#she always seems to write what i'm thinking

[hyperfixationstation128]

When I was around 12 years old, I had a math teacher who despised me. The second she clapped eyes on me, she detested my very existence. I'm AuDHD and have Dyslexia, and I have always struggled with math. Numbers just don't make sense to my brain, and she took any moment she could to embarrass me. She would deliberately call on me to answer questions knowing that I would either get it wrong or would publicly struggle to figure it out. Be it my inability to process numbers, my constant reading in her class, or just the fact that she was a miserable old bat, she HATED me.

Coincidentally, during that time, I was going to brain therapy to help with my Dyslexia and would sometimes leave her class early to go to my lessons. One day, while we were doing a group math game, I was called to leave. My group was understandably upset because we were close to winning and now the groups were uneven. According to at least 4 separate kids, this bitch flat out said "Oh, don't worry. She wouldn't have gotten it right anyway." In front of the entire class.

I was mortified and immediately told my mother, who lost it. I'm talking marching up to the school office to demand a reprimand. Now, my mother is a 5'nothing twiggy thing, but she's got a voice like Zeus when she's angry. After that encounter and threatening to report her to the school board, the teacher left me alone. She never called on me, never spoke to me, hardly ever looked at me. I was just glad she wasn't berating me anymore.

This was a minor encounter compared to my Autistic sister's "Evil Teacher Story". I don't remember how old she was, but she was very young and her class was making friendship bracelets and she had accidentally added too many beads to her string. Upset and confused about what to do, she told the teacher. According to my sister, the teacher ripped the bracelet out of her hands, got in her face and hissed, "You don't deserve to have this anyway!" And cut it up right in front of her face. My sister had higher support needs as a child, so she was more of a target than I ever was.

I only ever had one good teacher who never picked on me. Mrs. Pasquet (I think that's how you spell it). She was my 4th-grade English teacher and she was incredible! She adored my writing and would ask if it was okay to share with the class, and I agreed, so long as it was anonymous. She was one of the sweetest people I'd met. I saw her again after dropping out of high school at my job once, and she immediately recognized me. Spent a solid 20 minutes talking to me, asking how I was doing, showing genuine concern and care (from what I can tell, at least)

I don't remember many details of my child and teenhood, but there are small moments that stick out to me where I felt incredibly lonely and ostracized by my peers. I didn't suspect I was Autistic until like 4 years ago, but I always knew something was "wrong" with me. I could never keep friends for longer than a couple of years, I was always the butt of the joke, the weird one, the mean one. That last label has followed me into adulthood. Everyone seems to think that I'm rude or mean because of my flat affect and the way I pick my words. I try, constantly, to be careful with what I say, but no matter what I do, it's always "Well, you could've said that nicer." Or "That was really rude. No, I'm not going to explain what was rude. You should know." Like, bro, I'm fucking trying here, man!

every piece of ""autistic representation"" in hollywood sucks not just because of the infantalization and inspiration porn but because movie executives always fail to realize the real universal autistic experience: spending your childhood slowly and unfalteringly realizing all of your friends not so secretly hated and/or merely tolerated you at best and you've missed every social signal about it ever

[cosmic-whispers]

When I'm Above the Trees - Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader

Summary: Heather Collins sees a lot. She sees how Robby is with you. And how you are with him. And she watches you fall in love. A story of heartbreak, healing, and moving on. Inspired by happiness by Taylor Swift.

Warnings: Collins pov (she is NOT villianized in this, but it’s v angsty for her but with a hopeful ending), fem!reader/robby endgame (age gap mentioned, not specified), attending!reader, mention of attempted suicide patient, violence against healthcare workers, jealousy/self-worth issues/insecurity, medical inaccuracies, no use of y/n

Words: 4.2k

Notes: Hi, coming out of writing retirement with this little fic because I’m in love with this man. This is my first go at writing for the pitt, so please let me know what you think! The news from earlier this week about Tracy was very disappointing. Collins was amazing and deserves the world, and it makes me sad that we won't see her again.

In hindsight, she was blinded. It was obvious, right from the beginning. 

When you were first hired on as the new attending at PTMC a few months ago, Heather actually liked you. You were young, had been an attending for just a year before joining the Pitt, but you were eager, kind, and wickedly smart. You were attentive, patient, and listened to everyone’s concerns. You naturally navigated towards Robby. You were both the day shift attendings, you bounced ideas off each other. That wasn’t surprising to Heather. He was an extraordinary doctor, fascinating and full of experience and advice. 

You asked interesting questions, encouraged his ramblings. You challenged him in ways no one else dared to–questioning his judgements with patients. You never did it in a rude or condescending way, you were genuine in your curiosity and your input was valued by everyone. Including Robby. That was surprising to Heather at first–he never liked his medical opinions being questioned. But he let you do it. Maybe you were able to get away with it because you were an attending. Maybe because the patient satisfaction scores increased after you started working there and he valued your opinion. 

But Robby’s patience was short. He was quick to get frustrated, throw a sarcastic comment, and run away from anything that wasn’t medicine. Heather knew that all too well. She had been close to him once. She shared love with him once. But, as it always happened with Robby, his lack of communication, brutal sarcasm, and steel-enforced emotional walls drove her away. It drove most people away. 

But you were not like most people. 

You were patient, stubborn, and unwilling to take no for an answer if you knew there was something you could do to help someone. You listened. Without judgement, without expectation. And it was exactly what Robby needed. A friend. Robby opening up was rare, something that he had outright refused to do in the past and something she had begged him to do for years. It made something ache in her chest that it wasn’t with her, but she was grateful that he had someone. 

She didn’t realize when it became more than what she thought it was. 

She didn’t realize it when he insisted you be at his side for the attempted suicide victim that came into the hospital one Wednesday evening. She had noticed previously that suicide cases were particularly hard for you. You never said anything, and she never asked. But Robby seemed to know and he stayed by your side the entire time. She saw how proud he was of you after the patient was stabilized.

Not when a car accident victim came in and she saw you both working on the patient like a well-oiled machine. You both knew what the other was going to say before you had even opened your mouths. She saw the way Mohan and Mel looked between the two of you in awe–two people completely in their element and tuned to the same frequency.

Not when a patient came in whose lungs weren’t able to provide enough oxygen after catching COVID. She saw Robby’s chest shake in restrained spain when the patient ended up coding. Heather knew he was thinking about Adamson. He walked away without saying a word, disappearing around the corner. She thought about going after him, but noticed you following close behind. 

She assumed it was a friend comforting a friend. 

But she didn’t witness that summer evening on the roof where Robby hugged you so tight you thought he might bruise you. She didn’t witness the moment the shine returned to his brown eyes and he finally let go of whatever was holding him back from you. She didn’t witness how he kissed you with so much passion and tenderness and devotion. 

She didn’t witness the quiet moments late at night in his apartment in the following months–you and him, cuddled in bed naked, and Robby, so unlike himself, rambling on and on about every thought, fear, and insecurity in his head without any hesitation. 

She didn’t know. 

To Heather, you were just his friend. 

To Heather, he was still her chance. 

Her chance to have a family, to have a baby. To create the life she had always dreamed of. And in her dreams, Robby was still the man standing next to her. 

Until that day in August. 

The massive heatwave raging through Pittsburgh was bad enough, the large influx of patients with heat strokes and rashes and sunburns, on top of the usual flow in the ED made it a terrible day for every healthcare worker and patient alike. It seemed like everyone was wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap at any moment. 

A patient had come in, screaming and panicked, a stab wound to the shoulder and you took him into a treatment room. Heather could hear him cursing from the nurses station. 

“You fucking bitch, that fucking hurts!”

Heather glanced into the room, seeing the knife still embedded in the man’s shoulder. You were applying what she assumed was lidocaine on the stab site. From what she could tell, his vitals were good and you were stabilizing him for scans. 

“You’ll feel it start to numb you shortly, Mr. Gale,” you said, patient as always. “It should only burn for a moment.”

He grabbed your arm, his strong grip pinching your skin. “Get this fucking knife out of me!”

Heather stood immediately, moving toward the room. Mateo was already there, trying to step in between the two of you. 

“Let her go, man.”

“Mr. Gale, if I remove the knife, it can cause you to bleed out. We need to do scans to be able to best determine how to help you,” you explained.

“Mr. Gale,” Heather said, getting the man’s attention. “She’s right. We need to be able to assess the wound before pulling out the knife. Please, let her go.”

“NO! I’m in pain, I got fucking stabbed, and you’re not helping me!” The man was panicking and started pulling at your arm harder. Heather looked back at the nurses station and made eye contact with Dana, who was already looking their way in concern. ‘Security,’ she mouthed and Dana nodded. 

“Sir–” Mateo started to speak, before the man, in his panicked state, grabbed the hilt of the knife and pulled it out. The three of you watched in shock as blood began spurting from the wound, landing on your scrubs, and he swung at you, slicing the skin on your arm. You screamed in pain, causing him to let go. He ran toward Heather, who he pushed against the doorframe, and ran out of the room. 

She rubbed her arm where she hit it, and looked back as the man was tackled down by who she thought was security. Her eyes widened in shock, mouth agape. 

It wasn’t Ahmad. It was Robby. 

Robby, who was always restrained and stoic and showed his anger in sarcastic quips rather than physical violence, tackled a man with a knife in his hands. She felt rooted to the spot as she watched the patient struggle against Robby’s grip. The knife had slid out of the man’s hand and Robby was holding him down on the floor, pinning him down with his hands against his shoulders and a knee on his lower back. The man continued to try to fight him off, but Heather could tell he was weakening from the blood loss. 

She looked around, noticing shocked faces of the residents who were all staring at Robby. Perlah and Princess were whispering to each other in a corner, looking between Robby and the room you were in. 

Ahmad came sprinting from around the corner and Robby immediately got up, rushing towards her. Heather’s spine straightened and she was about to tell him that she was ok, until he moved past her and into the treatment room. She turned, her gaze following his back as he made his way straight to you. 

She felt something physically crack beneath her ribs and she swallowed the lump that swelled at her throat. She felt…unimportant. Disregarded. 

She looked at you, tears lining your eyes but still composed as always. Mateo was applying pressure to the wound on your arm. Heather backed away, far enough to be out of the way, but close enough that she could still watch. It was masochistic–the sight before her continued to make her chest feel tight and eyes feel warm, but she couldn’t look away. 

“How’s your pain level?” Robby asked you, peeling away the gauze Mateo had been using and assessing the wound. 

“Not high. It doesn’t seem that deep,” you answered, your voice unusually low and quiet. Your hands were shaking, in adrenaline or fear, and Heather did not miss your uninjured hand reaching for Robby’s and squeezing him. He stared at you for a moment too long and let go of a shuddering breath. 

“Just some stitches,” he said, voice low. “I thought…I heard you scream and I lost it. I wanted to kill him.”

Heather was shocked. At the intimacy of the moment, how close you were sitting, how tender he was being with you. 

“I know, but I’m ok,” you said as Robby started gathering everything he needed for your stitches. 

“Get her an IV, we’ll start some antibiotics,” he said to Mateo and the two of them moved fast through the process. You winced when he injected the lidocaine and Robby whispered something low to you that Heather couldn’t hear, but it made you laugh.

“Gale is HIV negative,” Mateo said, reading the patient’s chart. 

“Good. We’ll still start you on PEP right away, just in case,” Robby said and you nodded. 

They continued treating your injury and Heather stood there. Unmoving. Watching.

Watching the familiar way his arms tightened around your waist and cradled your head to his chest once he was done with the stitches and Mateo had left. He leaned his head on yours and she could see his hands shaking where they rested on your back. Your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, holding him close to you and you whispered something in his ear–maybe a thank you or a reassurance. And he chuckled, leaning down and kissing your forehead quickly before letting go of you. 

She knew she was intruding, but her legs wouldn’t move. She had never seen Robby like that. He was always restrained, unwilling to be anything but controlled in front of anyone. But here he was. Grasping your hands as you separated and smiling at you before his eyes flickered back to your arm, making sure you were alright. He looked at you like you were the only thing that could make him smile, the only thing that mattered to him…like he loved you. She couldn’t remember if he ever looked at her like that. 

You took a deep breath and stepped away from him, turning and walking away from the room. 

“You know you’re going home, right?” he asked, walking behind you. 

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a scratch, Robby. I’m staying.”

You looked up and your eyes met Heather’s for a moment. 

“Hey, Collins. Are you ok? I saw him push you.” Your concern was genuine and it made Heather feel almost nauseous. 

“I’m fine. Not even a scratch. I’m glad you’re ok,” she said and managed to keep her tone even and calm. 

“Thank God! Thank you for coming to help,” you said, smiling kindly at her. She glanced behind you to Robby, who was still hovering behind you. He was staring at you, like there was no one else in the room. It made her heart burn and she forced a smile on her face as she looked back at you. 

“Of course,” she said and walked away, unable to look at you and him for another moment. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about her dream. In her fantasies, it was still eight years ago. She was waking up with Robby’s strong arms around her, caressing her pregnant belly. It haunted her mind, constantly. At home, where she had too much time to daydream. At work, where she had to bite her tongue every time he saw you with him. The ugly, raging thing inside her chest grew larger every day, and she knew it was a matter of time before it exploded out of her. 

It was barely 7 am, day shift was trickling in for their shift. She saw Robby and Abbot finishing their conversation, with the night shift attending clapping Robby on the shoulder and walking away. She gazed towards you as you walked in. You were heading into the lounge, your bag still strung over your shoulder and you smiled at Santos as she walked in behind you. 

She slowly approached Robby, who was gazing down at the tablet in his hand. 

“Hey.”

Robby quickly glanced at her over his glasses. “Morning.”

She hesitated for a moment, but managed to force the words out of her. “You have a moment to talk?”

He was looking at her now and she wanted to smile. His attention was on her. He almost looked concerned. 

“Everything ok?”

“Yes, it’s just something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” She motioned towards the ambulance bay and began walking out, Robby following close behind her. She made it outside and rounded the corner for some privacy. He stood before her, glasses still perched on his nose and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. He felt so familiar to her, like no time had passed since the last time she felt like this for him. 

She took a deep breath and spoke before her nerve died. “Robby… I still have feelings for you.”

The silence that followed was deafening and seemed to drag on for hours. She looked at him expectantly, her smile diminishing as the seconds dragged on and he didn’t react. He looked off to the side and took a few deep breaths before looking back at her, seemingly deciding what to say. 

“Heather, why would you say that to me?” 

She was taken aback. 

“Because it’s how I feel.”

“I…it’s been years. Things have changed…What did you expect to happen?” he said, his eyebrows furrowed. His deep brown eyes looked almost sad as they bored into her. 

“Robby…things can be like they used to. Better.” Especially since she had heard from Dana that Robby was finally in therapy. She didn’t think too hard about what or who convinced him to do that. 

“Heather, it’s too late,” he said, voice low and careful. “If you had come to me a year ago with this I would have jumped at the chance, but I’m not in the same place in my life. A lot of my past…I’ve healed. I’ve learned to move on from the pain and,” he hesitated for a moment before continuing. “And I found someone to help me through that.”

Heather whispered your name. He nodded, eyebrows furrowed, face serious. She looked down, feeling tears burning in the corners of her eyes. 

“I didn’t realize it was like that. That you’d move on so quickly.” Her voice quivered as she spoke and she cursed herself for feeling so foolish. So angry and sad and embarrassed. 

“Quickly? Heather, I spent years regretting what happened between us. Years wishing I could have you back in my life, but thinking I wasn’t good enough for you. Or anyone.” His hands rubbed over his face and took a step away from her. He chuckled, humorless and sad. “You know I went to therapy? You always begged me to, and I feel like shit knowing that I never did because of my pride. But…”

But he did it for you. He didn’t have to say it. 

“I wanted you for years. A life with you. But not anymore.”

She couldn’t stop the sob that bubbled out of her. “Why can’t you want that now?”

“You know why. I'm sorry, Heather, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his hand landing on her shoulder, trying to keep his distance but still comfort her at the same time. “I care about you. I always will. But she’s…she’s everything.”

She didn’t find it fair. You only knew him for a few months. She knew him for years. She had seen him at his lowest moments, yet you were the one to help him heal through it. You were the one he was willing to change for. She wanted to scream at him that he was being cruel, but she knew that he wasn’t.

“It feels like you’re choosing her over me. When we've been through so much together. When I’m the one who’s known you longer.”

“But you never understood me. Not the way I needed you to. And that’s partly my fault for not opening up to you,” he said. 

She didn’t understand him the way you understood him. It was unspoken, but they both knew it. 

“It's not fair.”

“No, it’s not. We missed our chance. But…Heather, you have to move on.”

She nodded, wiping the tears off her face and straightening her spine. “Alright.”

“Are you going to be ok?” He asked her and she forced another fake smile on her face. She didn’t know if he could still tell if it was real or not. 

“You know I will.”

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded and walked away, piercing a hole straight through her heart. She watched him walk away, towards the nurses station where you stood. You were smiling, talking with Dana quietly before your shift officially began. Robby approached you, his hand landing on your lower back and you looked up at him, your grin growing and eyes shining. And him…

The way he was holding you…looking at you. The certainty and devotion in his gaze. A look in his eye that had never existed before you. He was in love. 

She could see it now. 

Her heart split in two, knowing the future she had pictured in her mind—Robby at her side—would never be a reality. Not with her. The baby she imagined would never have his warm, brown eyes or his charming nose. Or his smile. Maybe in another lifetime, maybe if you had never shown up in Pittsburgh. Maybe if she had loved him better back when they were together. 

She loved Robby and wanted him to be happy. That’s all she ever wanted for him. And he was happy with you. Despite her jealousy, she wondered what it was like for you. What he was like with you. Did he cuddle with you? He always used to grumble when Heather would ask him to cuddle saying that he got way too overheated. Did he complain about that to you? Or did he do it without complaint just to be able to hold you close to him? Did he cook his incredible latkes for you? Did you cook for him?

She didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. She didn’t know him like that anymore. But she knew that he opened up to you in a way he didn’t open up to anyone. He let you comfort him after difficult cases, shared long conversations that she only knew existed through brief glances through the window in the break room door. She knew that he was more affectionate and open with you in public than he had been with her. That he was willing to put his medical license on the line and attack a patient because they hurt you. He was healing with you… for you. 

She had no right to feel jealous. The ache in her heart changed as she realized that her and Robby were nothing but a pretty dream. And that it was her turn to heal. 

With the vision of what could never be lingering in her mind, she knew Robby was right. It was time to move on. 

It was difficult. At first. 

You all worked together. It was like a nightmare she could never escape. 

You were everywhere. 

And Robby. He lingered around you and you around him. He did silly things to make you laugh and lent you his sweaters when it got too cold. He gave you secret smiles and held your hand when a case hit you too hard. 

He remained professional with her, continuing to help Heather with her education. He wasn’t avoiding her, he was answering her questions, and he continued to value her medical opinion. But it was awkward now, a weird tension in every interaction. All she could feel was the burning ache of rejection and jealousy. 

Anger. At him. At you. 

It wasn’t warranted. She knew that. But she couldn’t help but feel that way. Every touch, every look, every soft whisper you shared was like a spear to her heart. She tried to look further into every interaction, trying to convince herself that she still knew Michael. Not Dr. Robinavitch. It made her frustrated, trying to move on but feeling stuck in time and lost at the same time. 

Why? Why you? Why was she not enough for him when they were together? Why wasn’t she enough for him now?

Why couldn’t she be the one that made him smile more often, or the one making him laugh when she shared an inside joke? It was you. You made him…lighter. 

Neither of you were particularly trying to hide it. While nothing outright happened, lingering touches and glances and smiles were noticed by more than just Heather. There was a betting pool about whether you and Robby were already together and if not, when it would happen. She noticed the others trying to avoid the subject around her, but it was inevitable. She had ended up joining the pool just to get everyone to stop looking at her with pity.

It was a shockingly slow morning. Heather was at the computer, catching up on her charting and making up to date notes for her patients when Dana approached her. 

“Hey, Collins. Have you seen sad boy and sunshine?”

She didn’t have to ask Dana who she was talking about. 

“Who knows?” She shrugged and continued charting.

She felt Dana’s stare on the side of her face and she tried as hard as she could to keep her features calm.

“You ok, kid?” Dana asked and Heather, composed as always, just looked at her. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m not stupid or blind. Things have been…tense lately. With you and Robby.” She waited for Heather to say something, but what could she say? Dana was right. 

“Look, I know that seeing them together might not be the best thing for you. And I don’t know what happened between you and Robby that made things this awkward. But whatever it is, you got to let it go. The past…it’s not always a good thing to get swept up in what-ifs.”

Heather smiled at Dana, trying her hardest to make it look real. “I’m fine, Dana. I’m happy for him. For them.”

“Is that why you always avoid taking on a case with her?”

Dana didn’t wait for an answer before walking away. It was true. She would avoid you as much as she realistically could. She suspected that you knew what she was doing, but your kind eyes and bright smile never gave away if it made you upset. 

Robby stood in the peds room, his face shoved into his hand and Heather could tell that he wanted to cry. The twelve year old girl had passed away after you and him had been working on her for almost an hour and she knew that Robby was taking it hard. Blaming himself. 

She saw you approach him slowly and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. It reminded Heather of what she used to do to comfort him after days like this. She remembered the way he would shrug her off and insist that he was fine and no, there was nothing he wanted to talk about. 

But with you…His hand came up to his shoulder to cover yours. She could see the way his grip tightened around your smaller fingers and you placed your other hand on his back, rubbing it gently. You were speaking, but she couldn’t hear anything that you were saying to him. You were tucked away, near the back of the room, away from prying eyes, but she saw. She saw the way his shoulders relaxed, how he was able to take a shaky, deep breath in and come back to himself. He nodded at you and gave you a real–albeit exhausted and sad–smile. 

It was easy, simple. It was like you knew exactly what he needed without him having to say anything. Like you were attuned to him. 

He was a different man than the one she used to know, she realized. A man you knew intimately. A man you loved just as fiercely as he loved you. 

She knew that now. Accepted it. 

She watched him engulf you in his arms and she smiled.

The rage in her heart lightened, drifting further and further away and it felt like she could finally breathe after months of drowning. She finally understood that since the moment you came into PTMC, she had no chance. And she was happy for Robby. Happy that he had someone who understood him, listened to him, and loved him the way you did. It hurt to accept that, but she knew that Robby was right. 

It was time to move on.

And she was finally ready.

[chrissv4mp]

❀ sleep well . . .

♫ now playing . . . track one: sleep well

warnings. a little angst at the beginning, but other than that it's mainly fluff!

synopsis. billie's been on tour for nearly a year now, and recently, you seem to be having trouble sleeping without her company.

words. 930

letters. AYYYY FIRST FIC OF THE MARATHONN 😽😽 really really REALLY love this one, hope u do too :) all format, idea, & inspo credits go to @delilahsturniolo !!!!

PETALS TO THORNS WRITING MARATHON

billie's been on tour for nearly a year now, traveling the world with small breaks back to her hometown scattered here and there on her packed calendar. you're happy for her, you really are—it's just the fact that, whenever she is on those long-awaited breaks, she's either busy with interviews or is too stressed out to even think. which results in little to no time spent alone with shark and brutus. well, that's what you've been telling her as a cover for the fact that she hasn't been spending much time with you.

and whenever she does find the time to hang out with you—if even for 5 minutes—it still doesn't feel like she's with you emotionally. she's just... there: quiet, tired, sometimes too focused on the notifications piling up on her phone.

sometimes it almost feels like she's still miles away from you even when her hand is resting on your thigh. or around your waist. or even between your legs in those moments that are supposed to feel intimate but feel more empty instead.

all of it keeps you up at night—and even when you do find yourself falling asleep, your dreams aren't much different from the thoughts consuming your mind.

you're almost terrified of what you might see the next night—what might make your feelings change for billie. it was an irrational fear, you knew that. but it felt so real, so possible.

which is why you're here: lying on your side, phone in hand, opened on billie's contact. and though it's the middle of the night for you, you press on the call button.

she answers on the second ring, and the screen lights up with the sweet image of billie's bright smile. the foam of toothpaste on her teeth makes your lips twitch up into a small smile.

"hi, baby," she chirps, leaning over the sink to spit out the foam.

you hum. "hi."

billie wipes her mouth with a towel before turning off the faucet, a confused look playing on her face at the exhaustion laced in your tone. quietly, she pushes the bathroom door closed, tuning out the noise in the main cabin of the tour bus.

"sweetheart... what's wrong?" she asks, concerned. "hey, aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

you pull the sheets up to your chin, shrugging—but the action doesn't really reach your shoulders, so it looks like you're just trying to get comfortable.

"couldn't sleep," you mumble.

"mmh, that's not it," billie dismisses. "what's on your mind, mama?"

you shake your head. sniffling, "nothin', promise. i don't wanna bother you—i don't even know why i called, i—"

"hey. no, don't make promises you don't mean. i'm here, you're not bothering anyone," she says quickly, elbows resting beside the sink now, leaning in like she'll maybe be able to hear you better. really hear you.

the line goes quiet on your end for a moment, and so does billie—observing, trying to read your body language through the crappy quality of the facetime. then, softly, a cry escapes your lips.

"i can't sleep without you," you whimper.

"but m'right here," she coos, eyes softening. "always. even if you don't think i'm anywhere near."

her words sink into your heart slowly. because she's partly right. the scent of her perfume is embedded into the pillows, the sheets, even lingering in the fabric of your shirts and hoodies.

you don't even realize there's tears rolling down your cheeks until billie's shushing and trying to assure you that you're okay— little praises and small pet names falling from between her pretty lips.

"breathe, mama. just breathe."

a shaky sigh escapes your lips at her words—because though there are little parts still surrounding you, it doesn't feel the same. not when she's miles away, and not when she's less than an inch away.

"doesn't feel like—" you hic, wiping your tears with the sheets, "—like you're here... even when you're home."

billie's lips downturned further, heart aching.

"i'm sorry," she says. gentle. real. "i know i haven't been the best girlfriend recently, and i'd cancel the rest of tour if that meant going back in time and being there with you. really being there."

the small joke makes you giggle. a little. and that small reaction has billie's heart warming again.

"i'm gonna get you a ticket for tomorrow night," she states. final. genuine. "and you're coming with us the rest of tour."

you can't express the amount of joy and surprise in your face at that moment—but billie sees the way your eyes light up in excitement.

"billie, it's a sold-out show, you can't—"

"yes, i can," she cuts you off, tone firm. serious. "and i can also help you sleep—maybe. i can try."

and she keeps her word on it, never once ending the call or making an excuse of why she had to leave. she talks about any and everything, lets you listen, watching in awe as you slowly nod off.

she's sure the band is calling her name outside of the bathroom after the first 20 minutes, but the noise doesn't bother her. not when she's helping her girl. not when you've given her the chance to redeem herself from the past few months.

by the time you're asleep, billie's moved to the main cabin, lounging on one of the couches with a stupid, loving grin on her face that ava and jane are definitely gonna make fun of her for later.

"sleep well, pretty girl," she whispers.

and her thumb never hovers near the "end call" button any time soon.

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @bilscutie @livvydunneness @chxhir0 @tan1shere @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @mybluebossanova @fleurfiles @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @bilsova @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @ma1spa @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @eilishssiennaa @skinnyhmhas @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize @canthelpit0 @hailwiggly @karaeilish @bilswifee @drunkinyourbenz @aka-persephone @bitchesbrokenpromises @jayjaywetforbils @slvt4subchratt @cantlandonmyfeet @tezzzzzzzz @emi-inspace @sacred3ugene @ariieeesworld

[distuff]

ahhhh thank you for writing such beautiful work...

baby when the reader gets pissed at him for saying something mean during a fight, so she ignores him? AND not only ignores him but chooses to spend an abnormal amount of time with Jinu/any other (Jinu cause the tiger and the bird) saja boy to rant about how obnoxious baby is and stubbornly refuses to interact with baby? and baby just going nuts because what do you mean he's getting ignored? (and maybe abby and romance trying to help him figure out why reader is pissed and get him to swallow his pride and apolgize?)

Answer: Oh my- I actually had fun exploring this dynamic ngl khahaha! You my dear readershi are also gettin' a renewed author (la mOi, obviously) who is more confident in my vers of the boyz. Gotta thank all the support (my beloved anons/ askers, taggers ( I see you @sleepylion ! ), commenters and even those who are silent enjoyers ) who showed support on stories I was unsure of. sO ! Pls, enjoy~ ( = ⩊ = )

Note. Please ! Do not take anything here seriously. These are my versions of the boyz where I'm tryin' to figure out their character through these prompts and make em react as canon as possible. Nothing in here is aimed at anyone just a faceless MC whose traits are created around the prompt. Arigatou ( _ _)人

📍Requests: Please check HERE

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Baby SAJA: Apology?

Featuring: Baby Saja Reader: female

It was a rainy night. The rain tapped gently against the windows, and dark clouds covered what few stars were ever visible—even on clear nights.

Their studio sat on the highest floor, close to the heavens, yet Jinu could rarely see more than two faint stars, even on a good day.

The only “stars” around were the distant lights from neighbouring buildings, all of them standing a few floors lower than the building their company had chosen for them.

It always reminded Jinu of a story Mystery had once told him—something about humans trying to build a spiralling tower to reach the heavens, only to be cursed by the very god they were climbing toward to.

Babilion? Bubilion? Tower of Bebil? He couldn’t remember the name. Never cared to. It was the idea that stuck with him.

Seems like that desire never left them, he always thought. Whether humans realised it or not, they always craved more.

Speaking of humans and their insatiable wants—

"Can you believe that smug—ugh!"

Jinu turned slowly from his desk to face you. You were pacing his room, eyebrows furrowed, hands flailing like you were about to strangle someone.

He let out a soft sigh and dropped the pen in his hand, casually covering the card he’d been working on. A loud, pink bird with spindly legs danced beneath the text Let’s Get Flocked Up!!—whatever that meant. It looked like a poorly drawn phoenix in his opinion.

He’d ask the phone to identify the bird, but for some reason you decided he was good for whatever conversation you were trying to have with him.

Jinu would shrug your words off and let you talk to yourself in hopes of you having some devine realisation, but he couldn’t risk drawing your attention to what he was writing. That would lead to questions. And Jinu was terrible at dodging questions. Which would only made him more suspicious.

Just thinking about Mystery giving him signs he was beginning to suspect Jinu of something made him wince.

So instead of kicking you out—which would only make things worse—jumping out the window, which wouldn’t solve anything—or trying to change the subject, which your expression made clear you weren’t going to let happen, Jinu gave in.

He dropped his arm over the card and leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking over to you with resigned sigh.

"Alright, I bite. What did you do?" he asked flatly. He didn’t even bother pretending to care.

Where were Romance or Abby when he needed them? What possessed you to bring this kind of thing to him? Not questions he voiced, of course. The carpet was white, and he had no intention of getting blood on it. No, thank you.

That, he quickly realised, was also the wrong question to ask.

You stopped pacing and turned to him slowly, glare sharp enough to make him consider jumping out of the window did actually sounded quiet helpful for this situation.

If human looks could kill demons, Jinu was pretty sure he’d be dead already. Moments like these reminded him why he appreciated your honmoon wave being bright crimson for more than easy snack. At least it didn't tried burning him while you were clearly distress.

And under all that curled one single feeling that most demon's would salivate at.

Hurt.

Funny, he thought dryly, how wrath is just crushed expectation throwing a tantrum.

You pointed at yourself, incredulous. “Me?” you repeated. “Me?! What I did—? I didn’t do anything!” you shouted, and Jinu winced, pressing his hand to his left ear.

You were off again, pacing as your frustration and sadness poured out.

“It’s him who can’t see past himself! He can’t shut up long enough to listen or—or understand that what he says hurts!”

Your voice cracked as your frustration pushed through. “It’s like I don’t even exist to him. Like I’m just… here. I expect something. Anything to show I’m not the only one who cares in this relationship!”

Your eyes were starting to glaze over. The shine of unshed tears formed as your honmoon line pulsed with that bitter sadness Jinu hated to taste but his body craved anyway.

Too bad he already ate tonight. No excuse to feed off you now.

Which meant, unfortunately, he had to listen.

He sighed again, bracing himself, and opened his mouth—fully prepared to be the voice of reason you’d ignore anyway, in the hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d use your last brain cell to hear what he had to say.

"Alright," he said calmly, his voice instantly drawing your attention. You stopped pacing, staring at him with that same look—expecting something. Jinu had to stop himself from shaking his head.

Expectations, were formed around the false believes one had about themself, fueled by the fear of unknown, they only built blueprints for reactions, and always ended in disappointment. Humans never learn, he thought with a quiet sigh. Funny how becoming a demon gave him the clarity to spot flaws he never noticed as a human—flaws now repeating in front of him like clockwork.

It was as if the behaviour had been coded into the human DNA.

No matter. Lifting his head—which he hadn’t realised had dipped—Jinu met your eyes. You’d calmed enough to sit on the edge of his bed, your attention fixed solely on him.

"I mean, this might sound crazy," Jinu began, his tone light as he straightened up, rolling his shoulders. "But did you consider—just maybe—that Baby is a demon?" His hands gestured to you like he was making a groundbreaking point, his face marked by exaggerated innocence.

The sound of Tiger rising from where he’d been lying beside the bed draw both yours and his attention to the spirit—giving you a pause from the conversation as the two of you watched it quietly prowling over to you with steady steps.

Its amber eyes didn’t blink as he stared at you—curious, and clearly reading the cocktail of emotion your body radiated. That, and shielding Jinu from your honmoon wave to give him a moment to breathe.

Magpie, on the other hand, looked wholly unimpressed. It blinked slowly between the two of you, flicking its head toward Jinu as if to say, Want a shovel to dig your grave deeper?

Jinu would have a full blown conversation with that ungrateful chicken if his attention wasn't stolen by your following words.

"Yeah, and?" you replied flatly, starting to pat Tiger without looking at Jinu. The spirit stood still, purring faintly, though it didn’t break his stare.

It was a stupid question. Jinu was going to say that aloud—but thankfully your voice cut through before he could.

"You're also a demon, and you're showing a clear interest in Rumi-nim." You met his eyes with a deadpan stare that made his spine tighten. His gaze flicked, involuntarily, toward the greeting card on the desk. Don’t look at it, don’t look at it, don’t look at it!

"I—I mean, as a fellow idol, it’s natural to be... cordial—"

But again, you cut him off, turning away as you focused on Tiger. Jinu stiffened, eyes falling on Magpie who continued preening its feathers with Tiger’s stolen hat, completely ignoring his discomfort.

"As a 'fellow idol', you owe her polite interactions and the occasional mention on your lives," you said, eyes locking with his again. "You’re doing more than that."

Jinu felt cornered. Accused of something he couldn’t explain to you. His brows knit as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Alright. And if I am—what of it? Doesn’t change how Baby behaves, does it?" His voice was flat.

He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.

You froze mid-pat, inhaling sharply. Your posture turned rigid—but thankfully, being in contact with Tiger meant you were also being bathed in his calming aura. Instead of shouting or throwing something, you spoke through a strained breath,

"It does. If you can act like Rumi-nim matters, then so can Baby."

Jinu had to resist the urge to groan, roll his eyes, and laugh into his palm. Of course. Of course. That was how you saw it.

You thought he was being “attentive.” You assumed that meant some grand revelation. Maybe you thought his "heart" was changing, that he was maybe starting to think differently about humans.

But no—he was just using Rumi. She was a means to an end: the path to reclaiming his soul from Gwi-ma. If satisfying the Demon King meant playing the role of a human idol—luring in as many souls as possible with the hope that it might make the King more willing to return his one meek, pitiful soul—then so be it.

And yet, just the thought of what Rumi might feel—what her soul line would pulse with if she ever found out—made his hollow chest tighten as he wondered what emotion she'll willingly feed him once she finds out what his real goal was.

It wasn't even a betrayal… it was Rumi's naive nature to trust something with no soul. Just like you with Baby... Rumi had created unrealistic expectations of him too.

Still, none of this was something he could say to you. He couldn’t tell you that he wasn’t any better than Baby.

The fact that you even knew they were demons was already crossing a line. They couldn’t offer you anything more than this simply because it could jeopardize what they have build.

Humans were fickle like that.

With a long, drawn-out sigh, Jinu let his hand settle over his mouth, trying to string together a sentence that would sound coherent enough to explain the situation from Baby's point of view.

Jinu's eyes flicked to you as you continued to pat Tiger, who still stood unmoving at your side. Both spirit animals focused on him—Tiger clearly anticipating the greeting card meant for Rumi, while Magpie looked far too smug for Jinu’s liking.

"How to put it..." Jinu muttered, gesturing for Tiger to come closer. The spirit prowled forward with deliberate slowness, unblinking eyes locked on him. Magpie, in contrast, glided down next to you, probably in some noble attempt to keep your nerves from fraying any further.

You trailed your eyes after Tiger, the stress and fatigue bleeding into your gaze, but then you gently started to trace a finger down Magpie’s spine. Jinu noticed that at least the tightness in your shoulders eased slightly.

“Well, I don’t know exactly what he said,” Jinu admitted as he folded the greeting card, keeping his tone even. “But there’s a high possibility that he just… bluntly said what he though at the time.”

He pressed his lips together. Tiger tilted his massive head to the side, bulbous eyes looking through him, clearly thinking: You're a fool

Not like Jinu needed reminding that he was probably making things worse. But sue him—he didn’t know what you expected him to say.

If he lied, you’d just march back to Baby, and that little bastard would crush all the soft hope Jinu managed to build with some sugary words. So all he could really do was try to soften the truth on Baby’s behalf.

Why can’t she go to Romance or Abby~ he whined internally, rolling his eyes as he turned, greeting card in hand.

With a flick of his wrist, he offered it to Tiger, who obligingly opened his mouth and rolled out his tongue. Jinu placed the folded card atop it with a sigh. No point hiding what you were clearly already aware of. Hopefully, you had some sense to keep it to yourself.

He gave you a sidelong, sceptical look, but it fall off when he caught the quiet way your body had curled in on itself. You were gently stroking Magpie’s feathers, your expression unreadable, but distant.

Jinu exhaled, placing a hand under Tiger’s jaw and gently guiding it shut, patting twice to signal the spirit to deliver the card to the purple-haired huntress. Then he turned back to you with a bit more urgency in his voice.

“Alright then. What do you want Baby to do?”

Maybe—maybe—he could actually get the brat to play along for once, just to calm you down. ...Maybe.

“Apology,” you said flatly, your eyes locking with his, hard as steel.

Jinu blinked.

And then— —he lost it.

He toppled sideways with a choked wheeze, clutching his stomach as laughter wracked his frame. Just the image of Baby apologising was absurd. Utterly beyond imagination.

Handing a cat a Bible and asking it to lead Sunday mass had higher success rate than Baby apologising. The young demon would no doubt look at him like he’d grown three heads before confidently diagnosing him as clinically insane.

As Jinu laughed himself breathless, he didn’t even register Tiger and Magpie slinking away. What he did notice was your now-throbbing honmoon wave, no longer behind the barrier, and radiating frustration.

Honestly, he was just impressed you were still this emotionally attached to the SAJA after what Baby had put you through. Wiping an invisible tear from his eye, Jinu sat up and met your glare head-on.

Arms crossed, expression locked down tight—you were not amused.

“Mind explaining what’s so funny about that?” you asked, voice dangerously calm.

He opened his mouth—and an involuntary snort escaped. Seeing your irritation bubble, he straightened quickly and cleared his throat.

“Well... you see,” he began, in the universal tone of a man about to say something you wouldn’t like.

“Uh-huh,” you prompted flatly.

“Apologising means the person believes they did something wrong,” Jinu continued, choosing his words carefully. “And I can very confidently tell you that Baby—”

- - -

“I don’t even know what I did wrong,” Baby groaned, fisting his hair as he stared down at the dark carpet of his room like it held all the answers to this frustrating and frankly uncalled for situation.

The constant pitter-patter of raindrops against the windows wasn’t helping. It only made Baby’s fingers twitch harder, itching to tear into something that would resist—something he could press against until it ripped.

Irritation, mixed with fury? Check. But only because you, for some incomprehensible reason, had to go and get upset over words. Characters.

Honest to Gwi-ma—invisible, untouchable things that just poured out of someone’s mouth. How could anyone get hurt by that? If you wanted pain, Baby could show you exactly what he did to humans who fought back during his feeding.

And yet... there was bitterness too. A hollow ache clinging under his skin. It made his jaw itch to sink into your honmoon and just roll in it.

He didn’t mind emotions—he wasn’t a picky eater—but fury? That tasted stale. Always just a layer for hurt, and hurt was the sweetly bitter flavour he never turned away from.

But when that hurt was tangled with anger, it tasted like a dessert coated in mould.

And now, with you still inside the apartment—your honmoon wave loud and heavy—it was impossible to ignore. He couldn’t take it anymore. So he dragged the closest brother of his with him to his room: Romance.

As they passed Abby, the other had to be grabbed by Romance by the back of his shirt just like Baby did to him as he could hear Abby curiously ask, “Oh? Where we goin’?”

Now, the two of them were seated on the bed in Baby's room, listening as he explained what had happened—though “explaining” was generous.

More like pacing in circles and hissing between clenched teeth as he began mentally debating whether licking bleach would soothe the sting in his mouth or if petting your honmoon would be more effective albeit risky with the state you were in.

Kicking you out would only make things worse. He knew that much.

His eyes finally left the carpet when Romance let out a long sigh—the kind that sounded straight out of one of Mystery’s dramas, complete with the tone of a tired, exasperated mother. He crossed one leg over the other, that dreamy smile curling over his lips.

“Aah, one has to admire humans for their shameless displays of selfishness.”

Baby shot him a sceptical look, hands finally dropping from his tangled hair. Why didn't I gone to Mystery instead?

Before he could voice the thought, Romance continued, voice light and knowing. “But it’s easy to understand what your human wants, my sweet little junior.”

“Call me that again and I’ll put that vanishing ability of yours to the test—”

“Mm, always so charming,” Romance said, waving him off as he leaned back, supporting himself on his arms. He locked eyes with Baby and smirked. “She’s dissatisfied~ You’re not giving her what she wants. Touches. Attention. Acts that make her feel special.”

He fluttered his lashes dramatically. Baby rolled his eyes, straightened, and arched a brow.

“Not everyone can act like you, shitty senior.”

Romance beamed. “Not as good, but they can try!” he chirped, holding up a finger like he was announcing a divine truth.

Baby exhaled hard, shaking his head. Then both he and Romance looked to Abby, once the other spoke, “If it’s so much hassle, why’d you even bother starting something with her?” Abby tilted his head, expression completely genuine.

They stared and he blinked back at them with the slow confusion of a dog not understanding another creatures speech.

Romance bit his bottom lip, visibly entertained, and reached over to pat Abby on the head. Abby blinked, but let him.

Baby, however, just stared at his so called senior like he’d said the most ridiculous thing in all of world's history.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Baby said dryly, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe because Jinu told me to accept her confession?”

Abby raised a brow while Romance, now fussing with his hair, didn’t even look surprised. Of course he knew. He had a habit of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong—especially the first time Baby had brought you home.

Abby, meanwhile, had just treated you like a living chocolate fountain he could snack on whenever you were around.

“Since when do you listen to anyone?” Abby asked, genuinely baffled.

Romance snorted and sat up proudly with hands on his hips, satisfied with his perfectly fixed hair. “Don’t worry,” he said with a laugh. “Baby didn’t hit his head. He only agreed because Jinu promised he could skip seven shows of his choice.”

That made Abby let out a long, exaggerated “Aaaaaaah!”—right before freezing and clamping his mouth shut. His eyes flicked back to Baby, confused again.

When is he not confused? Baby thought, already bracing himself as Abby opened his mouth to ask another question.

“But that still doesn’t explain… why you’re tolerating it.”

That gave Baby pause. He blinked, caught off-guard. He hadn't expected that level of insight from Abby of all beings.

Romance, on the other hand, didn’t even look surprised. He simply turned his attention from his hair to Baby, eyes glinting with curiosity, waiting, alongside Abby, for his answer.

They looked like those humans from that movie they watched “Dumb and Dumber.” Fantastic.

Baby sighed. Why does it even matter? But he gave a blunt reply anyway.

“Her soul helps suppress my hunger. I figured if I’m being forced to play pretend, I might as well get something out of it.”

He’d noticed it early on—whenever you were near, the gnawing void in his chest dulled slightly, tricking his instincts into thinking it was getting a full meal.

There was also another benefit to this bravado. As long as you didn’t try comforting him with words when Gwi-ma turned his skull into a private arcade, your touch was... grounding.

Of course, none of that was something he’d ever admit to these two jackals. And yet, even with the bare scraps he’d given them, both Romance and Abby were already grinning like they’d cracked some forbidden code. Jackasses.

The look they exchanged told Baby everything: Silence was the only safe option around these two, truly.

Why can’t they be this creative with the mission? he thought, mildly annoyed as his body instinctively tensed. He leaned back, away from Abby, who now wore a smirk that practically screamed bait.

“Well, that makes sense,” Abby drawled, eyes still on Romance as if Baby wasn’t even there. “Baby needs a pacifier during the day to keep calm.”

Romance nodded sagely, finger pressed under his chin like he was seriously contemplating Abby's words rather than suppressing a grin.

“Pacifiers do have the ability to keep Baby's nasty little temper in check, mm?”

At that, Abby flashed his sharp canines with a pointed look, practically daring Baby to lunge.

Baby knew they could’ve easily been referring to that snivelling pile of human meat that never stopped crying—but the words could also be taken another way. One that he knew was the correct one. He could feel his human glamour fading just slightly. Faint demon markings crept along his cheekbones, his own fangs peeking out as his claws dug into his palms.

His lips, darker now with a lack of oxygen, parted as he exhaled. And then he spoke—voice low, gravelly, and deadly calm.

“If I could… without alerting those three bitches to where we are… I’d slash every inch of your body, bit by bit, scatter the pieces across Korea, and watch your head roll around trying to put yourself back together.”

Yet instead of getting the reaction he wanted, Baby watched with half-lidded eyes and an involuntary twitch in his brow as Romance let out a delighted coo. Hands clasped together, the older demon gazed at him as if Baby hadn’t just threatened someone ranked above him. Worse, Romance even went and stretch out his hand, finger aimed at Baby’s nose for a little boop, and chirped, “Cute.”

Baby’s eye twitched.

And to make matters worse, Abby—arms crossed, muscles bulging in that infuriating way he knew was deliberate—wore the smuggest grin as he added in a teasing tone, “Can’t bring yourself to get fully rid of me? You must truly love me. Oh, I can just feel how much you care for me! ” He let out an exaggerated wail, swiping an invisible tear from under one eye and clutching the wrong side of his chest—the side where a heart wouldn’t be, even if he were human.

“Alright then,” Baby growled lowly.

His glamour frayed further as he rolled up his sweater sleeves, a malicious grin cutting across his face. His small tusks peeked from under his top lip, canines gleaming, and purple flames began licking off his skin. The pressure in his skull surged as Gwi-ma stirred, laughing in pure euphoria, egging him on with a hungry rasp: “C̶̛̩͈̋͑̎̽̈́l̵̲̥̫͚̳̞̗͒̊̽͘͝a̷̯͕̲̰̖̟̦͊͝w̵̛̬̱̦̻̟͗̄̄̋͜s̴̢̞̺̮͖͇̽͋̍͆̈́̔̍͂ ̴͉̯͕̹̞͖͈̈́͐̿̓̍̏̾͒t̷̡̢͉̖̠̺̺̝͗͊̐͛͒͠͠h̴̲̼̞̥̲̖͍͒͗͑̽̕r̸̙̘̟͍̺̟̲̱̋͑͒̿̇̒̚ơ̸̬̿̌̍͋́͗ų̴̘̟̤́̓͌̍̓͗g̶̠̝͍͈̼̦͕͐͋̅̋̀̈́h̵̛͇͗̏͋̄̍̈́̕ ̷̬̯̯̲̞̐̔̿̓̍͘͝͠t̵̺̖̩̦̳͖̯̜̉̈́̅̈́̚h̴̰̬͈͚̠̲̋̈́͗̽́͘͠ͅe̵̢͚̞̦̱̘̅͒̾̒̿͛͐͑͜ ̶̢͍̗̖͇̺͌̅͊̽͛͌̚c̶̳̤̞͈̬̩̬̐̄͜h̷̼̜̳͓̦̳̙̤̿͐̓̋͠e̵͖̰̰̲̼͕̅́̑̓͒̚͜s̷̢̢̱͖̠͓̈́̎̐̿͝t̶̛̤̖̬̟̮͌͂͠͝͝—̵̢̥͕̦̤͇̖̘̀̓̓̍̇̀͛̚s̷̘̱̼̋̈́̏͛̏̔͂͘l̴̞̮̱̞̬̩̏̈́o̵̠͎̤̮̥̫̔̈́̇́͝w̶̛̮̼̺͓͚̄̀̆͋͘͝ͅ ̴͇͎͍̖͓̒̅́͊̔͝͝a̴͖͓̰̳̲̞̍̒̎͗͊̕͘͜n̶̩̯͓͛͝d̸̹̮̟̰̺̼͈̏̏̽̾̏̀̕ ̵̻̯̥̞̺̪̙́́͛̑̽͝p̵̬̘̖̳̥̐̈́͊̚̚ͅa̵̢̨͖͇͈̲͐̈́ͅi̸̘̲͎͓͇͐͗̇͋̔̓̍͝n̷̙̟̙̮͑̍̓̿͆̅́ͅf̴̘̯͔̳̺͓͚̐̈́̇́̾͘ū̵̘̬̠͎̫͇̔̿̚l̵̢̢̺͚̜͇̐̽̐̐̎͘ͅ!”

Visions flickered across Baby’s mind, dizzying flashes of how to use abelites he didn't even knew possible—and for a moment, his vision blurred as he shook his head to fight it off.

He barely registered Abby’s widening grin as the older demon cracked his neck, clearly eager for the brawl. But before either of them could move—

They froze.

The air didn’t grow heavy like it did when Mystery was done tolerating their idiocy. No, it grew light. Too light.

Disorientingly so, like a false calm before something sharp breaks through. Baby almost wanted to laugh and flip Gwi-ma the middle finger as he felt his Lord disappear with furies thrashing before leaving Baby's head empty.

Only Romances aura was capable of submerging the demon King. He may not know the real reason, but he has a theory. Unlike the others, Romance never flooded them with his demonic presence like Mystery.

He let it slither—wrap and squeeze. It wasn’t choking—it was holding, threatening to shatter them from the inside if they so much as twitched. Baby felt it keenly in the way his ribs ached and his core pulled taut. And judging by the way Abby’s eyes widened beside him, he felt it too.

It didn’t help that Romance was older than both of them. Which made the subtle restraint feel effortless—unavoidable.

Baby knew, logically, that Romance didn’t have the kind of power that could cancel their regeneration. But it didn’t matter. The illusion—the intoxication—was enough to press every instinct into submission. He let out a slow breath, reluctantly pulling the frayed edges of his human disguise back into place, a silent show of compliance.

Only then did Romance smile wider, bringing his hands together with a gentle clap before easing off. As the pressure lifted, both Baby and Abby exhaled sharply, shoulders loosening.

Their eyes met.

A silent nod passed between them. Later.

If Romance noticed, he chose to ignore it. After all, what came later wouldn’t be his problem. Instead, he steered the conversation back to its original course, locking his brilliant eyes onto Baby’s with a quiet sort of focus.

“So?” Romance asked, folding his hands over his crossed legs. A lock of hair curled against his cheek as he tilted his head, flawless as always, voice soft with curiosity. “What are you planning to do, then?”

Great question. A slow smirk curved across Baby’s lips as he cracked his knuckles.

Now that the banter cooled him down and the storm of your emotions from your wave was drowned out by Abby’s demonic aura—still pulsing faintly from when he’d nearly launched himself at Baby—his head was clearer than it had been in days.

“Easy. Kill ’em.” He said it flatly.

Sure, he’d lose his easy snack. The occasional grounding effect you gave him when Gwi-ma got especially insufferable. Those moments when you simply enjoyed yourself without demanding anything, letting him exist without expectation. Moments when your happiness spread through him, and he did enjoy himself—those would vanish too.

But in return, he’d get back something far more valuable: the freedom to just be himself.

No more forcing conversation. No more awkward attempts to explain things you could’ve asked about without sounding like a guilt-ridden martyr. And that constant, nagging feeling—like you were trying to make him feel bad for you.

How? Baby always wanted to ask. He didn’t feel anything unless you did first. And when you were caught in that swirling mess of insecurity and longing, it made him want nothing more than to rip your soul out and consume it just to silence the white noise in his head.

So yes—pros outweighed the cons. Any day of the week.

And hey, maybe you'd finally find someone who was your actual match.

His words had barely finished leaving his mouth before Abby choked on his saliva, then cackled hysterically—head thrown back, heels of his feet thudding on the floor. Romance winced, pressing a manicured hand to his chest as if personally wounded, eyes flicking to Baby’s deadpan expression.

“Please don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Your kills are always so... messy.” His nose crinkled as he pulled a face of exaggerated distaste.

Baby crossed his arms and raised a brow at him. “Alright then. What should I do instead?” His tone was bored, but he was listening.

That was all it took. Romance perked up immediately, and just as Abby’s laughter began to taper off, they both blurted out two completely different responses at once:

“Suck ’em dry,” Abby grinned.

“Apologise,” Romance said at the exact same time.

Baby blinked, owlishly at first, then narrowed his eyes with growing scepticism—just as both Romance and Abby snapped their heads towards each other, startled.

For a brief moment, Baby swore the two of them were having a full telepathic conversation. Then, without a word, they nodded in perfect synchrony.

Romance turned back to him, casually, while Baby—still with arms crossed—had leaned down slightly, watching the pair with thinly veiled disbelief, scanning between them for any trace of logic. Naturally, he found none.

Romance shrugged. “Calm her down by apologising. Then devour her. No soul ever tastes good angry.”

Huh. Baby straightened up, expression easing as he nodded slowly. Romance had a point. Even if Baby wasn’t picky, it was common demonic knowledge that rage-flavoured souls only appealed to a rare few with weird palates.

Before he could open his mouth to agree, a soft click broke the moment.

The doorknob to his room twisted, the door creaking open. All three snapped their attention to it, wide-eyed—no doubt looking like startled hares caught in torchlight.

Baby didn’t know who to expect. But it definitely wasn’t Mystery, half-visible behind the slowly opening door.

He blinked. His spine snapped upright as his usually droopy eyes widened into doe-like. Romance, unfazed, lifted a hand in a pleasant wave. Abby grinned like a proud idiot for some reason.

While Baby continued to stare at Mystery as if the man didn’t live under the same roof, it was Romance who broke the silence.

“What are you doing here senior?” he asked, smiling, his tone laced with genuine curiosity.

Mystery stood motionless, one hand still on the doorknob. They couldn’t see his eyes, but Baby had the creeping suspicion the eldest had blinked once before speaking, voice as soft and chilling as ever.

“I was told to come... by him,” he replied coolly, raising two perfectly shaped fingers to point directly at Abby—who only grinned wider.

That snapped Baby out of his daze. He flinched slightly, turning sharply as Romance—seated next to Abby—did the same.

“Why?” Romance asked with a calm tilt of his brow, voicing what Baby had been about to bark out himself.

Abby looked far too pleased with himself, arms crossed over his chest like a smug lion. “Since Baby was being dramatic, it had to be important. So I figured Mystery would be perfect for solving it! While Baby was yapping and growling, I texted Mystery to come over.”

He said it like it was the most obvious, brilliant solution in the world.

Romance and Baby both gawked at him. Abby didn’t seem to notice. He turned back to Mystery—who remained standing in the doorway like a weathered statue—completely unreadable.

“What took you so long, old man?”

That was usually the kind of thing no one dared to say to Mystery—ranked as he was, not to mention his power—but Abby lacked the instinct for self-preservation. Always had.

Mystery, for his part, didn’t react in the slightest. He merely responded with a quiet, clinical jab, “Saw your name.”

Baby snorted, lips twitching into a grin. Romance chuckled softly behind his hand. Abby, oblivious, beamed.

“Ah! Still learning how to open the magical boxes in the phone?” he asked brightly, already launching into a pointless explanation. “You just gotta—”

Mystery stepped back without a word, shutting the door slowly.

That alone pulled Baby back into focus.

Wait. Abby might’ve actually been on to something.

And Mystery did have the most functioning brain cells out of anyone here. That alone made him worth listening to.

Baby stepped forward slightly, expression softening again, a rare earnestness in his voice. “Would Mystery-nim consider... having a moment still?”

For once, there was no sass or smugness behind it. Just a sincere question—he wanted to hear what his senior had to say.

A silence followed. Romance and Abby glanced between the two, waiting.

Mystery didn’t move right away. He remained still in the hallway, back to them. Baby couldn’t feel nervous, that was taken together with his soul by Gwi-ma. Baby could only stand quietly, watching, waiting for a respond to react to.

Finally, Mystery turned his head just enough to face him. Though his eyes were covered, his aura gave a brief flicker of contemplation. Then, he finally gave a short nod.

With a shift of his shoulders, Mystery stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. He stood inside the room, saying nothing—but making it clear he was waiting for Baby to explain the issue.

Baby didn’t waste a second.

He launched back into the explanation—this time without the growls, or slipping into demonic dialect that made Romance and Abby squint or read his aura like a weathered text. Now, it was just words. Clear, sharp, and finally spoken with some composure.

Once the full story was out, the room fell quiet.

Mystery hadn’t moved from where he first stationed himself, still standing near the door. The only change was the tilt of his head—chin lowered as he absorbed Baby’s words in full silently but most importantly thoroughly.

The three waited, clearly too eager despite trying not to show it.

Finally, Mystery straightened. He turned his head towards Baby. The attention made his fingers twitched slightly, resisting the urge to clap like an overeager child. Instead, he sharpened, silent, listening with his full focus.

“Humans are needy creatures,” Mystery began in his cool, steady tone—echoing Romance’s earlier words—before continuing without pause. “You should have taken that into account before letting Jinu sway you.”

Ah. Baby’s eyes flicked to the side.

It wasn’t a reprimand, exactly—Mystery wasn’t one for scolding—but the truth stung all the same. That was the reminder. Baby had been just as selfish as you, and this? This was the cost of that.

Fair. His eyes dropped to the carpet, shoulders heavy as Mystery’s voice carried on, calm and unbothered.

“However,” he said, “she is not one to leave.”

That snapped Baby’s head up. Mystery continued, head tilting slightly, fringe shifting, though never revealing the sharp briliant eyes hidden behind. “So... even if the two of you had a mindless argument over a foolish disagreement—which, I agree, could’ve been handled more peacefully if she wasn't blinded by her lack of self-worth—she’ll return. Even if you give her space and don’t speak to her.”

Baby grimaced, subtly. That didn’t help.

It wasn’t that he disliked the idea of keeping your cooling wave around... It was the thought of you returning anyway. Coming back while still expecting something from him he visibly couldn’t give.

But Mystery, unfazed, didn’t pause.

He lifted his chin to glance at the ceiling. “Of course, humans are fickle. So if she does surprise us and doesn’t return—worst-case scenario—she may attempt to damage your name. And, by extension, SAJA’s name. On those human gathering zones—”

“Socials, senior,” Romance cut in, smiling as he gently corrected.

Mystery paused only to nod, then continued, barely missing a beat. “...‘Socials’,” he echoed, as if the word were a foreign incantation. “The humans under the company that manage our images and interactions on those... 'Socials', would easily turn the narrative. She’d be painted as overbearing. You, as the wounded victim.”

He turned his face back toward Baby, cool and direct.

“That way, Jinu still gets the attention he wanted from the relationship,” he said plainly. “And you—get your ‘time’ back.”

Mystery finished with the same calm he always carried. He offered no emotional comfort, no praise—only clean-cut logic and resolution, as if he were stating a weather report.

The lack of him commenting on you potentially revealing they were demons spoke volumes too. No one would believe you and even spin it into one of those wild theories that would just give SAJA more attention through the content the humans would spin out of it.

Romance gave an approving clap, fingers snapping in a polished, regal manner. “Brilliant, as always.”

Abby just groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Too many turns and curves. I think I got whiplash.”

Baby sighed heavily. His arms folded again as he rocked back on the heels of his feet, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

“So much fucking unnecessary drama...” he muttered, his voice trailing off, drawn out by the pitter-patter of rain tapping steadily against the windows, ringing in his ears and echoing in his mind.

[ladyblueberrymuffin]

Hey there! It's your resident Beautiful Creatures girly here. You are well within your right to dislike the series, it's from 2010 and there are aspects of it that haven't aged well, or shouldn't have been okay to write even then. I feel like despite Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl both seeming like genuinely progressive writers trying their best, like a lot of white writers they can fuck up a lot when it comes to writing people of color. They made a black character an adopted mother of the white protagonist, for goodness' sake. And his housekeeper?! I like Amma, despite how dated her character is, but people might hate how she's written and that's valid. I personally would also like to point out all the fatphobia at the expense of Charlotte Chase, and the only cop in town whose name is literally "Fatty" (although to be honest, I think he gets off pretty lightly compared to Charlotte), and the scene where Ethan describes the Basketball team in Halloween cheerleading outfits, and how he says specifically that they looked like the cheerleading team "until you noticed the stubble and hairy legs" felt really uncomfortable to read as a trans woman. (But I do love how in the same scene Lena makes sure to tell Link, who is on the basketball team and is dressed as a cheerleader "I think you look great.") Also, Ethan uses the word "exotic" to describe the way Aunt Marian looks. Ew.

However when it comes to slavery and the Civil War, the series has never shied away from talking about it, and it always has been very clear what side it's on.

Only folks down here didn’t call it the Civil War. Everyone under the age of sixty called it the War Between the States, while everyone over sixty called it the War of Northern Aggression, as if somehow the North had baited the South into war over a bad bale of cotton. Everyone, that is, except my family. We called it the Civil War.

(LMAO, Ethan is so freaking corny. "I'm not like other boys, I call it the Civil War. Good for you.)

I would be spending my second consecutive year studying the “War of Northern Aggression” with Mr. Lee, no relation. But as we all knew, in spirit Mr. Lee and the famous Confederate general were one and the same. Mr. Lee was one of the few teachers who actually hated me. Last year, on a dare from Link, I had written a paper called “The War of Southern Aggression,” and Mr. Lee had given me a D. Guess the teachers actually did read the papers sometimes, after all.

“I deserted, Genevieve. I couldn’t fight one more day for somethin’ I didn’t believe in. Not after what I’ve seen. Most a the boys fightin’ with me didn’t even realize what this war is about—that they’re just spillin’ their blood over cotton.”

See how the line about people thinking it was just about cotton is reiterated?

Everyone in Gatlin County was related to the wrong side in the War Between the States. We were used to that by now. It was like being born in Germany after World War II.

In history, she wasn’t there while we reenacted the Lincoln-Douglas Debate, and Mr. Lee tried to make me argue the Pro-Slavery side, most likely as punishment for some future “liberally minded” paper I was bound to write.

And here are some more examples from later books:

I was in history class, and we were talking about the Reconstruction, which was the even more boring time after the Civil War when the United States had to put itself back together. In a Gatlin classroom, this chapter was even more embarrassing than it was depressing -- a reminder South Carolina had been a slave state and that we had been on the wrong side of right. We all knew it, but our ancestors had left us with a permanent F on the nation's moral report card. Cuts that run that deep leave scars, no matter what you try to do to heal them.

I realized where I was standing. “I’ve seen pictures of hidden rooms and tunnels like these. Runaway slaves used them to leave houses at night without being seen.

I had come out on the other side—the safe side, where slaves using the Underground Railroad could lose themselves in the thick fields.

You are free to think that is still not enough, that the story keeps tip-toeing around the subject, but to me it feels like it's clear that the book is deconstructing the "idyllic small Southern town" trope at every turn. The Lost Cause myth permeating this whole place is relentless, the xenophobia and conformism are woven within the fabric of Gatlin, and the town itself seems like as much a villain as any of the supernatural ones.

It wasn’t just Lena. She wasn’t the first. I’d watched them do it, my whole life. They’d done it to Allison Birch when her eczema got so bad nobody would sit near her at the lunch table, and poor Scooter Richman because he played the worst trombone in the history of the Jackson Symphony Orchestra. While I’d never picked up a marker and written LOSER across a locker myself, I had stood by and watched, plenty of times. Either way, it had always bothered me. Just never enough to walk out of the room.

It wasn’t much, but if I knew Mrs. Lincoln, I knew enough to be worried. You could never underestimate the lengths women like Mrs. Lincoln would go to protect their children and their town from the one thing they hated most—anyone different from them. I should know. My mom had told me the stories about the first few years she’d lived here. The way she told it, she was such a criminal even the most God-fearing church ladies got bored of reporting on her; she did the marketing on Sunday, dropped by any church she liked or none at all, was a feminist (which Mrs. Asher sometimes confused with communist), a Democrat (which Mrs. Lincoln pointed out practically had “demon” in the word itself), and worst of all, a vegetarian (which ruled out any dinner invitations from Mrs. Snow). Beyond that, beyond not being a member of the right church or the DAR or the National Rifle Association, was the fact that my mom was an outsider.

Some of this stuff didn't just age well, it feels like it's becoming more and more topical as years go by. This is textbook fearmongering. Just look at how Mrs. Lincoln talks about Lena at her "trial".

She regained her composure, smoothing her skirt, and turned to face the Disciplinary Committee. “Miss Duchannes’ charms seem to work quite well on the weaker sex,” Mrs. Lincoln said with a smile.

“As Principal Harper mentioned, this is not the first time Miss Duchannes has had violent episodes.”

“Miss Duchannes is a very disturbed girl. She suffers from a mental illness. Let me see…” Mrs. Lincoln ran her finger down the page as if she was looking for something. I waited to hear the diagnosis for the mental illness Mrs. Lincoln thought Lena suffered from—the state of being different. “Ah, yes, here it is. It appears Miss Duchannes suffers from bipolar disorder, which Doctor Asher can tell you is a very serious mental condition. These people who suffer from this affliction are prone to violence and unpredictable behavior. These things run in families; her mother was afflicted as well.”

I also like that Beautiful Darkness touches on repressed sexuality in such strict conservative towns.

"I can't believe it." I wadded up my napkin. "Who would have figured Gatlin was so romantic?" I had bet on church books. Liv had bet on romance novels. I lost, eight to nine. "Not only romantic, but romantic and righteous. It's a wonderful combination, so --" "Hypocritical?" "Not at all. I was going to say American. Did you notice we delivered It Takes a Bible and Divinely Delicious Delilah to the very same house?" "I thought that was a cookbook." "Not unless Delilah's cooking up something quite a bit hotter than these chili chips." She waved a fry in the air. "Fries." "Exactly." I turned bright red, thinking about how flustered Mrs. Lincoln had looked when we dropped those books off at her door. I didn't point out to Liv that Delilah's devotee was the mother of my best friend, and the most ruthlessly righteous woman in town.

Furthermore, for every fault you could find with Amma's character, she's not "ethnically ambiguous".

Genevieve threw the mirror to the ground and turned to Ivy. But the old woman wasn’t paying attention. She had already mixed the powders and the earth and she was sifting them from hand to hand, whispering in the old Gullah language of her ancestors.

“And you know there’s no guarantee it’ll work. It didn’t turn out so well the last time. But I can tell you this: I’ve got my great-great-aunt Ivy downtown with the Greats, and they’ll help us if they can.”

"My family came to the Sea Islands from Barbados before you were a thought in the Good Lord's mind."

The book still misrepresents this real life group of people. For every thing right, like the bottle trees, or Amma being a Protestant and incorporating her culture and spirituality into that, there's Amma giving Ethan a red string bracelet as a good luck charm, which as far as I know is a Jewish folk custom, or her being a practitioner of Voodoo, which as far as I know is incorrect, because the customs practiced by the Gullah/Geechee are referred to as Hoodoo wherever I looked, but anyone more knowledgeable than me, please feel free to correct me.

As for Lena's internalized misogyny? I feel like the book handles it better than most books of it's time (but my bar might be in hell, because I am thinking of Twilight). Lena is surrounded by positive female role-models, like her grandma, Aunt Del, Aunt Twyla, Aunt Arelia, Marian, Amma, Ethan's mother, and of course, the most stunning, Aunt Leah, who has a pet cougar, and murders demon vampires with her succubian staff, and eats people. Even the Sisters and Thelma, who are silly comic-relief old ladies with their Dolly Parton-esque caretaker are revealed to have been in on the magic secret all the time, and Aunt Prue has been charting a map of the Caster Underground her whole life, and gifts Ethan with a magic cat.

Even Lena's abusive mother is given a sympathetic backstory, with Lena literally crying over her and saying "She was just like me", and becoming obsessed with her. The book series also introduces Liv, who is a romantic rival turned friend, and Ridley, whose everything "manic pixie dream girl, not like other girls" Lena is not, and is still her best friend, and a tragic heroic figure, and is a victim of slutshaming from everyone, including Ethan, and still never changes the way she dresses, never loses her edge and gets a whole book series onto herself, because Ridley is just amazing. And it is Lena who actually believes in her, and has to defend her from Ethan, who also eventually realizes how wrong he was about her.

There's a lot of books that would portray a character like Ridley as the villain (and also the movie apparently?), but she's one of the most nuanced members of the cast, and some of the most heartwarming moments are hers.

Ridley appeared at the top of the steps, breathless. She hugged Lena, taking her from me. She rubbed her face against Lena's wet cheek. They were sisters, for better or worse. They always had been. "Lena, listen to me. You have to choose." Lena looked away, pained. Ridley grabbed the side of her cousin's face, forcing Lena to look at her. Lena noticed right away. "What happened to your eyes?" "It doesn't matter. You need to listen to me. Have I ever done anything noble? Have I ever let you sit in the front seat of the car a single time? Have I ever once saved you the last piece of cake, in sixteen years? Ever let you try on my shoes?" "I always hated your shoes." A tear rolled down Lena's cheek. "You loved my shoes." Ridley smiled and wiped Lena's face with her scraped and bloody hand. "I don't care what you say. I'm not doing it." Their eyes were fixed on each other. "I don't have a selfless bone in my body, Lena, and I'm telling you to do it." "No." "Trust me. It's better this way. If I still have some Darkness inside me somewhere, you'll be doing me a favor. I don't want to be Dark anymore, but I'm not cut out to be a Mortal. I'm a Siren." I could see the recognition in Lena's eyes. "But if you're a Mortal, you won't --" Ridley shook her head. "There's no way to know. Once there's Darkness in your blood, you know …" Her voice broke off. I remembered what Macon said. Darkness does not leave us as easily as we would hope. Ridley hugged Lena tight. "Come on, what am I going to do with seventy or eighty more years? Can you really see me hanging around Gat-dung, making out with Link in the back of the Beater? Trying to figure out how the stove works?" She looked away, her voice faltering. "Can't even get decent Chinese in that crappy town." Lena held tight to Ridley's hand, and Ridley squeezed it, then gently pulled her hand away, one finger at a time, and placed Lena's hand in mine. "Take care of her for me, Short Straw." Ridley disappeared back down the steps before I could say a word.

Also, while Lena's feelings of jealousy are handled with respect (because she's an isolated person who's never had friends before and it's complicated, but Ethan was considering leaving Lena for Liv and almost kissed her when their relationship was in a really bad place, but you could also argue they were broken up), she still isn't presented as in the right for how she treats Liv, and she realizes it, and actually makes amends. Which is another reason why Lena is best girl. And Liv is not just swept under the rug and forgotten, like in some other books, but actually joins the main cast, and becomes one of the most useful members. Lena cries when they have to part ways for college.

I also like that the problems that Lena faces at school can't be blamed on one person (which is a mistake the movie makes with Emily Asher), it's the whole town, and the kids at school are just the product of the system. Are Savannah and Emily still written in a way that slutshames them? Yeah, but I feel that is a consistent character flaw for Ethan that gets challenged by Ridley, and also as far as bully characters go, I feel like Savannah and Emily are still written with more consideration than most characters like this.

If you didn't feel like reading all that, that's fair. It's not a perfect book by any means, but you'll never find a book that is completely unproblematic, especially from 2010, and for me at least, the book does enough right for me to still love it, despite it's flaws. If you hate it, that's fine, and it's also fair.

you know sometimes I remember that there was a book I absolutely loved in high school where a girl catches her mother and boyfriend fucking, runs away to New York City, gets addicted to shooting up fairy dust with a group of homeless goths, and then uses the power of lacross and a crush on a troll to get really good at sword fighting

late 00s YA urban fantasy was a delightful mess

[kdh-tally]

HII! I'm your biggest fan! And thank you for hard working i love your miromabby headcanons! I was wondering if you could make about Romance and Abby snapping at Mira. Like a challenge that they will snap at Mira only and both of them saying stupid stuff about her that aren't even true i would love to see that!! Tysm if you read this💗💗💗 ily!!

Mira In Her Crashout Era

Prompt : Romance and Abby just don't know when to shut up.

Author's Note : The beginning might seem boring cause I really just wanted to write the ending part :P There will be a part two though!!!!!! And ily2 😚

They were going to die for this. 

“What makes you think this is a good idea?” Abby sighed, rubbing at his temple as Romance replayed a video on his phone.

It was a new trend that had taken over social media. It seemed quite insensitive at first but it was funny. The trend really just was one person snapping and going off on their partner at random times with their poor partner not knowing any better. 

Romance found it hilarious and who better to try it on than their wonderful girlfriend Mira?

“Come on it’s funny”

“You know she’s gonna kill us for this right?” 

“It’ll be worth it. She’s so hot when she’s mad~” Romance smiled wistfully. Abby had to agree with that.

–

The little prank had started. Unfortunately, Abby, as unwilling as he was to participate, was the first to fall victim. He had been making a protein shake in the kitchen for breakfast when Mira walked in. 

His jaw almost went slack as she walked in front of him to grab her purse. She was in this gorgeous black dress that complimented her figure and her hair was left flowing down her back. He remembered her mentioning that she’d be going out with the girls later that day. 

He was about to compliment her when he caught a glimpse of Romance glaring pointedly at him. He sighed, there was no way this was fair. How was he supposed to be rude when she looked like that????

Summoning all the courage he had, because Mira would surely kill him after this, he spoke in the most disregarding voice he could muster, “Is that what you’re going to wear?” He felt the mood in the room shift immediately. He wouldn’t turn to face her, looking right at his drink. He was expecting her to summon her weapon and murder him right there.

But she didn’t. 

“I’ll go change” 

Abby turned quick but she was already gone. He clutched his heart, he could feel it racing, while Romance moved to stand next to him. 

“You’re still alive,” he smirked in disbelief, watching where the pink haired girl had disappeared off to. 

“I’m still alive.”

And just like that, what was supposed to be a small prank turned into their game.

First it was just light jabs, playful insults that made them seem annoying. 

“You always take so long to get ready. This isn’t the red carpet Mira,” Romance would sigh, seemingly disappointed when watching her get dolled up for an award show.

“Don’t get mad but I swapped your playlist with mine,” Abby said nonchalantly as the two were driving back to their home. “Yours is kinda dry”

“You should smile more. You’re kinda scary when you don’t.” What normally would've been a playful joke turned into a jab at her looks. But she didn’t budge. Every time she remained calm would only encourage the two to see how far they could push her. 

On the third day, the comments became more direct.

“You don’t always need to be correcting people. It’s not that deep.”

“Sometime’s I wonder wether we’re your boyfriends or your backup dancers”

“You always have to think you’re right don't you?”

The two felt like geniuses. They truly believed they would've gotten to her by now. Two more days, is what they agreed on. They would drag this out for two more days, and if Mira didn’t react by then, then the game would be over.

–

The fifth and final day came soon enough. It started the same way the others did, quiet digs slipped into casual conversation.

“You don’t have to be so intense all the time,” Romance muttered as Mira flipped through pages of a magazine. “Like... Not everything’s a war.”

She didn’t look up.

“You’re not even fun to be around when you’re like this,” Abby added as he scrolled aimlessly on his phone beside her on the couch. “You’re always on edge now. You used to be so chill.”

She was mid-highlight in her song book when that one landed.

Neither of them noticed the way her grip tightened around the pen. Or how her jaw clenched.

“You probably rehearse your comebacks in the mirror, huh?” Romance said with a small chuckle. “You love hearing yourself talk.”

“Yeah,” Abby nodded. “You act like you’ve changed so much, but honestly you’re just boring now.”

That was it.

The pen in her hand snapped in two.

The air dropped a full five degrees.

Mira stood slowly, so silently that even the couch didn’t creak. She didn’t say a word. She just turned around and jumped at them.

Romance barely had time to react before her polearm materialized, shimmering and crackling with angry, red streaks of cursed light. It slashed down with a force that split the coffee table in half.

“WOAH— MIRA?!” Abby dove back, the blade missing him by mere inches as Mira spun again, hair flying, eyes glowing with fury. She wasn’t holding back. She truly planned on sending them back to the underworld.

“MIRA STOP IT WAS A TREND!”

“YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?!” she shrieked, her voice filled with fury.

Another swing missed Romance’s head and hit the wall, embedding the blade deep in plaster and wood.

“CALL FOR BACKUP!” Abby screamed, ducking behind the couch.

Romance fumbled with his phone just as Mira yanked her weapon free from the wall with a scream.

“You mock me, mock everything I’ve worked on, and for what?! For a trend?! You think it’s funny to watch me suffer?!”

Before either of them could answer, the door to their apartment busted open. “MIRA STOP!” Rumi’s voice was the first to break through as she grabbed Mira’s wrist mid-swing.

Zoey appeared a second later, already rushing to help hold her back. The weapon clattered to the floor beside her, dissolving into sparks.

Mira didn’t collapse physically. Her eyes were almost jittery with the way they flickered between both boys.

She was shaking and breathing hard. 

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Rumi held her wrist firmly, jaw tight and Zoey had stepped between them all with her hand still slightly raised, just in case.

Romance was breathing hard, his back to the wall.

Abby hadn’t moved from where he hid behind the couch.

No one said anything. Not until Mira slowly turned her head, eyes locked on the two idiots who thought this was a good idea.

And then she spoke.

“You’re both actual morons.” She didn’t yell and that might have made it worse. She simply spoke with absolute anger and disgust in her voice.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to knock your heads together this week? How many times I bit my tongue while you two clowned your way around thinking you were being funny?”

Romance blinked. “Wait, you–”

“Shut up.” Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to talk right now.”

She pointed at Abby. “You. First of all, congratulations. You’re the worst actor on this planet. ‘Is that what you’re gonna wear?’ I should have knocked you out that morning.”

Abby’s mouth opened slightly to speak, but she cut him off.

“‘Dry playlist?’ ‘Smile more?’ Do you guys even hear yourselves? Or are you just that full of your own voices?”

She turned on Romance next. “And you. ‘You always think you’re right.’ ‘It’s not that deep.’ You have never been right a single day in your life and suddenly I’m the problem?”

“I thought that maybe just maybe you two had grown out of being little pests with death wishes, but I guess not. And Abby, you really sat there and backed him up like this was some cute bonding activity?”

Rumi didn’t even try to stop her anymore. She let go of Mira’s wrist and crossed her arms, nodding along.

“You’re both so dumb,” Mira continued, pacing now, angry hands gesturing, words flying like daggers. “Not just for doing the trend, but for being surprised that I didn’t explode sooner.”

“What, you thought I wasn’t going to snap? That it’s just normal to insult your girlfriend for four days straight!?” Her voice got louder with each word.

Romance finally raised both hands, sheepish. “We didn’t think you were trying so hard to hold back.”

Mira whipped around and stared him down like she was deciding whether to summon the polearm again.

“No shit you didn’t think,” she snapped. “Because if either of you had actually paid attention for once, maybe you would’ve noticed I’ve been working my ass off to not react to every little thing like I used to. But I guess that version of me was funnier, huh?”

Abby lowered his eyes, swallowing thickly. “It wasn’t like that,” he said quietly.

Mira let out a humorless laugh. “Then what was it like, Abby? Because it sure looked like you two were enjoying yourselves watching me turn into your little science experiment.”

Zoey looked over at them, arms crossed now, clearly unimpressed.

Silence fell again.

The air still felt heavy. Mira looked like she had one last breath of rage she hadn’t used up yet, but she turned and headed for the hallway instead.

“I’m going to take a nap,” she said flatly. “If either of you say one word to me in the next hour, I’m stabbing you. And this time I won’t let Zoey or Rumi stop me.”

She disappeared around the corner, her door slamming loudly behind her.

Romance finally let out a long breath. “Well.”

Abby nodded slowly. “We deserved all of that.”

“Yep.”

Zoey smirked. “I think she went easy on you.”

Rumi tossed the splintered wood onto the couch with a shrug. “You should get her a new table.”

“And a new mirror,” Zoey added. “She did throw a hairbrush through it yesterday.”

Romance’s face paled. “Wait what?”

“Yea she said she was trying not to take out her anger on you so she took it out on her mirror instead.”

Abby pulled at his hair. 

Rumi grinned darkly. “You’re lucky that’s all she broke.”

[synity]

Heyy!

I was wondering if you’d be up for writing a Scoups fic sometime! Honestly, I’m not picky about the plot I’m just really craving some good Seungcheol fluff and/or angst right now. Totally no pressure if you’re not feeling it, but I’d love to see what you come up with if you’re down. Thanks so much either way!! 💗

ESE DÍA DIFERENTE

(Choi Seungcheo! X Fem!Reader)

Chosen Family, Bittersweet, Slice of life, Contemporary Romance, Healing, Redemption, Emotional Drama

This story is inspired by real-life experiences and emotions that I have lived through and witnessed. While the characters and events are fictionalized, the feelings of heartbreak, healing, and hope are deeply personal and genuine.😭

Seungcheol's life used to be simple. Not in the sense of easy, but in the way that love felt safe and real. When Maria came into his world, it was as if all the scattered pieces of his life finally found their place.

She was stunning bright-eyed, full of laughter, and with a smile that seemed to light up every room she entered.

From the moment they met, there was a spark he couldn't ignore.

He remembered their first date vividly a small, cozy café tucked away in the city's quieter streets. Maria had laughed at his awkward jokes, her eyes sparkling with genuine joy. They talked for hours, about everything and nothing, until the sun dipped below the horizon and the city lights flickered on.

"That was... really nice," Maria had said softly as they stood outside, the cool night air wrapping around them.

Seungcheol grinned, feeling his heart pound.

"I'm glad you think so. I don't usually do this kind of thing, but with you... it felt different."

She smiled back, touching his hand lightly. "Me too."

From then on, their lives intertwined like the vines of a climbing rose. They shared meals, secrets, dreams. Seungcheol found himself planning a future he never dared imagine. Maria wasn't just his girlfriend; she was his partner, his best friend, the person he wanted beside him through every storm and calm.

One evening, a few months into their relationship, they sat on the rooftop of his apartment building. The city sprawled beneath them, glittering like a galaxy.

"I can't wait to marry you, Seungcheol," Maria whispered, her fingers laced through his.

He pulled her close, heart swelling. "Soon. Soon, we'll have that life.

They dreamed aloud about the wedding white flowers, soft music, dancing under the stars.

Maria talked about picking out a house, maybe near the beach where they could watch sunsets every day. Seungcheol listened, believing every

word.

But life rarely stays perfect for long.

Small cracks began to form, almost imperceptibly at first. Maria started staying out later than usual, her phone always locked tight, a new layer of distance settling between them.

When he asked, she smiled and reassured him.

"Nothing to worry about, babe. Just work stuff."

Seungcheol wanted to believe her. Wanted so badly to trust the woman he loved with all his heart.

One afternoon, he waited for her at the café where they often met after work. She arrived late, flustered, avoiding his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, slipping into the seat opposite him. "I've just been... busy."

"Is everything okay?" he asked gently, searching her face.

Maria forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah, really. Just tired, that's all."

Seungcheol nodded, but the seed of doubt had been planted.

Weeks passed, and the distance grew.

One rainy night, unable to shake the gnawing feeling in his chest, Seungcheol decided to surprise Maria at her apartment. He arrived unannounced, his heart pounding with hope and fear.

The door was slightly ajar.

He stepped inside, the scent of unfamiliar perfume hitting him first.

Then he heard voices soft laughter, whispered words not meant for him.

Seungcheol's breath caught in his throat as he crept closer to the living room.

There, on the couch, was Maria wrapped in the arms of another man.

Time froze.

His world shattered.

Maria looked up, eyes wide with shock.

"Seungcheol! What are you doing here?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, pain crackina his voice. "How lona?"

She didn't answer.

The man shifted uncomfortably.

"I thought we had something real," Seungcheol said, voice breaking. "I trusted you."

Maria's face crumpled, guilt flooding her features. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to-"

"Why?" he interrupted, pain cutting through him like a knife. "Why do this to me? To us?"

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

Seungcheol turned and left, the cold rain outside soaking him as he walked aimlessly, feeling like every step took him further from the man he used to be.

Days blurred into nights. He barely ate, barely slept. Friends called, but he couldn't answer. His phone was filled with messages from Maria, apologies and explanations, but he couldn't bring himself to respond.

One night, alone in his dark apartment, he stared at the ring he had bought for her. The ring he never got to give. It felt heavy in his hand, a symbol of a future erased.

"I was going to marry you," he whispered into the emptiness. "How did it all fall apart?"

Seungcheol's life crumbled, but somewhere deep inside, beneath the pain, a flicker remained. A faint, fragile hope that maybe, someday, he could find his way back from the darkness.

The days stretched on like endless shadows.

The colors of the city dimmed, and the laughter that once filled his ears turned into a distant echo, a haunting reminder of what was lost.

Seungcheol moved through his routine like a ghost going to work, answering emails, smiling at meetings but inside, he was unraveling.

His apartment, once a sanctuary filled with memories and hope, now felt like a cold cage.

The bed where two souls once dreamed of forever was empty, a silent testament to the promises broken. He often found himself staring at the ceiling late into the night, the weight of silence pressing down on his chest.

Friends tried to reach out.

"Cheol, we miss you," his closest friend, Joshua called one evening. "Let's grab dinner, talk it

out."

But Seungcheol shook his head, forcing a hollow smile. "Not tonight. I'm just tired."

The truth was, he was tired not just physically, but from the ache that refused to fade. From the betrayal that replayed in his mind like a cruel song.

He walked the city streets aimlessly, searching for something to fill the void. Sometimes he found himself in the park, watching couples holding hands, their happiness like salt on a wound. He envied their laughter, their ease, the simple beauty of love that now seemed so distant to him.

One rainy afternoon, he sat alone in a quiet café, fingers tracing the rim of his empty cup. The barista placed a fresh coffee in front of him with a gentle smile.

"Rough day?" He asked kindly.

Seungcheol nodded faintly, managing a small, grateful smile. "You could say that."

He wondered if he knew the weight he carried the loneliness, the heartbreak. But he didn't want to burden anyone with his pain. He had learned to keep it locked inside, behind a carefully crafted mask.

At work, he tried to focus, burying himself in projects and meetings. But the silence in his office was deafening. Every time his phone buzzed, his heart leapt, hoping for a message that never came.

His family noticed his change the quiet that replaced his usual warmth, the shadows under his eyes.

"Seungcheol, are you okay?" his mother asked one evening, concern etched in her voice.

He forced a smile, shaking his head.

"I'm fine. Just... tired."

But inside, he felt fractured. Like a beautiful vase smashed on the floor some pieces sharp and jagged, others missing entirely.

One night, as rain pattered against his window, he sat by the glass, tracing droplets with a trembling finger. He thought about the future he once dreamed of, now crumbled like ashes in his hands.

"I don't know how to move on," he whispered to the empty room. "How do I heal when everything I believed in was a lie?"

His phone lit up suddenly a notification from a florist's shop nearby, advertising fresh spring blooms. He scrolled through the pictures of vibrant flowers, their delicate beauty stirring something deep inside.

Maybe... maybe a small step. Maybe a way to feel something real again.

Unbeknownst to him, that moment, fragile as it was, would lead him somewhere new somewhere he hadn't dared to dream.

The days that followed were a blur of muted colors and hollow routines. Seungcheol woke each morning feeling like he was carrying the weight of the world or maybe just the weight of himself. The silence inside his apartment pressed in on him, thick and suffocating. Sometimes, he’d catch himself reaching for his phone, only to remember there was no one to call.

constant hum of meetings and deadlines distracted him, but it also reminded him how far away he’d drifted from the life he’d imagined. His colleagues noticed the change how his laughter no longer reached his eyes, how his smile felt forced, like a mask he wore to hide the cracks beneath.

One evening, after a long day, Seungcheol found himself standing in front of a small flower shop he hadn’t noticed before. The sign was simple, adorned with delicate script, and the warm glow from inside spilled onto the sidewalk. Drawn by something he couldn’t name, he stepped inside.

The air smelled of earth and petals, soft and comforting. Rows of colorful flowers stretched out before him roses, lilies, tulips each one vibrant, alive. For a moment, he forgot the ache in his chest. He ran his fingers gently over a cluster of soft pink peonies, their petals fragile but full of life.

The shopkeeper, a kind-faced woman with gentle eyes, smiled at him. “Looking for something special?”

Seungcheol hesitated. “I’m not sure… Maybe just something to brighten the day.”

She nodded knowingly. “Flowers have a way of doing that.”

He picked a small bouquet of white daisies simple, pure, hopeful. As he held them, a small flicker of something new stirred inside him not quite happiness, not quite peace, but a fragile thread of hope.

Days passed, and Seungcheol found himself returning to the flower shop more often, drawn by the quiet beauty and the unexpected comfort it offered. He started to care for the flowers he bought, learning how to nurture something delicate and alive. It was a small act, but it reminded him he was still capable of caring even if it was just for petals and leaves.

Slowly, very slowly, the sharp edges of his pain began to soften.

He still carried the scars of his heartbreak they were a part of him now but amid the wilted parts of his life, there were hints of growth. A fragile, quiet strength was taking root.

In the moments between work and sleep, he found himself thinking less about what he’d lost, and more about what might still be waiting.

Seungcheol didn’t know it yet, but this small change a bouquet of daisies, a few quiet moments in a flower shop was the first step toward a new beginning.

It was a quiet Sunday morning, the kind where the sky was pale and the air still. Seungcheol found himself walking the familiar route to the flower shop, hands tucked into the pockets of his beige coat. The streets were calm, and the gentle clink of wind chimes above the flower shop door greeted him as he stepped inside.

He had begun to find comfort in these visits not because he needed flowers for any particular reason, but because it was one of the few places where his chest didn’t feel so heavy.

“Back again,” the florist a warm, gentle woman with tired but kind eyes said with a soft smile.

Seungcheol nodded. “Yeah. I guess I’ve started to like it here.”

The woman chuckled. “People who come back to flowers again and again are usually the ones trying to heal.”

He looked down, quiet. “Yeah… I guess that’s true.”

Just then, the sound of soft footsteps came from behind the wooden curtain separating the back room from the front. A voice, lighter and younger, floated in.

“Mom, do you know where you put the shears? The sharp ones?”

Seungcheol looked up instinctively, and that’s when he saw her.

You.

You stepped out, dressed casually in a light sweater and jeans, a faint smudge of dirt on your wrist as if you’d been helping with potting or organizing. You weren’t in the least like the perfectly polished women Seungcheol used to be surrounded by. There was something grounded about you something real. A small frown rested on your face as you looked around for the missing shears.

“Oh,” you said, stopping short when you noticed someone else in the shop. You straightened up. “Sorry I didn’t know there was a customer.”

Your mother smiled. “This is Seungcheol. He’s been coming here a lot lately.”

You gave a polite nod. “I’m YN her daughter. Just visiting today.”

“Nice to meet you,” Seungcheol replied quietly, something uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

You reached behind the counter, finally spotting the shears and holding them up in triumph. “There they are. Thought I was losing my mind

Seungcheol chuckled softly, and the sound surprised even him. It had been a long time since he’d laughed like that not out of politeness, not to fill silence, but because something genuinely amused him.

Your mother raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you.

“You said you were looking for something simple today?” she asked, redirecting Seungcheol gently.

“Yeah… something calm. Nothing too bright. Maybe white or soft blue.”

You turned your head, curiosity piqued. “That sounds like hydrangeas.”

“Hydrangeas?” he echoed, unfamiliar.

You stepped closer, motioning toward the back of the store. “We just got some fresh blue ones in this morning. I’ll show you.”

He followed, not entirely sure why only that your voice was soft, and your presence wasn’t overwhelming. As you gently lifted a hydrangea pot, the petals catching light like quiet silk, Seungcheol felt something stir in him.

“They symbolize gratitude and deep understanding,” you explained, setting the pot down in front of him. “But… also regret and apology. I always found that bittersweet.”

“Sounds like life,” he murmured.

You looked up, meeting his eyes for a moment. Something unspoken passed between you not recognition, not attraction, but something deeper: understanding.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Exactly.”

Your mother called from the front, and you gave him a small smile before turning away.

As he paid and stepped out of the shop with the potted hydrangea in hand, Seungcheol found himself glancing back once.

You were standing at the counter now, laughing at something your mother said, your eyes crinkling with warmth.

He didn’t know your name until five minutes ago. He didn’t know anything about you what you did, where you lived, what you dreamed of.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, he wanted to know.

And that… felt like something new was beginning.

From that day on, Seungcheol’s visits to the flower shop became more frequent and less about the flowers.

He never admitted it, not even to himself, but he always hoped you’d be there. Sometimes you were tying ribbons around bouquets, sweeping fallen petals, or leaning behind the counter as you talked with your mother. And sometimes you weren’t. On those days, he still bought something small. A sprig of eucalyptus. A single daisy. A lavender stem. Just to justify the visit.

“Still going with calm tones?” you teased one afternoon, walking beside him as he studied a row of soft lilacs.

“They’re peaceful,” he replied with a faint smile. “I need peace.”

You didn’t pry. That was something he noticed about you. You didn’t ask about the sadness in his eyes, or the slight hesitation in his laugh. You didn’t fill silences with questions. You just let them breathe.

“Lilacs symbolize rebirth, you know,” you offered gently. “Like… letting go.”

He glanced at you, something quiet and grateful in his expression. “Then maybe I should take two.”

You grinned.

A few days later, it was raining soft and steady. Seungcheol entered the shop, hair damp, coat speckled with droplets. You were wiping down the window glass, humming something low under your breath.

“You’ll catch a cold,” you said without looking, your voice warm. “There’s tea in the back if you want to sit for a bit.”

He hesitated.

“You sure?”

“Mm-hmm,” you said, finally turning toward him. “You’ve earned regular customer privileges by now.”

That was the first time he sat with you at the little wooden table behind the shop. The kettle steamed softly as you poured two cups of barley tea. The smell of damp earth and petals wrapped around both of you like a blanket.

“I used to drink this with my grandmother,” you said, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. “She always said it tastes like patience.”

Seungcheol sipped slowly. “Then it’s perfect for me.”

The rain continued to fall.

You didn’t speak about your past. He didn’t speak about his. But the silence wasn’t awkward. It felt… comforting. Shared. Like the two of you had been sitting across from each other for years in another life.

The next time he came, you weren’t there.

He tried not to be disappointed. Your mother told him you had classes that day and wouldn’t be back until the weekend. He picked out a soft pink carnation anyway, but as he walked home with it tucked into his coat pocket, it wasn’t the same.

He didn’t know why.

She was just someone he met in a flower shop.

Just someone who smiled at him when the rest of the world felt cold.

Just someone whose voice stayed in his head longer than it should have.

He saw you again a week later kneeling in the back garden behind the shop, replanting new seedlings.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You looked up, smiling beneath your bangs. “Hey, yourself. Thought we lost you to a rival florist.”

He laughed, crouching beside you. “Never. You and your lilac wisdom got me hooked.”

You looked at him then, the dirt on your hands, the scent of fresh soil and morning light all around you.

“You’re smiling more lately,” you said.

That caught him off guard.

“I am?”

You nodded. “You were carrying a storm before. Now it’s more like… a quiet sky.”

His chest tightened at the honesty in your voice. You weren’t complimenting him. You were noticing him. Seeing him. Not who he used to be. Not who he pretended to be.

But who he was now broken, healing, and quietly blooming again.

It was late afternoon the kind where the golden light trickled through the flower shop windows and everything felt slow, like the world was taking a breath.

YN had just left to run an errand. The shop was quiet. Seungcheol lingered, pretending to browse, but really… he just didn’t feel like going home yet.

“Sit down, son,” her mother said suddenly, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’ve been pacing around those lilies like they owe you rent.”

He blinked in surprise, then laughed softly, lowering himself into the wooden chair near the counter.

“You always call me that,” he said. “Son.”

She gave him a long look, gentle but serious. “That’s because I see you like one.”

A lump formed in Seungcheol’s throat. No one had said something like that to him in a long, long time.

She poured tea without asking she always did and slid the cup across to him.

“You remind me a lot of her,” she said quietly, nodding toward the door where you’d left moments ago. “Before everything fell apart.”

He looked up, eyes curious.

“I know that weight you carry. The silence. The smile that never quite reaches. You think you’re hiding it well, but I’ve seen it before.”

Her voice dipped, laced with memory. “She was like that too.”

Seungcheol’s lips parted. “YN?”

She nodded slowly.

“Three years ago. A betrayal from a friend she trusted more than family. It shattered her. Broke her spirit in ways I didn’t even know were possible.”

Her eyes misted, but she didn’t look away.

“She shut everyone out. Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t speak.

She stopped sketching, stopped writing, stopped building things all the things that made her her.” She shook her head gently.

“This girl could turn scraps into art. She was brilliant. Always making, always dreaming. But after that betrayal, she stopped breathing life into anything.”

Seungcheol swallowed, his voice low. “What brought her back?”

“A lot of time. A lot of silence. And a little bit of kindness.” She looked at him knowingly.

“Sometimes we forget that pain doesn’t need to be solved. It just needs to be witnessed.”

That struck him deeply. He looked down at his tea, then at her again. Her eyes didn’t judge. Didn’t pity. They understood.

“I was supposed to get married,” he said, the words falling from his mouth for the first time without shame. “To someone I thought… loved me. Maria.”

The name tasted bitter.

“She cheated,” he continued, voice tight. “With someone I trusted. It wasn’t just the betrayal it was the life we built. All those promises. All those mornings where I thought I was happy…”

He trailed off. His hands trembled lightly.

“She left me in pieces,” he whispered. “And I don’t even know who I am anymore without her.”

The older woman reached across the table, placing her hand over his.

“Oh, my son,” she said softly. “You don’t have to know right now.”

He looked at her.

“You know what’s the worst thing about pain?” she asked. “It makes us think we’ve lost who we were forever. But sometimes, we’re just… paused. Waiting to be found again. Not by someone else. But by ourselves.”

Tears brimmed in his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall.

She smiled. “YN was known around this neighborhood for her creativity. Her spark. Her quick mind. And when all of that disappeared, everyone thought she’d never return to herself.”

A small, proud smile touched her lips.

“But look at her now. Laughing again. Creating again. Breathing again.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn’t healing not yet. But it was relief. Like someone had reached into his soul and turned on the lights, even if dimly.

The older woman stood and ruffled his hair gently like a real mother would.

“You don’t have to rush. But don’t let that girl fool you either. She understands pain better than anyone. That’s why she’s so gentle with yours.”

As she returned to the flowers, humming to herself, Seungcheol sat still for a long time tea growing cold in his hands, something unspoken blooming in his chest.

Not love.

Not yet.

But something warmer than grief.

And something softer than regret.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as lost as he thought.

YN wasn’t the kind of person to press.

She noticed things in quiet moments how Seungcheol always avoided love songs playing on the radio, how he never talked about the past, how sometimes he stared a little too long at a single flower like he was trying to remember something he lost.

She noticed how his laugh came with a pause. Like he had to check with himself if it was okay to feel joy again.

She noticed and she didn’t say a word.

Not at first.

But she stayed.

When he dropped by the flower shop, she started setting aside little things without asking a new chamomile bloom she thought he’d like, a folded napkin with a quote she scribbled, a cookie her mom made that she knew he wouldn’t buy but always finished.

She didn’t try to cheer him up.

She didn’t try to fix the invisible heaviness he carried.

She just… offered herself.

And one evening, after a sudden downpour soaked the streets and left the world smelling like wet soil and green things, she handed him a towel and said quietly:

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, Seungcheol.”

He looked at her.

Her eyes were calm. Steady. Not filled with pity, but with recognition.

“I just want you to know… whatever it is you don’t have to carry it alone every day.”

Seungcheol blinked, lips parting but no words came. No one had ever said that to him. No one had noticed without asking.

“Some days are harder than others,” she continued softly, “I know that. I’ve had days where I couldn’t even get out of bed, where I hated the idea of being seen.”

He froze. Those words he knew them.

“But someone told me once,” she smiled gently, “that pain doesn’t mean you’re broken forever. It just means you’re still healing.”

His throat tightened. It felt like she was peeling open a window in him he didn’t even know was locked shut.

“You remind me of myself back then,” she said.

He raised his head slowly, brows drawn.

“I know that look. That quiet ache. That… pause before speaking like you’re afraid your voice doesn’t matter anymore.”

Silence stretched between them not awkward, but real.

Then finally, he whispered, “It does. With you, it does.”

YN smiled, that small kind of smile that doesn’t scream joy but offers peace.

“Then I’ll keep listening,” she said.

Seungcheol felt something shift in him that night not big, not dramatic just a flicker of warmth, a sense of not being invisible.

Someone saw him.

Not the perfect him. Not the smiling version he used to be with Maria.

But this version the one with bruised hope and a slow heartbeat.

And for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.

The sun had just begun to set, its honey-colored light spilling over the quiet streets like a golden blanket. Seungcheol was walking back home from the gym, earbuds in, sweat cooling on his skin, when he saw her YN’s mother, standing outside the local grocery store, struggling with two heavy bags balanced awkwardly in each hand.

He blinked, instantly pulling his earbuds out. “Ma’am—! Let me help.”

She turned, a little startled, and then broke into a warm smile. “Ah, Seungcheol! My strong son!” she laughed, clearly relieved. “I got a little ambitious today.”

He jogged over and easily took the bags from her hands, surprised at the weight.

“What’s all this?” he asked with a grin.

“I’m making a chocolate cake,” she said proudly, “for YN and her siblings. They’ve been working so hard. Saturday’s our tradition they all come over to cook for me, so I wanted to surprise them first.”

Seungcheol nodded, amused and touched. “That sounds… really sweet. Literally.”

“You should come in too,” she added, unlocking her gate. “There’s always more than enough. And you deserve something sweet.”

He hesitated for only a second. But her tone that motherly certainty made it impossible to say no.

They entered her home through the small garden pathway where vines crept gently along the white fence, and tiny flowerpots lined the windowsills.

The door opened straight into a veranda covered in trellises and potted blooms, the scent of lavender and basil lingering in the warm air.

Inside, the house felt like a hug soft light, floral cushions, wooden beams that creaked with memory, and the faint scent of vanilla.

But just as they stepped into the living room, a wave of music and laughter burst through the space like sunshine.

Seungcheol stopped, blinking in surprise.

There they were YN and her siblings, Julián, Savanah, Alvaro, barefoot on the wooden floor, crowded around the TV with microphones in hand. A karaoke video blared on the screen, a spirited Spanish song with vibrant rhythms. They were singing well, more like shouting half the lyrics with big grins, correcting each other mid-line, then bursting into giggles when someone completely botched the chorus.

“No no no! That’s corazón, not camarón!” one of the brothers shouted.

“Oh shut up, boy!” YN yelled back, laughing so hard she had to hold onto the couch for balance.

It was chaos.

And it was beautiful.

Seungcheol stood frozen for a moment, bags still in hand, as the warmth of that moment wrapped around him pure, untamed joy.

“Don’t just stand there,” her mom said quietly, smiling beside him. “Come into the kitchen. Let’s let them sing their hearts out while we make some peace in the form of chocolate.”

He followed, still a little dazed.

Through the living room past the burst of music and dancing limbs into the kitchen that smelled like butter, sugar, and home.

“I used to sing like that once,” her mother said, putting on an apron and chuckling to herself. “But now my singing’s reserved for burnt rice and angry saucepans.”

Seungcheol laughed. He felt something loosen inside of him like his ribs had been tight for too long, and finally someone was letting him breathe.

He began unpacking the bags without being asked. Eggs, flour, dark chocolate, ripe bananas, cocoa powder.

“I haven’t felt this… alive in a while,” he admitted quietly, as the sounds of off-key Spanish harmonies drifted in from the next room.

Her mother glanced at him, knowingly. “That’s what happens when you walk into a place where people are allowed to be messy. Loud. Real.”

She handed him a whisk. “And now you’re part of the recipe.”

Seungcheol grinned, shaking his head.

A part of him still ached. Maria’s betrayal hadn’t vanished. But here in this flower-filled home, with the hum of love echoing through walls it didn’t own him.

He stirred the batter, laughter ringing from the living room, as if music could stitch together the broken corners of him he thought no one would ever touch again.

And for the first time in a long time… he didn’t feel like a guest in someone else’s joy.

He felt welcome in it.

The chocolate cake was a hit rich, slightly warm from the oven, with just the right amount of bitterness in the dark chocolate and love in every slice. Plates were scattered across the coffee table, mugs half-filled with café con leche and cinnamon tea.

By now, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, leaving the little house bathed in amber and fairy lights strung up along the veranda. The earlier laughter had softened into that easy kind of silence that only families comfortable with each other share.

Seungcheol leaned against the archway between the kitchen and living room, sipping tea, soaking it all in.

That’s when Julián, YN’s older brother, pulled out his guitar and began to strum. Not wildly — gently. Like a whisper across water.

The room shifted. Quiet fell. Heads turned.

Then he started singing. His voice was low, soulful, raw.

And just like that, the room transformed. This wasn’t karaoke anymore.

This was… intimate.

YN’s voice slipped in next.

Soft at first. Feather-light. But growing with each line. Her tone was warm, honeyed, but carried a kind of ache that made Seungcheol freeze mid-sip.

She and Savanah harmonized like it was muscle memory the kind of blend you don’t learn, but grow into.

Their voices tangled like vines lifting, falling, blooming in every verse.

Alvaro stood and began to rap the bridge from “Alto Suspiro,”

effortlessly flowing into the rhythm with the kind of charisma that filled the entire room. He danced between lines, punctuating lyrics with laughter and footwork that had even their mom clapping to the beat.

It wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t performative.

It was who they were.

Songs written from years ago maybe never released but clearly carried like sacred things. Memories put to melody. Shared pain made art. Family bound not just by blood, but by sound.

Seungcheol sat down slowly on the couch, caught in the current.

He watched YN the whole time how her eyes sparkled when she hit the chorus, how her hands moved as if sculpting the air, how the sadness in her voice didn’t dim the light but made it realer.

She was laughing now, spinning with Savanah in the middle of the room while Julián kept playing and Alvaro clapped off-beat just to annoy them.

Seungcheol smiled.

A real one.

Not one he forced. Not one he practiced in mirrors.

A smile that ached in his cheeks because it had been so long since he’d worn one that fit.

And deep inside, somewhere quiet, he thought

So this is what it feels like to witness joy that isn’t pretending.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel like an outsider watching through a window.

He felt like he’d been invited in.

Like maybe just maybe he’d found a place where his silence was allowed… until he was ready to sing too.

The music had faded. The laughter had softened. Now only the hum of summer crickets and the scent of leftover cake remained.

Everyone had slipped into that mellow post-celebration mood scattered across couches and kitchen stools, some dozing off, others half-whispering stories with full bellies and warm hearts.

But Seungcheol?

He’d slipped outside.

The porch creaked as he settled into the old wooden bench near the jasmine vines, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. He stared out into the little garden, now dim and silvery under the moonlight.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, really.

Something between gratitude and grief.

Something quiet.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“You okay?” Her voice was soft. So soft, he nearly didn’t hear it.

He turned.

There she was YN, barefoot, holding two mugs in her hands, hair slightly tousled, cheeks pink from laughing too much. A little piece of cake crumb on her shirt.

He nodded gently, managing a smile. “Yeah. Just… needed some air.”

She handed him a mug and sat beside him, the bench sighing beneath them.

“Chamomile,” she said. “It’s all that’s left.”

“Perfect,” he murmured, taking it.

For a while, they just sat there shoulder to shoulder, watching the moonlight glaze the tops of the flowerbeds, the way light wind rustled through the leaves.

“You sing beautifully,” he said at last, his voice low. “All of you. But… especially you.”

She looked over, a bit surprised. “Thanks,” she said, then looked down at her mug. “We grew up that way. Music was how we got through things. It’s always been… therapy, I guess.”

He nodded, staring ahead again. “I don’t think I realized how long it’s been since I’ve been around something so… alive.”

She glanced at him, studying the side of his face in the pale light. “You’ve been through something,” she said softly. Not as a question just… a truth.

He didn’t speak at first.

Then: “Yeah.”

Another breath.

“It was a lot. I thought I had it all figured out. The life, the woman, the path.” His throat tightened a bit. “But it was all… a lie.”

YN stayed quiet, letting the silence hold him.

“I gave everything,” he added, voice barely above a whisper. “And I didn’t even see it coming.”

There was a long pause. Then she said, gently, “You know… my mom told me once that some betrayals don’t just break your heart they break your compass. You stop knowing where to walk. What to trust. Even in yourself.”

He looked at her, surprised.

She gave a half-smile, a little sad.

“I’ve been there.”

They didn’t have to say more.

The silence between them now wasn’t awkward. It was full.

He looked at her again the way her hair caught the breeze, the way her eyes held stars in them without even trying and he felt it:

This wasn’t just safety. This was presence.

And maybe, for the first time since everything fell apart, someone wasn’t just near him someone was actually with him.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For… this. For not asking me to be 

okay. Just letting me be.”

YN smiled, turning her face toward the wind.

“I don’t expect people to be okay,” she said. “I just hope they don’t walk through the dark alone.”

And that night, Seungcheol didn’t.

Saturday became sacred.

It wasn’t planned. Seungcheol never asked to be there but every week, he was. Not because anyone told him to. Not even because YN’s mom expected it. But because he wanted to be.

At first, he came early just to help her carry groceries again.

Then it was: “Cheol, can you chop the onions?” “Cheol, help Julián fix that loose chair?” “Cheol, come taste this too salty or perfect?”

By the third week, he was showing up with extra flowers for the kitchen table, and a Tupperware of marinated chicken he’d made the night before “just in case.”

The siblings stopped treating him like a guest.

Alvaro playfully insulted him mid-cooking.

Savanah taught him how to fold dumplings without letting them burst.

Julián invited him to strum the guitar with him in the late afternoons, even if he didn’t play.

And YN?

She watched it all unfold quietly.

Seungcheol laughed more now. Not loud but genuinely. His posture had relaxed. He took more photos of flowers, asked about songs, offered to wash dishes, and even stayed late to help clean the backyard.

She’d catch him looking around, soft-eyed, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

And maybe that’s when she realized it.

It didn’t hit like thunder. It didn’t bloom like roses. It was quieter.

She noticed it in the way he listened not just to respond, but to understand.

She noticed it when he helped her little cousin braid her doll’s hair for two hours straight just because she asked.

She noticed it when he looked at her like her silences made sense.

She fell. Slowly. Surely. Stupidly. Like water collecting in the same place until it became a river.

And she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Mom…”

Her mother turned from her recipe book, peeking over her reading glasses.

“Yes?”

YN bit her lip, twisting the string on her hoodie sleeve. “Can I… tell you something? But you can’t tell the others.”

Her mom raised a brow. “You’re not pregnant, right?”

“Mom!” she laughed, swatting her arm.

“Okay, okay. Go on.”

She sat down next to her, nervous. “I think… I think I’m falling for Seungcheol.”

Her mom didn’t speak.

Not because she was shocked. But because… she wasn’t.

“I just I didn’t plan to,” YN continued. “I just started noticing him… you know? The way he talks, the way he makes space for people. He’s gentle. He’s kind. Even when he’s hurting.”

She looked down.

“And it scares me. Because I was so broken before. You remember. And I swore I wouldn’t trust easily again. But with him… I don’t feel scared.”

Her mom reached over, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“My sweet girl,” she said softly, “I knew the moment you stopped humming sad songs in the kitchen.”

YN looked up, blinking. “What?”

Her mother smiled. “You hum again. You laugh with your belly. You come alive when he walks into the room, even if you don’t notice it.”

She paused.

“And if you trust him with that heart of yours… I think he’ll treat it gently. Like it’s something sacred.”

That night, YN stood alone by the porch steps, watching Seungcheol play cards inside with Alvaro and Julián laughing, groaning when he lost a round, swearing they were cheating.

And she realized her mom was right.

She didn’t want grand fireworks. She didn’t want sweeping romance. She just wanted him as he was, as she was.

Maybe next week, she’d tell him.

But for now?

She just wanted to watch the man she loved start to feel like he belonged again.

.

Instead, he went to the veranda sat on the bench again under the vines, mug of cold tea in his hand, heart thudding too loud to ignore.

He didn’t know what to do with the knowledge.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, someone had looked at his scars and didn’t flinch.

She… wanted him.

Not the perfect version of him. Not the “used-to-be” him. Not the could-have-been fiancé.

Him. Now. Still healing.

And as he looked out at the moonlight blanketing the flower beds, he whispered to himself:

“Maybe I can love again.”

The stars had fully bloomed in the sky by the time YN stepped outside.

She carried a half-empty glass of strawberry soda, not because she was thirsty but because her heart was restless. Her legs moved before her mind caught up. She had too much to think about, and somehow… she knew where to find him.

And there he was.

Sitting on the veranda bench like he always did when the noise of the world got too heavy one hand nursing a lukewarm mug of tea, the other absentmindedly running across the wooden armrest.

The jasmine vines above danced in the breeze.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked softly.

He looked up, startled for just a split second before something gentle flickered in his eyes.

“No,” he said. “Too much in my head.”

She nodded, walking over, sitting beside him but not too close. She didn’t want to disturb whatever stillness he had carved out for himself here.

They sat in silence.

The air buzzed with crickets and leftover laughter from inside.

After a few moments, Seungcheol finally spoke voice low, almost afraid to shatter the stillness.

“I didn’t mean to hear it.”

YN blinked. Her heart dropped.

“What?”

“In the kitchen,” he added. “Earlier. I was coming to see if your mom needed help. And then I heard you talking to her.”

Silence. Her breath caught in her throat.

“I should’ve left,” he continued, voice even. “But I froze. I wasn’t trying to… eavesdrop. I swear.”

She didn’t answer.

Not because she was mad.

But because her cheeks burned. Her fingers clenched around her glass.

He turned to her slowly, expression unreadable at first until she met his eyes.

And in them… there was no judgment.

Only something soft. And raw. And real.

“You said you weren’t scared when I looked at you.”

She nodded, barely able to breathe.

“That’s funny,” he whispered. “Because when I look at you… I don’t feel lost anymore.”

Her gaze snapped up to meet his.

He offered a small, almost shy smile like a man still learning how to love again with hands that had once held all the wrong things.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “Not yet. I’m still figuring things out. Still healing. But if there’s even a small part of you that wants me the way I already want you…”

He looked down, then back up eyes glistening but steady.

“I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

YN didn’t speak. She reached out, slowly, letting her fingers brush against his a quiet answer that said:

“You don’t have to know how. Just don’t run. I’m here. I’ll be here.”

They sat like that for a while hands barely touching, hearts whispering louder than words ever could.

Under jasmine vines, on a porch soaked in moonlight, two broken people found something neither of them thought they’d deserve again:

A second chance.

Two Years Later

The living room was filled with sunshine, warmth, and the scent of lavender from the open windows.

YN sat on the couch, eight months pregnant, her feet resting on a pouf while she scribbled baby name ideas into a notebook half of them crossed out already.

In the kitchen, Alvaro and Seungcheol stood at the counter, chopping vegetables and chatting between sips of mango juice.

“She kicked again?” Alvaro asked, glancing at YN from the doorway.

“Hard,” Seungcheol smiled, placing a hand over his heart. “I think she’s training for the national team already.”

Alvaro chuckled. “You ready to be a girl dad?”

“More than ready,” Seungcheol said with a dreamy sigh. “I’ve already bought four books on how to braid hair.”

“Bro,” Alvaro laughed, slapping his shoulder. “You’re gonna cry the first time she says ‘appa.’”

“I cried when she hiccupped during the ultrasound,” Seungcheol admitted, not even ashamed.

They both laughed.

Then a pause.

Alvaro leaned against the counter, a little more serious. “You know… I’ve never seen her this happy before. Not even close.”

Seungcheol looked up, eyes soft.

“Me neither.”

There was a long silence. Not awkward. Just… full.

“She saved me, man,” Seungcheol added quietly, voice breaking the stillness. “Without even trying. Just by being… her.”

“She would say you did the same.”

Seungcheol smiled as he looked over at her again YN, humming to the baby in her belly, head tilted toward the sun.

And in that moment, he didn’t feel like a man who had been broken.

He felt like a man who had been rebuilt with laughter, second chances, warm kitchens, porch conversations, and a kind of love that healed without asking permission.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi there! I hope this doesn't sound too rambly but I'm writing a Black trans character and having a bit of trouble. The story starts off with them as an infant and my original plan was that the reader gets to see her grow and eventually transition from male to female when she's older. Where I'm struggling a bit is the implications with her personality. She's always been more kind and "soft" compared to the rest of the men in their life (It's portrayed as a positive thing and that her joy and optimism motivate the rest of the men to not give in to despair) but I'm worried that once she transitions it will seem like I'm playing into the stereotype that all girls are soft and delicate or unintentionally saying she was soft and kind because she identifies as a girl. On the other hand, her race complicates the issue of misogyny since a lot of bad representations of black characters portray them as aggressive so softness could be interpreted differently with this in mind. What should I do?

Well, on the Black end of things, it sounds fine. I can understand how you're worried that it may sound like gender essentialism and misogyny, though. There are people who are smarter than me on this, so they will put it far better! However I would think a similar mindset applies where the effort you put into writing her coming into her own is what makes the difference. I can only imagine that Black trans women would like to be treated gently and kindly in this life, considering!

Plus- and I'm not misgendering her here, I just want to make a separate point- even when she identified as a male, there's nothing wrong with being soft and delicate still. These descriptions are not like... Things that should be thought of as set in stone because of gender. She's soft and delicate because that's who she is as a person! And that's okay! Just make sure the writing reflects that, and that you don't slip into something like "my kindness and gentility always suggested that I should be my true self- a Woman!" That's when it'd be like ehhhhhhhhh mmmmmm 'kay author.

[myfictionaldreams]

helloooo love!

for the event, how about wolfstar x reader innocence kink/pain kink. not so innocence but doesn't have any experience + shes shy, cries of pain, there's blood, but it's all consensual and they are sweet and making sure she's ok . they are not moking or anything, just excited.

all smutty, comfort, fluffy in the end (aftercare)

if u don't write wolfstar, it could be with R, S, or J separately. It would be fantastic if u could write all of them, but maybe I'm asking too much (sorry)

hope it's not weird ahahahah

love u, byeeee

⁀➷ Craving the Pain

✧ Pairing | Wolfstar x F!Reader

✧ A/N | Firstly, love you too! Thank you for the request (for future reference, I will definitely write about anything involving each member of the Marauders!). I hope you like this and it's not too intense!

✧ Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dom/sub, threesome (f/m/m), innocent reader, crying, praise kink, nipple play, pain kink, rough sex, spanking, subspace, blood (from rough sex), aftercare

✧ Words: 1.1k

15k celebration masterlist | my main masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

You’re warm, tucked between them on the lavish bed.

Sirius’ fingers trace up and down your arm, slow and rhythmic, and Remus watched you like he always does, like he already knows what you’re about to feel before you do.

“Still with us, Pup?” he asks gently against your skin.

You nod. Small. Evidently shy.

You’re always shy. The three of you have been together for weeks now, sharing tentative kisses, awkward gasps, the sweetest explorations under sheets. But this is different.

You’d asked the two of them, face hot to the touch, avoiding eye contact, if they would take it a little further tonight.

“I… I don’t know what I’ll like,” you had to admit. “But I want to try.”

And Sirius and Remus had said yes. They always say yes with such care. But only after a conversation that made your tummy flutter, about consent, about safe words (green, yellow, red), about never doing anything you couldn’t come back from. They made you feel utterly safe.

“You’re in charge of everything,” Sirius says again now, brushing a ringed finger down the slope of your neck. “Even if you’re begging us to keep going, if you say red, we stop.”

You nod again. Still small.

Remus smiles, eyes creasing, and kisses your forehead. Then they start.

Sirius sucks at your nipple whilst Remus kisses your inner thigh, their touches soft against your nude skin. You squirm, body buzzing. You’ve been wet for ages, thighs damp and slipping together, before they’d even touched you properly.

Then Sirius’s teeth graze your nipple. Not hard, just enough to make you jump.

“Ah!”

They both still.

You blink up at him, chest heaving. That felt surprisingly good.

Sirius tilts his head, eyes dark and curious. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

“I don’t–” you swallow, shuffingly awkwardly beneath them. “I think so?”

Sirius leans down, his long hair covering his face as he carefully bites your pebbled nipple. This time, he pinches the other at the same time, tugging slightly, and that makes your back arch.

Remus looks up from between your thighs, grinning slowly and blooming. “Oh, you sweet little thing, your body doesn’t lie,”

You whimper. There’s heat pulsing through you, not just from arousal, but from something deeper. That pinch of pain seems to flip a switch inside you, sharpening the pleasure and making everything more vivid. 

Your nerves, already hypersensitive, light up as the discomfort gives way to something warmer, spreading like honey in your veins.

“That’s your hormones,” Remus says, like he’s reading your mind. “Your brain floods your body with endorphins and adrenaline in response to pain. When we follow it with please…”

“It gets addictive,” Sirius finishes with a kiss to your collarbone.

The two of them built up slowly.

A soft spank to your inner thigh. A pinch to your nipples. A sharp bite to the curve of your shoulder as Sirius holds your legs open and watches Remus' tongue push into your soaked pussy.

Each time, you jerk. Crying out and trembling for more, having never felt anything like this before. As time goes on, you find your internal restraints to be shy and embarrassed by your reactions, which seem to calm as you're whimpering and groaning loudly.

“You like being out, good little toy, don’t you?” Sirius breathes heavily against your throat. “Our beautiful girl. All soft and crying for us.”

“Please, Siri,” you whimper, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“What do you want, love?” Remus asks gently, dragging two thick fingers through your folds. “Say it for us.”

“I want you to fuck me. Both of you. Please!”

You’ve never said anything like that before. You don't even realise you're crying until Remus cups your cheek and brushes away the tears. You expect concern. Instead, he smiles.

“You're doing so well for us,” he praises sweetly.

Sirius fucks you first. 

You’re on your stomach, Remus stroking your hair, whispering how proud he is as Sirius slides in from behind. He’s thick, stretching you wide, your little gasps turning to broken sobs as he bottoms out.

The angles are harsh, each thrust grinding against your cervix, and it hurts, but that hurt fuels the buzz already building in your bloodstream. Each time Sirius slaps your ass, you jolt forward on the bed with a sharp cry, and Remus holds you still, cooing praise in your ear.

“That’s it, pup. Taking him so well.”

The pain blends into pleasure. Or maybe it becomes a pleasure. Your brain's too fuzzy not to tell. You can't think. You can barely breathe as you bite onto the bed sheet. Your entire body is vibrating.

And then Sirius stops harshly, voice filled with worry, not that you noticed. “Look at her thighs.”

There’s blood. Thin streaks that also coated his cock.

Remus goes still, “Sirius. Pull out, now.”

You don't realise what's happened. Not at first. You're still moaning pathetically, hips rutting against the mattress, not noticing that you've stopped speaking entirely. That the tears haven't stopped, and your body feels boneless.

“She's gone,” Remus acknowledges your state, brushing beads of sweat from your face. “She's deep in subspace.”

“Shit. Shit, pup, can you hear me?” Sirius panics, suddenly, and gently touches your face, stroking your jaw.

You blink slowly, eyes unfocused. You no longer even feel the pain.

Remus mutters a quick spell to clean and heal where you've been spanked roughly, careful to keep his hands soft, movements exaggerated and calm. Sirius wraps you in the duvet and lifts you into his lap, rocking soothingly.

“You did so well,” he encourages. “But we went too far, and I'm so sorry.”

Remus returns with water and a chocolate bar. “We’re right here. You're safe now. Just need to bring you back to us, pip.”

They whisper your name over and over again.

They feed you sips of water. Rub circles into your back. Remus kisses every inch of your hands, as if he's grounding you back into your body. Sirius keeps saying how proud he is, how much he loves you, that you're perfect, and that they're so lucky.

Eventually, you blink with more clarity.

“Hurts,” you croak.

“I know,” Remus breathes, pulling you into his chest. “You're okay now.”

You start crying again. But it's a different kind of cry, safe and soft.

Sirisu presses his cheek to yours. “No more pain tonight. Just cuddles and love, yeah?”

You nod slowly, sinking into them. The weight of the blanket, of their bodies wrapped around you, makes you feel like you’re floating.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

You only remember the way Remus hummed into your temple, and how Sirius kissed your hand and whispered, “Next time, we’ll take it even slower.”

[emistations]

i don't think you should use modern amy's character is misogynistic as a part of your arguments since can't you find things one may consider misogynistic about old amy's character too?

Yeah, there are aspects of older Amy that one can find misogynistic but that just adds to my own point. Misogyny has types, many such are subtle ans hidden underneath. That's to the point where if those types don't meet the "agreed upon" defintion, it "doesn't count." So those types get to stay rampant and hurt us. We get silenced because "It's not real misogyny." That's like saying subtle racism isn't racism. See what I'm getting at?

I live in a society full of subtle Misogyny. This is my everyday life, I know what om talking about

Men expect us to be mature and demure and not show emotions because they expect women to be submissive and easy to control. They don't want a woman to say what's on her mind because the man is always in charge. If a woman gets disrespected she has to take it in silence but it she fights back she's stepped outta line. She always gotta be the bigger person and take it delicately because "the man is always right". God forbid you try to openly love someone because you'd be called immature and weird. You have to love who THEY tell you to love. God forbid you're overly feminine because then you're silenced. "You're childish" "youre annoying."

When they treat women beneath their feet like this, isn't that prejudice?

Amy was always the anti of misogyny. She was never afraid to talk a man down if they got too funny with her. She embraced her feminity full force and was never afraid to be energetic or angry. She was a role model to many women to step up. Keep in mind she's a Japanese creation. And while Japan also has its issues towards women, at least they represented Amy, Rouge, Blaze, Cream and so on properly.

Sure revolving around a man or being too emotional is also stereotypical misogyny in some places and I get that, but even then older Amy had a balance. She guided Shadow, Gamma, helped a little bird, reached out to the heart of others.

People tend to cherry pick the older Amy a lot to make her seem "bad", but strip her away of everything that makes her Amy and there's nothing to cherry pick, right? Take away her energy, her love, her right to clap back... and you got yourself a demure lady when Jet insults her. A mom friend. A very calm and mature woman.

Exactly a woman men want because back in the 2000s sexist men couldn't handle the idea of a non-submissive woman. Blaze gets a pass because she's cool and badass and """"mature"""" (she also has a temper but hey only Amy gets judged!), Rouge gets a pass because she has a sexualized body! (Female bodies are not inherently sexual so that's also another form of misogyny — objectification).

So when those men criticized Amy, they changed her to appease THEM. Not her female fans who looked up to her. Them. Little girls who'll lock up to her now will think it's okay to have a man talk down to you as long as you're "mature" ans the bigger person. There's a time and place for maturity but true maturity is being honest with yourself and open with your emotions, not forcefully shoving them aside.

Having women silence themselves and everything they stand for... IS misogyny. I'm not talking outta my ass, I've been through this. I had men in my life offline and online abuse me and silence me because I'm always expected to be submissive and do what they say, so excuse me if I'm sensitive over my role model who taught me to be better being treated like this because of sexist men.

Not all men are bad obviously and when I call out this issue I'm not saying "OHHH THE WRITERS ARE SEXIST AND THE FANS OF NEW AMY ARE SEXIST!!!" I don't know anyone personally to say this. When I plead misogyny, I mean "the change Amy underwent to appease sexist fans back then IS sexist. The change. Not the people currently liking it or writing. The concept. The change."

Sonic is notorious for bending backwards to appease journalist who hates it, so excuse me if they bent backwards to people who called her a psychopath, a stalker, and a bitch (derogatory term for women btw!) just for... being a girl.

So yeah. I think I'm within my right to say it's misogynistic and I'm not the only woman. So many female fans say the same. So please don't tell us what misogynistic is or isn't.

[rosies-core]

Hiiiii, I stumbled across your sbg fanfic where the reader doesn't go to the phantom dimension, and I was like- hooked on your writing immediately! It's been so long since I made a request to any writer so I'm going to try and not sound awkward asf while writing this, but I had an idea, and I highly trust your skills! So, sbg x a reader who is overly observant, but fails to properly react to the observations/articulate them (I don't know how to shorten that 😭) Like, reader has their emotional recognition skills down to a T, but not their reaction skills. If someone in the group looks slightly paler than usual, they'll notice. If someone is lying, then they notice. If a stranger is following the group suspiciously long, it's noted. But reader has absolutely zero clue on how to call it out or respond appropriately. And it can be kind of a pain when the group knows that reader's mind runs a million miles a minute with details that can be really important, but struggles so much to properly articulate. But when reader does manage to articulate the details after a bit? It's a huge help and proves really beneficial if reader can get the words out in an efficient time. I hope that idea makes sense- Again, I'm so awkward when it comes to requests so I hope I didn't yap too much, lol! Take your time getting to the request! If you do choose to do it (it's totally up to you!) then make sure you get lots of rest, drink water, and eat yummy foods! Have a lovely day/night, Rosie!!! (≧◡≦)

OMG WHEN I TELL U I GIGGLED SO BAD WHEN I GOT THIS REQUEST <33 TYSM !!!

anyways heres what i wrote :’)

( also everyone who is reading this: YES IM WORKING ON PART TWO OF SBG X READER WHO DOESNT GO TO THE PHANTOM DIMENSION I PROMISE, LIFE HAS JUST BEEN HECTIC 💔💔 )

• ashlyn banner

• she notices that your like this. automatically. immediately.

• at first she thinks its a quirk of yours and wont matter much, until the phantoms start and things start getting real.

• i think she tries to like. force the information out of you - lovingly.

• in group conversations she’ll always make time for you to speak and give opinions or ideas because shes knows you’ll definitely have things to say.

• but like…you also lowk piss her off

• NOW HOLD ON-

• she wouldnt say it. ever. buuuttttt she would sometimes sigh aggressively when you don’t say the things that need to be said for the groups safety. she wants to know what your thinking, shes actually interested, but she doesn’t know how to tell you that. but

• overall, she really cherishes you and thinks your a great help, even if she doesn’t say it much.

• taylor hernandez.

• AHHHH SHE LOVES YOU<33

• thinks your the smartest and most wonderful person ever.

• always listens very intently when you talk

• i can picture her randomly nudging you like “y/n, notice anything? :)” or just checking in

• sometimes she’ll try to help put things into words that you cant.

• probably compliments you daily, always in the background like “ahhh, y/n is so smart.” *sighs dreamily*

• shes very interested in what you have to say, and also kinda enjoys it when you point out / notice small differences in her, it makes her feel seen (?) and like people care about her.

• but, even after i said all of that, i still don’t think she would notice quickly. like tyler, she was probably super stressed and just didn’t stop to think if anyone had any thoughts they didn’t say. ( if that makes sense ? )

• tyler hernandez.

• at first, i don’t think he would notice this little quirk of yours. he’s been so hyper focused on making sure taylor is alright that he just didn’t seem to think of it or see it.

• but once he does, he thinks your a super big help, even if you can’t say everything perfectly. he would probably be able to decipher what you mean. ( maybe not always completely but it’s the thought that counts. )

• i feel like he would be the type to get kinda jumpscared when you point out little things about him, he isn’t used to people caring like that, so he would stare at you like …….so how did you notice i coughed more than usual. but deep down does kinda like it / appreciate it, i think it will make him trust you a bit more.

• aiden clark.

• HELP HE IS ABSOLUTELY FLABBERGASTED WHEN YOU POINT THINGS OUT ABOUT HIM.

• if you mention his roots are coming in, his soul is exiting the building. he has ascended. astral projected. probably running to the bathroom to scream in the mirror. but it also makes him trust you, because he knows your not purposely being like this, and even if you do do things that kinda make him scared he still loves you.

• he talks alot, so he probably wouldn’t make little patches of time to make sure you can talk or get things out of your system, truthfully he would forget.

• ben clark.

• i think ben is on the more observant side, like you are, so you two would get along great in my opinion.

• he would be near you alot, nudging you slightly like “yo got info?” and is probably pretty protective over you in the phantom dimension.

• he probably thinks “oh this persons mind moves super fast, does that mean they’re anxious?” and because of him thinking its anxiety, he would give you headphones or just chill with you alot when things get high paced or just stressful.

• he can’t necessarily ask you things, ( atleast verbally ) but he would write you notes, maybe you can get your thoughts in order on paper?

• logan fields.

• he would be a mix of ben and taylor, not noticing it very quickly but will use it once he does. he asks you things, maybe during lunch or free time has these like “debriefs” where he asks you questions just to get your opinions on them. its like hes interviewing you 😭

• he really likes you, probably hangs out with you alot and just likes to hear what you have to say.

• i think you two would get along super well honestly. y’all are pookies :3

A/N: hi!! sorry these were so short and that it took forever to come out lmao,, hope these are good and that you like them! also sadly this isnt proofread so excuse any mistakes i could have made 😭

[morganmnemonic]

As far as types of representation go, I'm not sure I've ever heard anyone discuss kinky representation as a sort of thing that an author might decide to include in their story. Sure, some stories are fundamentally about sex and romance, and those might spice it up with a bit of kink, and in some stories the kink is the entire point, but in stories where it's not the point, it barely exists at all, as though it's an aspect of the human experience that only ever comes out in the bedroom, and is an inappropriate inclusion in any other context.

This... simply isn't representative of the truth. People aren't so capable of dividing themselves into pieces and only embodying the pieces most relevant to the current context. I'm a visual artist, even when I'm trying to write a novel. I'm from the american south, even when making posts on tumblr. I'm a masochist, even when going through my day to day life. It's just another fact, to be listed alongside a thousand others.

If I fall in bruise my knee, I might spend some time pressing my fingers into the bruise, just to feel it. I like ice skating because I'm usually clumsy, but on the ice I get to be graceful for once. I've put a lot of work honing my skill over the years, and I enjoy showing that off when I get the chance. I also like how my muscles start to quiver with exhaustion a few hours into practice, and how my legs sometimes hurt every time I try to move them the day after.

One really compelling example of that sort of character is Izzy Hands from ofmd, who is enamored with the idea of Blackbeard the monster. But, crucially, this isn't the only context where his masochism comes out. He also oh-so-casually holds his hands over the burning candles, a thoughtless gesture, an idle habit. And, crucially, this is far from the only thing making his relationship with ed a total clusterfuck. At their core, they are two people who have known eachother for so long that they can't even see eachother anymore, too distracted by mirages of the people they each were 20 years ago. Izzy just also likes to be hit. That's how matter-of-fact it is. And crucially, there's so much more to izzy. He's a pirate, a jackass, an expert swordsman, a victim, a perpetrator, a bad captain, the handler of ed's moods, ed's confidante, ed's attack dog. He's all of those things, always, and his masochism is just another fact among them.

More recently, what's got me thinking about it again is Deltarune's Noelle Holiday, who enjoys being afraid, in controlled circumstances, where she knows she can make it stop. She likes horror movies, and is nostalgic for exploring with her sister and the dreemurr kids, even though back then it made her so scared that she cried. It's a big part of her friendship with kris, who hid under her bed and chased her around when they were little. Kris, who is one of the only people she feels like she can say 'no' to. It seems reasonable to say that Kris wasn't being mean and bullying her. Noelle was always the one who liked being chased, and Kris was always willing to stop if she really wanted them to. And it's also a big part of her crush on susie, the scary bully kid. But again, there is way more going on with noelle, and way more going on with her relationships with the people in her life. She doesn't just like susie as a source of fear, but as someone to be admired. Noelle feels trapped in a gilded cage, and if she was just brave like susie, she could break out of it. Noelle is kinky. It's there. It runs through her characterization and comes up time and time again, but it doesn't become the focal point of her character and overshadow everything else. It's just another fact. (Not to mention that kris seems to be some sort of dog furry thing and this is given about as much narrative weight as the fact that kris enjoys hot chocolate.)

And in both of these cases, I've just felt seen, even if the way that Noelle and Izzy are kinky don't match up 1 to 1 with the way that I am, the way that they are just living their lives speaks to me, the same way that I'm automatically a fan of any character that is canonically asexual, even if their asexuality is different from mine. The power of representation is real, man. It's so nice and I'd like to see more of it like this.

(I wonder how you would portray this from the other side. A character that Is a sadist but is neither torturing small animals in their basement nor beating up their partner who enjoys being beaten up. A part of it is that I don't know those experiences firsthand, but even beyond that it seems difficult. A desire to inflict pain feels like it would require another party, and once another party is involved the interaction is either consensual or unethical.

Maybe Haru Okumura from persona 5, as an example? Sweet softspoken girl who wields a grenade launcher and a massive axe, enjoys gardening, and who during battle says shit like "Why is it that I get a shiver of excitement whenever the Shadows plead for their lives?" and "Cutting down the enemy as they approach… Ah, what a thrill." She was definitely intended as representation of this sort, but i have no idea how well it lands.)

[crimsonprose]

so, about Jackie's necklace and how adult Lottie came to have it... I think there are 3 possibilities. the first seems to be the prevailing theory (but I have issues with it), the second seems the most intriguing to me personally (but I also have issues with it), and the third seems the most likely (even though it might disappoint some people).

Lottie took it off their last sacrifice before rescue and held on to it all those years

okay, but... if she did, then why didn't she pull it out at her compound during that last hunt and put it around Shauna's neck? seems like an inconsistency in writing, and my second possibility runs into this problem too, even though (like I said) I'm extremely intrigued by the concept.

2. they have a hunt right before rescue, and Lottie draws the queen card, but rescue comes before they can kill her, thus saving her life

what I like about this is the fact that most of us agree that Lottie ALWAYS wanted to draw that card and be the sacrifice. so, if she finally gets that chance and it's stolen from her, it makes even more sense why she screams before getting on the plane (and why she goes mute post-rescue). it also makes sense for why she gets it into her head that the necklace can actually serve to protect some people. she tells adult Shauna "it never meant what you thought it meant" when she gives it to Callie. so, there's every chance she thought it could protect Callie in the same way it protected her (and Nat in the first hunt), even though Lottie never want protected. I like how many layers there is to this possibility. however, it runs into the same problem as possibility #1. because, if she had it all this time, why didn't she pull it out when adult Shauna drew the queen card at the compound?

3. it's not actually Jackie's necklace at all, but a replica that Lottie shoplifted

this would make so much sense for so many reasons, even if I don't particularly like it. for one thing, it would explain why she didn't pull it out during the hunt for Shauna at the compound (because she didn't have it yet). it also (for better or worse) kind of fits the comical way the show portrayed the adults in S3. Shauna was paranoid about the brakes, the freezer, and the phone in the bathroom, so it would make sense for the necklace to be just another thing she's paranoid about. she thinks it's actually Jackie's, but... in reality... miss sticky-fingers Matthews just snatched it from some store, stuck it in her handbag, and never corrected Shauna's misconception. like I said, it makes sense, but I still kind of like possibility #2 best.

idk. what do you guys think? I'd love to hear some other thoughts on this

[princesssarisa]

Some rambling about "Pride and Prejudice" and Jane Bennet

I was just visiting the website Always Austen to reread one of @bethanydelleman's excellent articles there, and out of curiosity, I read another article that was just published, "Is There 'Comedy' in Jane Austen's Novels?" by Regina Jeffers. (Short answer: there is.)

When listing the many comical characters in Pride and Prejudice near the beginning of the article, Jeffers includes Jane Bennet. I was surprised, but at the same time glad to see this. While I wouldn't call Jane a "comic character," I do think there's a comic aspect to her role, which the fandom doesn't often seem to notice.

But to explain why Jane is "comic," Jeffers writes that it's because she's "too good to be true." I disagree with that.

To me, the comic aspect of Jane is how determined she is to believe the best of other people, even when they clearly don't deserve it. For example, her reluctance to think badly of either Darcy or Wickham and insisting that they must both be mistaken about each other. Or when she tries to believe that Charlotte must have real affection for Mr. Collins, or that Wickham must really love Lydia. Or her working herself into misery imagining the remorse Lydia must feel for nearly disgracing her family, when Lydia couldn't care less and is just gleeful that she's the first sister to be married.

But personally, I don't see that eagerness to believe the best of others as being a part of Jane's own goodness, per se. Yes, it does show her generous spirit, and it's arguably because she's so instinctively kind and unselfish that she has trouble grasping that others can be willfully unkind or coldly self-serving. But it's not "goodness," in and of itself.

I don't think it's unrealistic either, which the phrase "too good to be true" seems to imply.

Maybe it's because I'm autistic, but I can understand Jane's struggle to comprehend that someone who seems caring, friendly, and decent might not be a true friend. And I can relate to her efforts to think well of others because it hurts to think badly of them. Besides sometimes doing that myself, I know some people who do it more than I do: namely my own mother, who can look at the most hateful, self-serving politicians and still try to believe that they have good intentions and can change.

But back to the claim of "too good to be true." This is actually a remark I've read about Jane more than once. I don't know how much of a consensus it is in the bigger Pride and Prejudice fandom, but I've seen people say that they never cared for Jane as a character because she was "too perfect to be real." Or joke about Jane Austen creating a flawless Mary Sue and naming her after herself.

But personally? I disagree. Jane's willfully naïve rose-colored glasses count as a flaw to me. (Although I do like that she's not portrayed as stupid, but that in one key way, her efforts to defend Darcy to Elizabeth, her idealism is proven right.) Then there's her shyness and reserve, which might be the most proper ladylike behavior, but which make others doubt her love for Bingley, including Bingley himself.

Now I'll grant that maybe Austen did make Jane and Bingley almost perfect on purpose. Since she clearly loved to deconstruct the melodramatic or sentimental literary tropes of her day, maybe in Jane and Bingley, she did mean to say "Here are the characters you'd expect to be the heroine and the hero. They're a classic idealized sentimental couple. She's the most beautiful of all her sisters. He's the most charming eligible bachelor. They're both impeccably kind, friendly, well-behaved, and virtuous, and they fall in love sweetly and tenderly, more-or-less at first sight. Their only flaws are that they're both too modest and too trusting. In a sentimental novel, theirs would be the central love story, and from their friends' and families' perspective, theirs is the central love story. But guess what? They're not the focus of this novel. They're the secondary couple. Their blandly sweet romance holds so little interest to me that I never even show them conversing. Instead, her sister and his best friend are my protagonists: two clever, sharp-witted, prickly, flawed, dynamic, unsentimental characters, who don't like each other at first, whose love only grows gradually after extensive bickering and battles of wits, and who force each other to face their own flaws and become better people. Conventionally, these two would be the secondary, comic relief couple who serve as sidekicks to the hero and heroine. From an in-universe perspective, that's just what they are. But of the two couples, they're by far the more interesting and deeply human, so my focus is on them."

But that doesn't mean Jane is too perfect to be real.

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part XIII (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water)

i loved writing this one bc i had so much fun and... brace yourselfs for next chapter? <3 taglist: @seabasscevans @dravenskye

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII

Part XIII: Cosmic Punishment in a Pirate Costume

Emma stood in front of her bedroom mirror, adjusting the red bandana with a satisfied smile. The soft light of the lamp created a cozy atmosphere, but her body was already buzzing with excitement for the upcoming party.

"I'm wearing the tightest costume from hell – literally. I think someone shrank this in infernal lava," he said, looking at the frilly white shirt that barely covered his demonic torso.

Emma looked at him and laughed, trying not to burst out loud.

"This is ridiculous. I'm being suffocated by pants that look like they were made for a human the size of an anemic pigeon."

Vessel stood, struggling with the bottom half of the pirate costume Emma had sworn would be "perfect on him." The vaguely shiny black pants wouldn’t go past his thighs, and the white linen shirt was so tight on his shoulders it looked like he was about to explode in a fit of fashion indignation.

"This wouldn't even fit a skeleton!" he growled, tugging at the waistband with absurd force. "I look like a rejected character from Pirates of the Caribbean."

"But you look adorable."

"I'm humiliated. This is... anti-physiognomic. Anti-demonic. It’s an offense to my centuries of dark fashion."

"And what are you going to do, then? Go naked?"

"No. I'm going as... myself."

"Isn't that kind of... anticlimactic?"

But as she spoke, he had already snapped his fingers. The grotesque costume vanished in a puff of black smoke, replaced by the look Emma was used to: bare chest covered in black paint, loose pants with shoes – or boots, whatever they were, of very questionable taste – a long cape with shoulder embellishments encrusted with stones, and a six-eyed mask with only the mouth visible. It suited him, she had to admit.

"But what about the whole matching costume idea?"

Vessel gave a slight shrug.

"You steal hearts, and I collect souls. A perfect couple, if you think about it."

She had to laugh. Loudly.

"Was that flirting?"

"That was a metaphor crafted with literary competence."

They exchanged a strange look. The kind loaded with “this is going too far” – Emma’s side – and “don’t look at me like that or I’ll kiss you again” – definitely Vessel’s.

Emma looked away first, grabbing her purse.

"Isla and Harper are probably already there. Ready to shine among sweaty college students, spiked drinks, and terrible music?"

"I witnessed the Fall of Babylon, Emma. I’ll survive."

"And the pirate pants?"

"Don’t mention them."

She left the apartment first, but she could hear his footsteps right behind her, with that silent magnetism that always seemed to pull her thoughts to the center of her chest.

______________________________

The music pulsed through the fraternity walls like an offbeat heart, blending electronic beats with excited screams and the constant clink of plastic cups. Colored lights reflected off the porch tiles and danced over the poorly made costumes of zombies, cats, fallen angels, and drunk leprechauns.

Emma took a deep breath before climbing the porch steps. To her left, Vessel walked with the supernatural calm of someone who felt absolutely no social anxiety – and who was, quite literally, above all of this.

The difference now? He was visible. To everyone.

"I can’t believe you actually did it," Emma muttered, adjusting the pirate hat on her head.

Harper and Isla appeared shortly after, both dressed in outfits that defied the dress code of any respectable event.

"Emma!" Harper shouted, excited. "Oh my god, that costume! You look amazing! And who is...?"

Emma froze for two seconds. Vessel was at her side, standing like a living shadow with crossed arms and an impassive expression. He looked completely out of place there – as if someone had summoned a specter from another dimension into a college rave.

"This is... um..." she stammered, feeling her face heat up. "This is Vessel."

"Vessel?" Isla blinked. "Is that, like... a stage name? Are you a singer?"

"Not exactly," he replied, his voice rough and full of irony.

"We know each other from... college," she added, improvising. "From a project. A research one. He’s kind of... an academic consultant."

Vessel coughed to hide a laugh.

"This is new. I’m loving my expanded résumé."

"Emma, you brought an academic consultant to a Halloween party?" Harper asked, laughing. "Oh, you definitely wanna sleep with him!"

"Harper!" Emma nearly shouted.

"I’m not offended," Vessel said, lowering his face toward her. "Actually, it’s a compliment."

"What?" Harper replied, mid-sip. "I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking."

"No one’s thinking that!" Emma countered, though even she didn’t believe her tone. Isla bit her lip, stifling a laugh.

"Oh, sure, no one’s thinking that," Isla said, eyeing Vessel up and down. "He’s just absurdly tall, mysterious, masked, and standing next to Emma like a bodyguard from the underworld. Zero sexual tension."

"I’m not a bodyguard," Vessel murmured, crossing his arms. "But 'from the underworld' isn’t exactly wrong."

Emma rolled her eyes, gripping her cup so tightly the rim bent.

"You two are not helping," she muttered through clenched teeth. "Come on, let’s grab something to drink."

She grabbed Vessel’s arm and dragged him away, trying to ignore Isla and Harper’s muffled giggles behind them.

They stopped in front of the drink table, which was decorated with blinking orange lights, vampire fangs, and three kinds of punch (none of them labeled, of course).

"Want the dubiously colored one or the one that’s smoking?" Emma asked, grabbing two cups.

"The one that looks like it was fermented in hell," Vessel replied, pointing to the bubbling one. "Reminds me of home."

She poured them both drinks and handed him a cup, wrinkling her nose.

Before either of them could do anything else, a group of three people – two dressed as zombies and one in a Metallica shirt – approached.

"Dude!" said the first zombie, excited. "Your costume is amazing! Best Vessel cosplay I’ve ever seen!"

The second zombie was already pulling out his phone, opening the camera.

"Can I get a pic with you? Seriously, you nailed it!"

Vessel blinked, confused.

"Excuse me? Cosplay of what?"

"Sleep Token, man! The band! You’re the singer, right? Vessel?" said the Metallica guy, pointing at him like it was obvious.

"I am a Vessel," he replied slowly, "but not the Vessel of... whatever this is."

"Wait... you don’t know the band?" the second zombie asked, shocked.

"Why would I?" Vessel shot back, clearly offended. "I’m not part of any human band."

"This is brilliant," the first zombie said. "He’s staying in character the whole time. Full immersion!"

"You should do a cover show," said the other, patting Vessel’s shoulder – who stiffened like he’d just been insulted in seven languages.

"Emma," he turned to her, exasperated, "what is Sleep Token, and why does everyone think I belong to this musical cult?"

"I have no idea who this band is."

"It’s a band. The singer’s also called Vessel. Wears a mask, hood, black clothes... has this whole mysterious, devoted vibe. Like a romantic gothic cult," one of the three explained.

Vessel looked even more outraged.

"I am the original Vessel. From a realm beyond mortal comprehension! Not a melancholic synth-based allegory!"

Emma’s stomach hurt from holding back laughter.

"This is incredible. You’re literally being mistaken for a human artist because of your naturally demonic aesthetic."

"I’m offended," he said, crossing his arms. "I need an ethereal cleanse after this."

Another group passed by and waved excitedly.

"Dude, your costume’s insane! Love Sleep Token!"

Vessel closed his eyes for a second like he was reciting a silent mantra to avoid incinerating everyone around.

"If one more soul mentions that band, I swear I’ll summon seven locusts from the abyss right here."

"Relax," Emma patted his arm. "At least now you know what to wear next Halloween too."

"I’m never participating in human festivities again."

"Sure, sure. Until someone compliments your 'intense stare and stage presence.'"

Vessel stared at the empty cup in his hand.

"This is torture. Cosmic punishment."

The music shifted from a Billie Eilish remix to early 2000s pop, and colored lights began blinking in chaotic patterns over the walls decorated with fake webs and fluorescent skeletons.

"Okay," Emma said, still trying not to laugh. "Let’s get some air. You look like you’re about to rip someone’s soul out."

"I am about to rip someone’s soul out," he muttered, crossing his arms, towering and brooding like a living shadow among pumpkin balloons and cardboard ghosts.

That’s when Isla and Harper returned, holding colorful cups and glitter in their hair.

"You really think you can hide, Emma?" Harper said with a mischievous smile. "Everyone’s talking about you two."

"I’m not hiding," Emma replied a bit too fast.

"Of course not," Isla said, grabbing a canapé from a nearby table. "You’re just in a corner with a masked two-meter-tall man who literally looks like he came out of a cult. Nothing suspicious."

"He’s not in a cult," Emma shot back, giving Vessel a side-eye. "He just... isn’t from around here."

Vessel, saying nothing, continued holding his steaming red cup.

"Like an exchange student?" Harper asked, sipping her punch. "Because, girl, he’s got major 'I devoured a literature professor’s soul' vibes that are hard to ignore."

"Exactly! Like an exchange. Cultural. Very specific," Emma answered, gripping her cup with both hands, her face burning.

"I’m trying very hard to appear socially harmless. It requires focus," he whispered to her.

"Yeah. You’re almost pulling it off," she replied, taking another sip. "Just smile and stop talking like you’re about to announce the apocalypse."

Vessel looked around, visibly uncomfortable among Halloween decorations and young adults dancing to pop-punk.

"This is the most bizarre thing I’ve seen in the mortal realm. People dressed as the dead pretending to be alive."

Emma laughed.

"Welcome to Halloween. Controlled chaos. My favorite holiday."

He slowly turned to face her.

"That explains so much."

She smiled.

"You know," she said, stepping closer, cup in hand, "you could try having just a little fun."

"I’m trying to understand the human definition of fun. So far, it involves suspicious-tasting colorful liquids and incoherent screams."

"We dance too," Emma grinned, pointing to the center of the room where a group was spinning in a circle around a guy dressed as a banana.

"Ah yes. Collective summoning rituals. Fascinating."

"You sound like a grumpy old man."

"I am a grumpy old man," he said with a teasing tone. "I’ve lived for centuries. Glitter and drinks won’t erase that."

Emma laughed and tugged his hand.

"Come on. I’ll show you how mortals have fun."

He hesitated. A full second. Then, as if yielding took physical effort, he stepped toward the dance floor. And another step.

The music shifted to something slower. A melancholic pop with an electronic beat, where couples began to pair off under the softer lights spinning like artificial constellations.

Vessel stopped.

"This seems... too intimate."

Emma looked at him. The mask. The dark clothes. The way his body still seemed hesitant, but his hand remained in hers.

"Are you scared?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.

"No," he said too quickly.

She tugged him a little more.

"It’s just a dance, Vessel."

They positioned themselves in a corner of the floor. Emma placed a hand on his shoulder. He hesitated before resting his hand on her waist. For a moment, they stood there, just still, as if time had stretched that second into something heavier.

"You’re shaking," he murmured.

"You’re just too hot," she replied.

"Not my fault. Your mortals throw smoke on the floor and make me dance pressed up against you." His voice, muffled by the mask, was lower. Almost intimate.

They moved together. The song didn’t require skill, just presence. Emma noticed how Vessel tried to keep up without showing it, but his fingers gently pressed her waist, as if resisting some urge.

She looked up, facing the mask.

"Did you know how to dance?"

"In another century. Different style. Nothing like this..." he looked around, "...sensual."

Emma smiled.

"And do you find this sensual?"

He didn’t answer. But his other hand slid from her back up between her shoulder blades, where it stayed. Firm. Present.

"You move differently when you forget I’m watching," he said softly.

"And you speak differently when you forget I’m just human," she replied in the same tone.

Silence. Gazes. Music spinning around them.

The party didn’t vanish, but for a few seconds, it faded into the background. Because Emma, with her heart racing, felt she had crossed an invisible line.

And because Vessel didn’t pull away.

He leaned in, very slowly, as if waiting for her to stop him. But Emma said nothing. She just took a deep breath.

"Is this still... for academic curiosity?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"It’s possible I’m expanding my research field," she whispered, her mouth inches from his.

When Vessel’s lips touched hers, Emma felt her whole body react – an unexpected, confusing heat that was impossible to ignore. The kiss started slow, like they were testing each other, trying to understand what it meant. But it quickly became more urgent, more real – there was no pretending they felt nothing.

His hand slowly found her face, holding her carefully but firmly, like he needed an anchor in the moment they were sharing.

Emma responded, giving in to the kiss, letting go of fear, doubt – everything she’d been holding in. But then, a voice shattered the moment.

"Emma?" Oliver’s voice came from behind them, hesitant, surprised.

They pulled apart quickly, the air suddenly heavy. Emma opened her eyes, facing Oliver with a confused, slightly frightened look.

"Oliver..." she began, but couldn’t find words that felt right.

Vessel turned to face him, the mask hiding his expression, but the tension in his body betrayed discomfort.

"What’s going on here?" Oliver asked, looking between them, clearly unsettled. "I thought we were seeing each other."

Oliver still stood there, looking from one to the other, clearly not understanding what was happening.

Vessel, with a slightly sarcastic tone, stepped forward, arms crossed.

"Still seeing each other?" he repeated, smirking. "Looks like you lost exclusivity, Linguine."

Emma blinked, surprised at his tone – and at Vessel’s clear attempt to stake his claim, apparently jealous.

Oliver’s eyes widened, clearly thrown off.

"What is this? Who are you?" he asked, looking at Vessel like he was trying to figure out if he was real or just a really convincing costume.

Emma swallowed hard, cheeks flushed.

"He’s... a friend," she said awkwardly, trying to explain without sounding too weird. "It’s... complicated."

Oliver scratched the back of his neck, awkward.

"Right... complicated, huh? Well, I’ll get out of your way then."

Emma took a deep breath, still feeling uneasy, and Vessel, trying to regain his composure, placed a firm, protective hand on her shoulder.

"Let’s enjoy the party, Emma."

A few hours had passed since Oliver’s interruption, and the party was still going strong – full of loud music, laughter, and lively conversations. Emma was there, in the middle of it all, but she felt a different kind of connection with Vessel, who had stayed by her side the entire time.

Isla and Harper remained nearby, sometimes laughing and joking, other times casting curious glances at the pair. Despite her friends’ company, Emma and Vessel seemed increasingly in sync, as if they were in a bubble of their own within the noisy environment.

"You two are really glued together, huh?" Harper remarked playfully, tugging on Emma’s arm.

"We...," Emma started to reply, but Vessel took her hand, cutting her off with an intense look.

Isla laughed and shook her head, noticing the shift in the air, realizing they were entering a moment. She and Harper discreetly stepped away, leaving the pair alone.

Amidst the crowd, they drifted toward a quieter corner where the music seemed more distant and the noise of the outside world faded away. Vessel leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes shining beneath the mask.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"I’ve never felt better," Emma answered with a smile.

Vessel leaned in slowly, and their lips met in another heated kiss, full of longing and restrained urgency. Emma felt the warmth of his body, the subtle scent of his skin mingled with the perfume of the party, everything wrapped in a new and intense sensation.

"I thought this didn’t mean anything… that we weren’t going to kiss again," Emma said.

"Well, you make it really hard to resist you, Emma," he said, and kissed her again.

When they parted, Vessel kept his face close to hers, wearing a sly, half-smile.

"Want to get out of here?" he asked softly. "I think we deserve a place where no one’s going to interrupt us."

Emma hesitated for a moment, her heart racing, her mind full of doubts, but curiosity and desire spoke louder.

"Just to see if what I write in my book actually makes sense in practice…" she replied, her voice trembling, trying to hide her nerves.

He gripped her hand firmly, ready to go whenever she was, his eyes shining with a silent promise that the night could change everything between them.

[sarotati]

Hi Sonna welcome to the fandom. It always nice to see more people get into rotbb especially when it’s mean more Cheong Myeong and reader fic 😂

I have this idea where the disciple gang ask the reader what does she love about Cheong Myeong? And she answers hard by going on a long rambling passionate rant over what she loves about Cheong Myeong😂 and she sincerely mean all of it and their reaction is pretty funny 🤣 like they are so shocked and caught off guard by her and her answers. Like she said she loves his personality and his training methods etc and she looks so proud when she done after they ask to stop. Oh and Cheong Myeong hear everything and is all flustered by it.

I kind got this idea from a chapter of For my derelict favorite. If you want to see the chapter. The series on webtoon and it chapter 34

Incase you’re wondering who are disciples gang are? I mean Yoo Iseol, Baek Cheon, Yun Jong , Jo Gul and maybe Tang Soso if you want to include her in as well.

Also ps are you a webtoon reader? or a novel reader?

There's No Actual Reason [Chung Myung x Reader]

Summary: "...So, what do you love so much about him?"

WC: 3.2K

A/N: this time I tried the second person's perspective, it's fun to do but it kinda needs more focus on it andddd I hope you don't mind. I really enjoyed writing this chapter and so I hope you like it the same way I did! Also I'm both a webtoon and novel reader, I'm on ch.1385 if you're wondering!

This chapter contains: fluff, unresolved tension(I guess that's what it's called?) lemme know if I missed anything!

✦

“Eh…?”

You opened your eyes and lifted your head from where it had been resting on your hand, looking toward the person you thought had spoken to you—Jo Gul.

Yes, who was better at jumping between random topics than Jo Gul?

You glanced around. The other disciples were all looking at you with a mix of curiosity and expectation, which confirmed that the question had indeed been directed at you.

You scratched your head and raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“What’s this all of a sudden…?”

Jo Gul simply shrugged.

“Just curious.”

You exhaled softly through your nose as you leaned back against the rock behind you. This was supposed to be a drinking session to unwind, after all. They’d managed to sneak a few bottles of alcohol and climb up the mountain in secret—though Hyun Young probably wouldn’t have minded anyway since he knows Chung Myung will come too.

You scratched your head again and looked up at the sky as if trying to organize your thoughts.

“What I like about that man? What kind of question is that?”

Luckily, Chung Myung hadn’t shown up yet—which was strange since he usually came running whenever alcohol was involved. But it seemed the Sect Leader hadn’t let him leave yet.

“Honestly, I think I would’ve asked that if Gul-ah hadn’t.”

“Is it really that strange?”

“It’d be stranger if it were't strange.”

You looked in surprise at Baek Cheon, who spoke his thoughts, and at the other disciples who nodded in agreement. But honestly, you should have expected that. Looking at it from another angle—who would really love that violent bastard in that way you do?

You brought the cup to your lips and threw your head back, downing the strong liquor all at once. The burning sensation in your throat had become a familiar thing over the past few years.

You let out a dramatic sigh and slammed the cup down onto the ground.

“Argh! Obviously, that’s not a question I can answer! If there’s some specific reason why you love someone, how can you call that real love!?”

You clenched your fists with intense passion, and the disciples leaned back in their spots with slightly twisted expressions. It seemed like they found what you said completely unrealistic—which, honestly, wasn’t wrong.

Seeing their faces, you fought to hold back your laughter. They sighed in resignation at your amused expression, but you weren’t about to let it go that easily.

“Still… well, he’s got beautiful eyes, you know. Undeniable.”

Yoon Jong spat out his drink and choked. Jo Gul smacked his back, but he just looked even more shocked by what you’d said. And that wasn’t even the end of it.

“Ah~ have you seen that lovely pink shade like plum blossoms? Pink wasn’t really special to me before, but for some reason, it’s incredibly charming when in his eyes!”

You laughed as if you were daydreaming about his eyes at that very moment. For some reason, Baek Cheon felt a churn in his stomach. He looked at the other disciples, and they wore similar expressions, confirming it wasn’t just him.

He looked at you, as if he was about to say something, but you didn’t notice and kept going.

“And the way he trains—”

Yoo Iseol covered her mouth in rare shock, and Tang Soso looked like she was about to pull her hair out by now.

“Sajo, no—!”

“It’s so hard, and every time I think I’m going to die, but I don’t, which is kind of unfortunate because I'll have to do it again... But think about it! He could just focus on himself, but he wants you to get stronger! Because he doesn’t want you to die! Because he wants you to live long and for him to spend nore time with you! Isn’t that so incredibly sweet? Oh, my poor little heart!”

“Samae, I don’t think it’s quite like that—”

Yoon Jong shut his mouth immediately and without hesitation when you shot him a glare. Yoon Jong shouldn’t have been scared of something like that since he was used to facing the devil named Chung Myung, but the sharp shift in your tone and presence from deep admiration to threatening intent was overwhelming.

“Say that again, Sahyung, I dare you.”

“Sorry—”

“So as I was saying…”

You went back to praising him as if nothing had happened, at an impressive speed. Whether or not you were even breathing between words was up for debate. It seemed like you’d just been waiting for someone to ask you that question.

“His personality is so complicated. Just when I think I really know him, I realize what I knew was just a drop in the ocean! I always have to stay on my toes because I don’t know what he’ll pull next—”

“Isn’t that the opposite of stability?”

“Yes! It’s like heaven for a woman like me since I get bored most of the time. And he’s so honest, he always says what you really need to hear! Isn’t that right, Sasuk?”

You looked at the man with a meaningful smile. Baek Cheon coughed awkwardly and looked away. That wasn’t a memory he was eager to revisit.

“He’s loud, but I love people with strong passion, even if he acts angry most of the time. So what? It’s not like there’s anyone perfect in the world. Honestly, I hate people who pretend to be perfect! It’s lying and hypocrisy! And they’re boring!”

The disciples exchanged nervous glances, while Hye Yeon, who had been listening silently, turned his gaze up to the dark sky as if he was having a moment of enlightenment. Or frankly... it was more like an existential crisis.

“Everyone knows he loves money, but has he ever been stingy about spending for the sect’s sake? It’s much harder to give something up when it’s something you truly want. A man who always puts others before himself and shields them when there’s danger. It’s hard to get close to him, but every moment of that process and everything after is worth it. He doesn’t care about women, but he never looks down on them either.”

You looked at Yu Iseol and Tang Soso for a moment. There was a flicker of realization in Tang Soso’s jade-green eyes. Yu Iseol gave a small nod of agreement, her expression as calm as ever.

You smiled.

“And he’s so beautiful!”

Your excitement returned with full force after having softened for a brief moment, and the disciples’ eyes twitched as if they were about to enter a meditative trance if not for your interruption.

“His black hair, those random little knots in it—every time I notice them, I get the urge to run my fingers through and untangle them myself while admiring the pearly shine on each strand!”

“Samae, stop—”

“Don’t interrupt me, Sahyung! You can’t ask someone a question and then not let them answer it when it doesn't suit you!”

You clenched your fist threateningly, making Jo Gul shrink his neck in fear. He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

“Speaking of the question! What kind of clever question was that, huh?! Sahyung should already know how amazing Chung Myung is! How could anyone not want to love and protect someone that precious?!”

How many people could actually listen to someone gush about Chung Myung without getting indigestion? Even after hearing all those good things about him, loving that man still seemed like an impossible task. Somehow, you were probably the only woman on earth who could manage it.

The disciples listened tensely, sweat beading on their faces as you rambled on about everything you loved about Chung Myung.

Yu Iseol averted her gaze for once, and Tang Soso looked around like she wasn’t sure what to say. Jo Gul fiddled awkwardly with the hem of his uniform, Yoon Jong looked up at the stars, and Hye Yeon quietly chanted a Buddhist prayer.

Baek Cheon massaged his temples like he was trying to get rid of a headache because... what had he just seen?

It was dark, but as a martial artist, there was no way he wouldn’t notice. Between the densely grown trees behind the rock you were leaning against...

Thanks to a light breeze just a moment ago, Baek Cheon saw something flutter quietly behind a nearby tree trunk.

There was no way Baek Cheon wouldn’t recognize that green hair tie and ponytail. It looked like the other disciples had seen it too. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

Only you hadn’t noticed it, since you were sitting with your back to the forest and were too busy talking.

“So…”

You paused for a moment when Tang Soso caught your attention. She’d succeeded in stopping you at that point.

“Sajo, why don’t you tell Chung Myung Sahyung that?”

The disciples all nodded in unison, even though they knew it was pointless since the man already knew by now. But at least they could hear the reason from you directly and maybe get you to quiet down for a bit.

“…”

You looked at them in silence, pressing your lips together for the first time in several minutes, your gaze dropping down as you poured yourself another cup of alcohol.

Well, no one had hoped to silence you like that. Tang Soso waved her hands quickly, her tone apologetic.

“Sajo, you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to! Okay—?”

“…He doesn’t want that.”

Tang Soso fell silent when you answered calmly. It wasn’t a quiet filled with heartbreak or sadness or anything like that. It was simply serious.

“I don’t think he wants to hear any of this. And I cherish what we already have. I don’t have the strength to ruin everything over some trivial feelings.”

“…”

“He doesn’t need me in that way. He needs a friend to support him. Forcing something onto someone under the excuse of love is a despicable thing to do. How could I do this to him knowing that?”

You let out a sigh at the end, and a small smile found its way to your lips. Strangely, you didn’t seem bothered by it at all, your friendship with him was enough to you even when you in fact wanted more.

Unlike you, the other disciples had slightly wrinkled faces, as if they’d taken it upon themselves to feel frustrated on your behalf.

That was kind of funny, so you decided to tease them.

“What do you think, Sasuk~? Isn’t this sajil just so mature? Why not praise me instead of acting like a drama queen?”

“I’m not acting like a drama queen!”

Baek Cheon exhaled in frustration, his eyes watching your amused expression before glancing off toward the trees behind you.

He caught sight of a shadow slipping away. If he hadn’t known he was there, he wouldn’t have noticed his ghostly movement.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. But honestly, he was far too curious about what would happen tomorrow. He even thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep from all the overthinking.

—

Baek Cheon almost rubbed his eyes.

That was just how unbelievably absurd the scene in front of him was. But he held himself back; his dignity as the dae Sahyung of Baek line wouldn’t allow him to rub his eyes like that.

Except… there wasn’t much dignity left to protect when his jaw practically hit the floor. Luckily, no one commented on it—the younger disciples didn’t dare, the Five Swords and Hye Yeon, who were usually the type to make fun of him, weren’t in any better shape.

You weren’t doing anything unusual.

When everyone woke up in the morning, they started training as usual, and you were no exception. None of the six missed the fact that Chung Myung hadn’t glanced your way even once, but it wasn’t especially noteworthy.

But now, when the disciples had gathered in the dining hall for lunch. When you went to sit in your usual spot at the table with Tang Soso, Yoon Jong, Jo Gul, Hye Yeon and of course… Chung Myung.

While it wasn’t the first time, today felt a little different. The only empty seat was the one next to Chung Myung. Had Tang Soso and the other three conspired for that? What evil people.

No… that wasn’t the real problem.

Chung Myung still hadn’t looked at you, and yet, Baek Cheon almost spat out his food when he saw that faint red tint creeping up the back of Chung Myung’s neck like ink spreading across a surface.

And had he been chewing that bite for a whole minute now? Why wasn’t he eating with the usual ferocity like just a moment ago?

‘What am I even seeing right now?’

Baek Cheon really didn’t want to believe this…

„…His eyes are so beautiful…!“

Chung Myung accidentally swallowed his bite wrong when he’d just been trying to swallow his saliva absentmindedly.

He used to look at you without thinking, completely natural—and hadn’t noticed anything. But was that what you’d been thinking every time?

Of course. Damn these unnecessary emotions. It wasn’t like he had time for things like that… And yet, why couldn’t he calm down even knowing you weren’t planning to bring it up and talk about it, that you just wanted to keep things the way they were between you two?

Wasn’t that exactly what he’d wanted to hear at that moment? It was supposed to reassure him, knowing he could go about his days as usual without worrying about messy complications.

Anyway… what was wrong with you? Was there something off in your head to fall for someone like him? Every woman in the world ran from him as soon as they realized what kind of dirty personality he had, so how could you do something like this?

“Chung Myung-ah?”

God… Somehow, he managed not to flinch or jump up and run away. He didn’t want to turn toward you. He didn’t want to look at you.

“You’ve been acting weird for a while. Why aren’t you eating?”

Your tone was so casually curious. Damn it. Why did you have to make him suffer like this while you were all calm?

The four sitting with them went silent as soon as they heard that, and he could feel their eyes drilling into his head. These bastards…

“I-I’m fine.”

He forced himself to answer. And somehow, it would’ve been better if he hadn’t. His voice was drowned out by the chatter of the other disciples in the hall, and it became obvious just how uncharacteristically low his tone was.

Your eyes twitched when you noticed it.

“Heh, let me see your face.”

Chung Myung flinched when he felt your hand grab his forearm. What a solid grip you’d trained up! …He'd be proud of his hard work in any other occasion but could you please take it off him now?

“…Stop it, what are you doing?!”

“Let me see your pretty face, you bastard! Why are you depriving me of that view?!”

Normally, yeah… it sounded like you were just joking around to mess with him… But this time, it felt different. Those words weren’t just meaningless teasing to him anymore like before.

Of course, if Chung Myung weren’t in the worst mental state right now, you wouldn’t have been able to get away with it.

Miraculously—and this was unprecedented—you managed to push Chung Myung to the ground. He couldn’t miss the fact that you’d placed your hand on the back of his head to keep it from hitting the floor. That moment only lasted a second before you pinned his arms beside his head.

Chung Myung was completely caught off guard.

It was hard to breathe. He was afraid to move even a little and accidentally get his sides to come on contact with your legs that were settled firmly on either side of his waist. You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, scrutinizing his face carefully.

“Chung Myung…”

Chung Myung felt his heart pounding like drums when you looked at him with that mischievous smile.

“If this were like usual, my head would’ve hit the ceiling by now. You didn’t even come to drink with us last night, you bastard who can’t act.”

You laughed. Chung Myung thought he was hallucinating when you leaned in closer. Your face was only inches away, and the distance kept shrinking until he felt dizzy.

You pressed your forehead against his. It was just a few brief moments, but in his mind, it stretched on endlessly.

Your eyes were fixed on his, and for some reason, he felt like they were consuming him. It felt like he was trapped in a narrow space where there wasn’t enough air.

His jaw trembled when he felt your faint breath hitting his lips, and the tip of your nose brushed his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Just as I thought.”

Chung Myung felt like he's going to panic, what the fuck did you find out—

You lifted your head and grabbed it dramatically as you shouted.

“Oh my God! Chung Myung is sick!! Soso-ya!”

The hall, which had been completely silent for the past 35.21 seconds, exploded into noise the moment your words echoed.

“Chung Myung is sick?!!!”

“What?! Do imoogis even get sick?!??”

“I lived to see this day! Mom!!”

Tang Soso rushed over with a confused expression, but her face went blank when she saw Chung Myung.

‘Did his skin really change color? Why is he so red?’

Chung Myung stared up at the ceiling like a dead fish. His life was flashing before his eyes.

“Ah… What is this? What a beautiful river…”

“Ahhh!!! Chung Myung-ah!! Don’t die, we still need you!!!”

You grabbed Chung Myung by the collar and shook him, but your actions only made the chaos worse.

~

You watched the door to the medical hall in silence. Chung Myung had been taken there, and Tang Soso had chased the disciples away, saying patients needed space to recover first and foremost.

Your foot tapped against the floor repeatedly, arms crossed over your chest, your mind somewhere else entirely…

“Samae…”

“Shh.”

You silenced Yoon Jong the moment he called for you. Your mind was too busy thinking about things that were… very important.

Yes, important things… The image of Chung Myung pinned under you, his confused and red face for reasons you didn’t quite understand, a thin layer of sweat sliding down his trembling skin… It was engraved on the walls of your mind, and you’d make sure to remember it forever.

Chung Myung, the strongest man in the world, for some reason had looked weak beneath you. Yes, that was an extremely important that might not ever happen again.

“No, Samae…”

“Ugh, what?”

You turned toward him with irritation, one eyebrow raised, but found Yoon Jong handing you a handkerchief with a grimacing face.

“Your nose is bleeding.”

“Uh… Oh.”

After a moment of staring, you took the handkerchief with a slightly awkward nod. You wiped your nose and chin and glanced back toward the medical hall.

‘But how did he fall in the first place?’

You thought silently, you knew very well that Chung Myung was able to beat hundred men even when having a light fever, but he fell when you pushed him? Your eyes narrowing slightly in annoyance like there was something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

But a faint smile formed quietly under the handkerchief covering your mouth. There was something interesting here—and you were determined to find out exactly what it was.

✦

A lil addition~

• after that incident, they called you "the only disciple that can push CM down". CM snapped when he found out.

• BC always thought that CM had something weird for you but he wasn't sure what it was. CM himself didn't even notice it.

• you teased CM for a week after that, sometimes to the point where he ended up beating you but it was worth it.

• CM became so frustrated once and ended up kissing you to shut you tf up. Of course he was drunk. (Cringe ik)

• after that CM went into seclusion.