with your objectives or to make you the villain;

befriend or romance “one” out of six characters, each one with a unique route and obstacles;

have a bird! A good pet that loves you and clings to you like a child does their mother's skirt;

explore a world full of magic, fantasy, and culture while discovering the mystery behind your tutor's disappearance and your brother's death.

SILVER COMMANDER (the guilt), [they/he], RO., demon.

— There's whispering about the new Head Commander; how their shoulders don't stiff, how their head doesn't bow, and how their cowardice makes him the most deplorable thing in the Army. Regardless, they were chosen by the ruler herself, and no one would dare contest the Queen.

LADY VAMPIRE (the fuel), [she/her], RO., sensitive.

— No person in Braeles wouldn't know about Caroline Dourado's accomplishments. An unfortunate mage who made her way through thick and thin to get where she was. Being under her employee, the rumors weren't entirely far-fetched – Caroline was extremely rude and arrogant. But she was your only way to your objectives.

MADAM DELACORTE (the means), [she/her], RO., human.

— You never thought someone as well-known as Jacqueline Delacorte would require such low-fitting services. As the blossom, the rose, and the charm of Braeles, the deals Jacqueline hid behind her white gloves and flowered fan made you second-guess noble families. But you weren't about to bite the hand that fed you.

FEATHERHANDS (the memory), [he/him], RO., human.

— He glued on you against your will; a laid-back, good-humored thief, Alyk forced his way into your low-profile life until you had no other option but to keep him. It wasn't all in waste, at least – if there's one thing Alyk can do, is to make everything you ask him to. A loyal dog to the end. There's only one way this can go.

EMIR'S HOUND (the blade), [he/him], RO., dragon.

— You may be the worst thing the army could make, but you were never a dog – not like him, not like Terra. And you hate him for it. You hate his loyalty, you hate his fear and you hate the love he swore to have for you. You hate him like it's a religion all by itself; no wonder that still to this day he’s known as Icarus Emir's good dog.

DIAMOND COMMANDER (the mirror), [she/her], RO., obscura.

— As the second in command of the Head Guard, Rhoda Nihiri is a valuable asset to the Crown Circle. She's not to be underestimated, nor cast aside – if her skills aren't enough a reason, then for her connection with Raisa Nihiri, the in-command of the Royal Guard.

DEMO (TBA) | [as of now: I have the Prologue and Chapter 1 half-way through. If everything goes according to plan, I may be able to drop it around march/april. For february, the main focus is the character's introduction posts.]

reblogs are much appreciated :)

[main tag: 'af:atog']

[shewrites02]

Pathetic | Toji Fushiguro x Reader |

A/N: This is a stand alone fic but in my mind it coincides with my previous fic Deserve. It is the same reader, though in my timeline this fic occurred first. I don't knowww if I'm quite feeling making a whole series but open to suggestions.

Join my Taglist <3

Word count: 780

Leave a comment if you enjoy :) feel free to reblog!

If there was any doubt, you are positively sure now. You hate yourself. That is the only explanation for why you would possibly be cuddled underneath Toji at 3am. The only explanation-

You’re an idiot. And you hate yourself. You’re an idiot who hates yourself. Who must enjoy the pain this man inevitably inflicts on you.

You watch as he sleeps peacefully, ignorant to the woes that plague your heart. This isn’t the closure you were looking for when you came here. One last time. That was all it was supposed to be. A goodbye. Not a wake for the future the two of you could’ve had.

As if sensing your unease in his sleep, Toji tightens the hold he has on you, bending down to lazily place a kiss on your forehead before falling back asleep. The gesture is a loaded gun, shooting the final bullet of reason in you.

This man would never really love you.

Trying to stifle your tears makes your chest burn as if you're choking. You couldn’t stay here. Can’t wake up the next morning and pretend he isn’t the same man from a month ago.

The man who made you beg for his attention. The man who couldn’t be bothered with your presence before the sun came up. He is still the same man using you for access to your body.

You slink from the slip of the hunters grasp,with the reassurance you were going to the restroom. In one swoop you snatch your clothes and hurry off. The embarrassed scurry you do to get your clothes on is motivation enough to get out the door as quickly as possible.

You don’t bother to wake Toji, in fear he may question your decision to leave in the middle of the night. The last thing you needed was an interrogation. At least that’s what you hoped- Fushiguro is already three steps behind you struggling to put a t- shirt on as he follows you out to the complex’s garage.

“Y/n.” He calls out, but you do not stop. He calls your name again, this time clamping his hand around your wrist impeding your escape. “Why are you leaving? You know you don’t have to leave.”

“Yeah, I should Toji. I'm just going to go.” It is easy to feign certainess when your back is to the man. When he can’t see the tears threatening to stream down your cheeks or the disappointment in your eyes.

“C’mon doll, its cold out here-” He tugs on your arms, urging you to follow. “let's talk in the morning.”

When you don’t move his brows furrow in a scrunch and he's on your side in minutes, peering over your shoulder to get a glimpse of your face.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He demands.

You can’t help the cackle that leaves your mouth. “What's wrong?” There isn’t a single thing “right” about the relationship- or lack thereof- the two of you have.

He ignores you for weeks at a time, busy on these supposed work trips while you wait around like a lost puppy until he comes back to stick his dick in you.

Pocket pussy.

That was all you were to him. All you are ever going to be.

Stupid. Stupid. Dumb. stupid. Bitch. You shuffle your feet to finally walk away, embarrassment beginning to settle its way on your cheeks. You make a half-hearted attempt to tug your arm free in hopes Toji will be so willing. He is not.

“This was a bad idea.” You reiterate

Tears are falling the moment the words leave your mouth.You fight hard not to let your voice tremble, to show all the pain bubbling in your chest. This absolute burning, suffocating, aching pain. Fueled by the scorched memories stifling your thoughts.

“Y/n please-.” He utters your name as though it’s his mantra. Like he actually cares for you. Like this isn’t more performative bullshit to have you second guessing yourself in bed tonight.

No. He wouldn’t get you this time.

This time you won’t be so naive. Won’t trust the distress in the twitch of his brow, or how desperate his eyes look. Ignore how broken his voice sounds.

None of it mattered. You are done playing the fool.

“You treat me bad Toji! You make me beg for your attention, for a version of you, hell- I don’t even think exists anymore but still-” Your voice catches in your throat. As though creating an interruption to allow your brain opportunity to catch up to your tongue. But It is too late-

“Still I’m standing here.. Not feeling good enough for you. How pathetic am I?”

If you enjoy my content or if you have $5 to spare , please consider donating it to Besan . she is a mother trying so desperately to get her family out of Gaza. She is still so far away from her go fund me goal!

Operation Olive Branch Spreadsheet

I know everyone may not have the means to donate, but if by some chance you have an extra $5 to spare please consider donating it to the families trying to rebuild their lives in the Gaza strip.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.218 Giving me life

The next day, I made a point to get up extra early so we wouldn't have another frantic mad-dash out the door. That kind of stress isn't good for anyone. I took a long, hot shower, did my hair, and put thought into my outfit vs. just grabbing something. I went to get Desi up, but as always, she had already beaten me to it. She was playing in her room, so I left her to make breakfast. We enjoyed a nice, slow morning, just like in the old days, but something troubled me. I had another nightmare. This time aliens abducted me, and they did all kinds of experiments on me while I was still conscious; it was terrible. I know it's natural to have lingering stress after a traumatic event, but the trouble I felt didn't seem related to the fire. The heaviness around me felt more unsettled than fear or panic. Deep down, waaaay in the crevices of my subconscience, I knew what plagued me, but I hadn't allowed myself to address it. The fire trauma was just the mechanism used to get my attention, and now, with all these nightmares haunting me, I can't ignore it. I kept telling myself I wasn't ready and stuffed those thoughts in the farthest parts of my mind, but I should have known they would come back to bite me. I need to visit the cemetery.

The groundskeeper threw away all the flowers and candles we had left at each visit; that's how long it had been. I was so ashamed at the sight. Their name plates were all dusty, and my grandparents' were barely legible from being covered in dirt. I knelt in front of Mama and wiped away the dust.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I didn't think I was ready to see you, so I kept putting it off. But days turned to weeks, and weeks into months, and here I am."

"So many things remind me of you, and I can't stand it. But I love it too. You're unforgettable, not that anyone could ever forget their mother. I don't know what I'm saying... Desiree is so big now. We had a fire at our house, and she's still pretty rattled, so I don't think bringing her here will be a good idea right now, but as soon as she's ready, I will."

"Less' kids are great. A little rambunctious, but great. And she's excellent with them, too. You would be so proud of her. I bought a duplex in San Sequoia so she could live next door. It's been great. I'm doing what you asked: taking care of my sister."

"Long time ago, you told me to find someone who fits into my life who I can't live without. Every day, Sophia shows me how there is no one else in this world who could have given me such a wonderful life. I may have had a lot of insecurities about relationships early on, but I never forgot what you told me. I always thanked Dad and gave him credit for getting me from a boy to a man, but I never gave you credit for giving me a framework to guide me. So...yeah. Thanks."

"It looks like it's gonna rain soon, so I guess I'll get out of here. Hopefully, you'll be able to see this before it goes out. I'm lighting a candle, so you'll know I was here. I love you, Mama, and I wish you could see how wonderful my life is. We've had lots of challenges, but I wouldn't trade any of it. I miss you. I'll see you soon."

I stood there in silence, remembering our good times and feeling grateful for the wisdom my parents bestowed upon me. An odd surge of energy coursed through my body, and I knew for sure this visit was what I'd been needing. The truth behind my procrastination is simple: I didn't want to feel broken again. Grieving my parents, especially Mama, drained me, and I felt like I would never be whole again. I hated that feeling and didn't want to experience it again. But standing there, holding that candle, thinking about my beautiful mother gave me life.

I put down the candle and started to leave. Just before I reached the exit, I heard, "Wait! I'm here!"

"Me too," another echoed voice said.

Both of them?? What are the odds?

All at once, I was a little kid again, happy and excited about hanging out with his parents. Mama wanted to know about the duplex, so I started from the very beginning with Dub moving to San Sequoia and buying his house. I rambled on and on about that, and the money tree, and our vacations, and Desi getting into yoga, and my SimTube channel... I felt like Chi Chi had possessed me, ha ha. Talking to them again filled me with such delight.

I thought hearing about everything they missed might upset them, but my life events elated them. I swear, with every story I told, Mama got more and more pumped up. By the time I was done, she was squealing with excitement. I guess when you live a full life like she did, you don't feel like you're missing out when you die. You just cheer on everyone as you watch them grow. That's a life lesson right there.

"I'm so proud of you," Dad said.

Hearing those words again healed my soul. I tend to think I live right and make good decisions, but receiving affirmation that I'm on the right track never gets old. I'm really glad I came.