#sorry if it's poorly finished it's because I lack time

[srtruth]

Happy Father's Day

Father's Day cliche drawing for Mayuri. If @toxictaicho hadn't told me to draw something for daddy Mayuri, I wouldn't have thought of it. Thanks for making me think ksksksksks

Ah, the first drawing was made by Nemuri Nanago.

[bloodiedrogue]

PAINFUL VULNERABILITIES (5)

SUMMARY: When your past begins to blend into your present, you find yourself longing for Astarion's comfort.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,648

WARNINGS: ANGST, hurt/comfort, body horror elements, descriptions of torture involving a knife, panic attack, sort of made up Illithid lore??? (I promise there's comfort in the end, I'm sorry!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Day 5 literally doesn't have a prompt because this idea got terribly out of hand so let's just ignore that and enjoy the angst, shall we?

(Also again, a lot of people's tags weren't working so next time if you haven't fixed it I will be taking you off the list because taglists are a bitch!)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The nightmares start a few days later.

At first, they’re subtle. Wisps of darkness cloud your thoughts, leaving no memory behind. Silently it lingers, creeping through your skull in waves that inevitably crash against the shore, ripping you awake —leaving you breathless each time you’re left gasping for air in your dishevelled bedroll. When it happens, it always makes you jolt up to look around, trying to find the cause of your plague. The reason why you’re suddenly so wary to lay your head each night.

When you reach the Underdark they only get worse. 

What were once forgotten memories become recurring torments. Endless onslaughts of clawed hands that scratch at your flesh, pulling back skin in massive chunks that pluck excitedly at your insides. 

Thanks to the powers of the Illithid you feel every movement. Every poke and prod slips through you like a knife, cutting you down piece by piece until you’re nothing but a shell. An empty carcass of bone that’ll inevitably be harvested for a purpose far greater than yourself.

Or so she says. As you lie there, writhing in pain, blinking to shield the teeth that bear witness to your torture, you hear her whisper cool and quiet, telling you of your death. Of your fated downfall, and then of your— 

You always wake up before she finishes.

Before you can hear her utter the words you’ve heard a thousand times. Feeling the burn of your lungs, you stretch your fingers across your chest in remembrance, breathing in and out as the skin beneath your digits runs hot and you’re forced to forget the experience all over again.

When you reach camp that night, sore from the seemingly never-ending mushroom forage, you find yourself dreading the prospect of such sleep. Even through the exhaustion, the last thing you want to do is rest your head lest she arrives tonight, so you fight the urge, settling in against the edge of the fire. 

“You look tired.” 

You turn to look at Gale with half-closed eyes, offering him the softest grin you can muster before turning toward the flames. They seem brighter than usual. A decorative flash of warm-toned hues that make you blink and rub your eyes, somehow feeling even more languid. 

“Mushroom hunting take it out of you?”

You hum, making no move to look his way as you pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself for comfort. 

As much as you’ve grown to like Gale’s company, all you want right now is silence. A moment of peace where you can just stare into the fire and let your eyes burn from something other than the lack of sleep. Especially after spending the day alongside Lae’zel and Shadowheart as some poorly trained mediator. Just the thought of opening your mouth to speak feels like a threat to your vocal cords. The prospect of speech too much to handle, even as Gale begins to fill you in on his and Wyll’s misadventures with a nearby myconid colony.

“They’re truly such interesting creatures. Did you know…”

His voice falls on deaf ears, earning you nothing but a confused sigh once he realizes you’re not listening. Mostly because it’s not normal for you to just blatantly ignore your peers. 

“Are you alright? Need anything? Perhaps a drink or a—“

You’re standing upright before he can even finish his sentence, brushing the ass of your leathers before walking away, paying no mind to the curious wizard as he looks around the camp, catching the eye of Wyll who merely shrugs. 

It’s not like you to leave. To ignore a friend mid-conversation but your voice is gone. Lost to the void of constant intercession and a brewing anxiety that sits in your chest. As you walk towards your tent you can feel it shifting. Starting at your gut, everything twists to form a sickly sting. A stabbing pain that throbs within your abdomen, threatening to grow as you part the fabric and crawl inside, plopping into bed face first.

Despite your better judgement, you let out a low groan you’re sure at least someone hears causing you to frown, knowing that you’re better than this. Better than neglecting your health because of some silly nightmares. Better than letting the fear of your past get the better of you. Better than brooding about it. 

Turning to lie on your back, you palm the sockets of your eyes in frustration, letting your mind wander. Allowing yourself to feel everything you’ve been suppressing over the last twelve or so hours.

Aside from exhaustion, it’s mostly Astarion that surfaces. His face in the darkness looking at you as you left camp that morning, barely awake enough to give him a nod. In an instant it was as if he was there and gone, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place before shifting out of view alongside an overly excited Karlach. It was the kind of look that made you question its intentions. Its knitted brows and pursed lips rising and falling through your memories between the scuffles of your two companions. 

As you walked along the edges of the Underdark’s cliff sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it represented. What emotion it was trying to convey in such a small amount of time before it disappeared completely? 

As you lie there now, once again imagining its form you feel it’s something bordering on pity. A showcase of solidarity in your obviously failing quest for sleep. 

Astarion may not say much about your struggles —unlike him, you don’t complain about the endless problems that you face on the road— but you know he’s still aware of them. He’s too perceptive not to be. 

So why hasn’t he said anything? 

A heavy breath escapes. A shaky one damaged by speculation. Ruined by the assumption that it’s because he doesn’t care. That perhaps you aren’t worth the trouble of a little bit of worry despite previous actions.

You may have killed for him —had his back long before anyone else, but have such feelings ever been reciprocated? Has your worth been proven now that you’ve slain a man in his honour? And if so, how much worth do you truly hold? Is it substantial enough to ask you how you are? Big enough to look at you with any semblance of fondness? Or is it all just for show?

There’s a part of you that hopes it is. That the moments filled with kindness are nothing more than lies told to keep your attention. If he were lying, it wouldn’t necessarily make the way you feel right now any better but it’d mean that there’s an end. A barrier to stop you from getting in too deep. An excuse you could use to explain the naivety of thinking he may care.

Because it wavers —his care. Some days it’s obvious, sometimes it’s not. You can never guess when the care will appear, only that when it’s there and eventually dissipates you’ll be left alone again, wondering why he puts the extra effort in at all. Why he reels you in only to let you go, forcing you to question his intentions as you watch with careful eyes for those moments of reassurance. Moments that you can never prepare for. Ones that gnaw at your heart with pointed teeth wrapped beneath hungry lips, starving for the truth. 

You’re not too sure you’re ready to take that leap yet. To push him for the answers you know he’ll just avoid. He’s never been quick to trust and even when he does allow you in there’s still a blockage of sorts. An obvious resistance that sits between you, forcing you to settle regardless of the fear you hold inside your chest, wondering what would happen if you tried to push. 

You assume it’d ruin you. That, more than likely, pushing too hard would only create an even deeper wedge, making the truth that much more unattainable, leaving you with less than what you started with. 

Shooting upwards, you groan again and breathe, resting your face against your open palms in irritation. 

All you want to do is sleep, knowing the only reason you’re thinking so much is because you’re avoiding it. If you think you can’t drift which means the nightmares can’t come, leaving you with two bad endpoints you know you have to choose between.

It makes you want to scream just thinking about it but instead of giving in to such desires you merely settle back down, pulling the fabric of your bedroll up to your shoulders before closing your eyes. 

You’re going to get some sleep whether or not it kills you. Whether or not you have to endure the pain of a thousand deaths all at once before you’re inevitably woken up in a stupor of suffering.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift. One minute you’re lying there, counting your breaths like sheep and the next you’re out, filtering through a darkness that feels all too familiar. At first, it’s just there, coating your skin in nothingness. Lost to the void of slumber, you’re at peace for the first time in forever but as expected eventually the shadows unfold. Part to reveal a body of pale skin wrapped around viscous veins full of the blood of many. 

It beckons you almost immediately. The flutter of that icy voice saying your name over and over until you come to call, allowing yourself to move. Letting your feet guide you to her presence, you feel the waves and how they threaten to spill over as you kneel before her, feeling her grab your throat. 

Her fingers twitch and curl but never grip as she leans forward, offering you a grin. “You’ve been avoidant.”

You don’t speak. For a moment your lips part, feeling the presence of her thumb glide across the base of your throat but you don’t dare speak.

“You know it’s coming, my dear. You can’t avoid it.”

Your tongue moves to wet your lips while you blink, trying your best to let the visions of her angular face blur into the night that surrounds you, realizing she looks just as you remember her. All papery and washed out —a mere shell of herself now that you’ve gone missing. Her features drying out with each passing day you find yourself separate. 

“Come back to me. Let me protect you.”

You swallow hard and turn your head, feeling the nails of her fingers dig into your neck prompting you to cry out. 

She doesn’t let you do much else. Quickly moving on from the one-sided conversation to grab her knife, you watch as she mumbles under her breath, turning the blade between her fingers with a grin. “In untimely death comes timely renewal, remember?” she says, letting it ghost across your bare chest, pushing the edge against it until it breaks the skin. 

You barely feel the first insertion. As the blade dips through the layers of your flesh, the only thing you feel is her breath. The pattern of air that puffs against your face as she recites those aforementioned words, taunting you as she pulls it down. 

In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal…

As the knife moves lower, you repeat the words in unison like a mantra, struggling to get them out through gritted teeth as she works to cut you open. To slice your torso from the sternum down revealing countlessly re-healed bones and slimy organs that lie in waiting for her to pluck.

Hovering above you, her hands move to survey such handiwork, her fingers stroking the edges of your open skin before they inevitably dive right in, ripping you awake. 

You feel the pressure of her inside your gut before it really hits that it’s done. Shooting upward, you cough and double over in an instant, pressing your hands shakily to the ground in front of you. 

It’s the worst dream you’ve had yet. Longer than all the others, you can feel the adrenaline of it all penetrating your thoughts. Overthrowing every single anxiety you’ve ever felt as you sniff back tears, pushing yourself towards the entrance of your tent. 

Pulling it open, you look around the camp in desperation, catching the eye of Wyll who raises his brow, watching as you shake your head, slipping further into the ground.

Before you can even think he’s on you, reaching for your shoulders, asking you what’s wrong and how he can help. In response, you make no effort to reach back. To remedy your pain as you continue to shake and cry, sobbing out the cursed mantra through heavy gasps that leave him panicking. 

“Guys! Something’s wrong!”

As he calls out to the rest of the group, you quickly find yourself surrounded by familiar faces. All of them looking down to see your hysteria unfold. 

“What happened?” Dropping to her knees, Shadowheart’s the first to your side, moving her hands to cup your face before you swat her away, mouthing the words over and over and over again. 

“I don’t know!” 

“You don’t know?”

The two of them continue to bicker. As Wyll explains the way you crawled out of your tent, mumbling something about death, you force yourself to shuffle back, maneuvering your body so that you’re half sitting inside your tent again, watching it all unfold. Focusing on the confusion as Lae’zel and Karlach stand in the wings, muttering to each other words you can’t quite hear while Gale stares down at your mouth, watching the words you speak only to yourself as your eyes start to dart around. 

Surveying the rest of the camp, you wipe away your tears and try to breathe, forcing your mouth to stop its repetitions once you remember the ache inside your chest. 

Because of the Illithid, you can still feel her handiwork. Beneath your sweaty tunic, you can sense its edges burning —stinging from the aftermath as you press a hand to your sternum, making sure you’re still intact. Making sure your organs aren’t on display as you catch sight of Astarion coming up the path. 

He’s nose deep in a book when you see him, scanning the pages with interest before his eyes inevitably raise to see your nervous frame, curling into your tent. Then his interest fades. Evaporating into thin air before it’s replaced with fear. Genuine, heartbreaking fear that has him moving so quickly he fades out of view before reappearing in front of you. 

“What happened?” 

Just like Shadowheart, his hands cup your cheeks, gripping the plush as he lowers himself down, moving his forehead to yours. 

Unlike before you make no effort to push him away. Instead, all you do is frown and try to suppress the tears, clawing at his shirt with desperate pleas, begging him to stay. Begging him to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. Begging for him to lie and say he’ll protect you just like you did for him. 

Using your tadpole you beg him over and over again, letting the tears silently fall from your face, not caring that the whole party is watching.

All you need is him. In falseness or in truth, you don’t care. You just need him to ground you. To call you darling and to make you laugh. To make you feel like you’re something more than a vessel of organs one day destined for harvest. 

As your chest begins to heave, letting all the nightmares unfold all over again, you feel the tadpole behind your eye squirm in response, asking you to let him in. Without hesitation, you close your eyes and swallow hard, feeling his thoughts start to overthrow the visions of her and her knives and the mantra that sticks haphazardly across your brain matter.

I’m here, you’re safe.

For once it feels like a promise. A silent vow meant only for you as he ushers you further into the tent, saying something to your peers before closing it up. After that he readjusts the bedroll with gentle hands, always keeping a single palm against the small of your back, even when he guides you to lie against his chest. 

It’s the first time in weeks that you’ve felt safe. Resting a cheek just below his collarbone, you can feel your breath begin to return to its normal state. No longer ravaged by the panic of your dreams, it moves in and out, fanning the fabric of his shirt. 

“Was it a nightmare?”

You nod. Unsure how to explain it because, while it is a nightmare, it somehow feels so much more. 

“Of the past or?”

“Sort of.” 

He hums curiously, glancing down to see your hand slide up his chest to grip his shirt. 

“It feels like I’m answering a call.”

“A call?”

“Like there’s a person trying to reach me and when I answer I can… I can feel them.”

“Feel them?” 

You can tell he doesn’t quite understand. Not that you blame him for it. The whole concept of these nightmares still vexs even yourself. Leave you stumbling in confusion each night you find yourself awake, struggling to remember what’s real and what’s not. 

The nightmares are not as easily explainable as the actual torture you’ve endured. Especially considering that up until now there had been periods where the memories had died. Days where her face was nothing more than a splotch of white against a backdrop of black, slowly fading away. 

It doesn’t make sense why they're suddenly returning. Why your mind is forcing you to relieve these memories night after night. 

“Does your tadpole make it hard for you to dream?”

There's no hesitation when he says yes. No moment thought before his answer, making you wonder if maybe he too is experiencing these dreams. 

“I feel like it amplifies everything.”

Looking up to gauge his response, you can see the worry clouding his eyes. How his expression sort of fades into the abyss as his eyes focus on yours. 

“I dream of the past a lot. Of my life before this and… and I can feel it. Everything that ever happened I can feel all over again and it’s—“

“Painful.” His voice is broken. A crack in the mirror, shattering the often joyous image of his face as he looks away, blinking. 

Without even processing your movements you prop yourself up on your elbow, reaching over to grab his cheek and pull him back in. “I wish you didn’t understand how it felt.”

There’s a flicker of hurt that hits his face, enveloping his features before the previous sadness kicks in again and he’s reaching for your wrist, tightening around it. “Yes, well, not all of us get the luck of the draw when it comes to good lives.” 

“You should’ve,” you tell him.

He scoffs and closes his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “You’re probably the only one that thinks that.” 

You let your thumb explore his cheek. Let it move in soft circles, taking in the way it shifts beneath your touch. 

It feels strange to be this close to him even after all of the other intimate moments you’ve shared. Something about it feels softer, more honest than the rest of them, making your heart beat rapidly against your chest, threatening to burst. 

“I know it’s not my business but if you ever want to talk about it—“

He places a kiss to your hand, letting his lips linger against the pad of your thumb as he closes his eyes, reaching around to grip your waist. 

In an instant, the words drift out of your mind once you feel it; lost to a touch you didn’t realize you longed for.

Swallowing hard you lay back down to look away, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the tender image that unfolds as his arm shifts again, accommodating your movement. Making you feel that rush of comfort return as he pulls his mouth away and clears his throat. 

“I’m, uh… I’m not good at this kind of thing.” 

“Vulnerability?” you joke, earning yourself a snort. 

“I suppose that’s a word you can use.” 

“To be fair, neither am I.” 

You feel him shift to meet your gaze, looking at you with surprise. “Really now? I think breaking down in front of the whole camp just so that you can find me is quite the effort of—“

Before he can finish you clamp your hand around his mouth. “I was in shock, you bastard. I wasn’t thinking about my dignity.” 

Flexing around your palm, you feel him smile before he pulls away. “That’s good because there was absolutely nothing dignified about the way you looked at me back there. It was…” He trails off, his words catching in his throat for a moment before he clears it again. “You scared me.” 

There’s a moment of silence after that, lasting far longer for it to be deemed comfortable as you lay there, wide awake, wishing you could get him to talk to you. Hoping that maybe if you reach out with the Illithid he’ll answer your questions. 

Closing your eyes, you feel his presence in your mind already, vying for your attention in a way that has you both moving in closer, tightening your hold. 

Show me the dream. 

It isn’t a question or a request but a simple command that has you obeying —letting him enter your thoughts. Letting him stand along the sidelines as she guides you to the ground and cuts you open all over again. Letting him listen to the recital of words that are spoken behind two frozen expressions as Astarion pulls you tighter against him, placing his mouth to your forehead to stop himself from crying. 

-

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[ateez-himari]

Deep Down [Treasure Film]

(Archive) Himari's heavy confession on the beach

As the girl waddled over to the staff standing on the shore she couldn't help but fidget with the flag in her hands, her heart already heavy with the words she wanted to say yet was not sure how to.

[The maknae seems to be nervous...]

She retracted her hands back into the sleeves of her jacket and seemed to zone out with her gaze fixed on the sea in front of her for a moment. When she finally turned back towards the other members, the smile she had tried to hard to keep on her lips couldn't hold itself and revealed a rather worried expression.

Since the beginning of their journey she had tried to keep a careless, joyful, exterior but on that night she simply couldn't hide her true emotions anymore. After hearing her friends open up about their insecurities it seemed almost unfair for her to lie to them with such a face, to deceive them though they had been honest with her.

[It seems the maknae's confession will not be a joyful one...]

"I want to start off by saying that I'm sorry." She shouted as loud as she could, her voice breaking slightly at the end of the sentence. "I know that I'm behind you all in terms of skill...and I'm sorry I put the burden of helping me on your backs all the time. I'm also sorry that I brought so much hate to our team."

[Himari's heart is full of apologies...]

Tears began to fill her eyes as she finally opened up the truth hidden in her heart for so long, as she finally showed them just how much the hate comments she had gotten even before their debut had broken her down. She quickly hid herself in the camera director's opened arms as the pain she had tried to hide for so long made her heart tighten.

The effects of so much hate were always hidden by the young idol but now she felt as though she could not bear to handle the intense anxiety alone, the trembling hands, the forced lacks of appetite and the crippling headaches she would blame on reading.

When she finally pulled herself away from the director's hold, she took a deep breath before clenching her fists, holding herself strong to finish her heartfelt confession.

[So much love for Director-nim.]

"Even though things have been hard...thank you for being my anchors all of this time." She continued. "Thank you for giving me your love unconditionally, for turning my future from terrifyingly uncertain to something bright. You've shown me that I'm not alone anymore, that I never will be again. Thank you for staying late with me to practice, for taking care of me even when I wouldn't reach out for help, for being by my side even after everything."

In an attempt to stop her tears, she bit her bottom lip and yet they still dripped down her cheeks, shaking her chest slightly with poorly muffled sobs.

"I love you all...so much." She managed to shout out, wiping her face with her sleeves. "I'll choose you, always. You're my soulmates and I wouldn't have it any other way. I found my strength in you, in your love, and I hope you can find yours in me. Thank you for convincing me to stay and I...I'm so sorry I ever wanted to leave. I'm sorry...and I love you, I'll always love you all. Please continue to take care of me !"

[After carrying such a burden, the maknae finally cries...]

Not long before this, the girl had made the decision to leave the group in order to take away the hate 'fans' were throwing towards the team because of her and to avoid dragging them down. Thinking it would be better to tell her members before announcing it to their manager, she had gathered everyone in the living room and broke the news with a heavy heart. That night of uncertainty turned into one of heartbreaking confessions, tears, apologies, embraces and most importantly into one of bonding. That night she realized that these eight unlikely friends were her anchors against the harsh winds of the world.

Despite her tears, a warm smile lit up on her face as she brought her arms above her head to form a heart, one that was quickly replicated by her group members.

"We'll always take care of you !" Yunho shouted. "Now come back up here before you catch a cold !"

[The night might be cold but their hearts are warm thanks to each other.]

At his words she bowed to the staff before happily running back to her friends, embraced by Jongho's strong arms the moment she stepped foot on the wooden floor.

"We love you Hima." Seonghwa reassured, his hand coming to rub her back gently. "We always will, no amount of hate will change that."

The girl peered up in her member's loosening embrace, looking towards her leader hesitantly in fear that what she had said might have been too much as he had not yet spoken. Instead of finding comforting words like the others had he simply walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her, one hand placed on the back of her head to keep her pressed against his shoulder.

No one but them knew just what thoughts were being exchanged in that moment but the youngest teared up once more, her arms wrapping tightly around him, her hands gripping on to the back of his jacket.

"I promise to hold your hand through it all." Hongjoong finally said. "I'll listen to your heart when it hurts, just make me a promise too...stop hiding when you're struggling, yeah ?"

"I promise..."

Without warning, seven other pairs of arms wrapped around the two and laughter began erupting once more, the atmosphere instantly relaxing the moment they were all together.

[The editors were crying...so we couldn't make a proper caption. ㅠㅠ]

[starchaserwrites]

@jegulus-microfic / night / word count: 864

The strap of his now not-so-favourite bag insists on slipping off his shoulder, the sketchbook he carries under the same arm with which he's holding his umbrella has stayed there by sheer miracle, and the scarf he wrapped around his neck and nose before rushing out of his room is causing his reading glasses - which he forgot to take off - to fog up making his vision a bit more difficult with every step.  Oh, and let's not forget the scale model he's balancing on his other arm, which is now in potential danger thanks to the drizzle after Regulus refused to leave it in the workroom the day before, and which is to blame for the fact that he's about to be late after spending all night putting the finishing touches on it.

Evan once said "if you see Regulus Black running, it's probably because the world is ending," and while Regulus isn't exactly running yet, if he doesn't arrive in ten minutes for his presentation, his world is the one that will be ending.

Now with his glasses completely fogged up, causing him a complete technical loss of visibility, and unable to fix the problem, he has no choice but to blindly follow the fastest route to the faculty, which he has fortunately done countless times before.

If his calculations are correct (and they are) he should now be standing in front of the glass doors that lead to his destination. Unable to close the umbrella, in an attempt to open the doors, the sketchbook under his arm slips out of his grasp, and Regulus is ready to let it go, at least the entrance is roofed over and maybe he can come back for it later, but he never gets to hear it hit the floor.

"Let me give you a hand," says a voice near him. 

Great, he looks miserable enough for someone to take pity on him.

The last thing Regulus was expecting after that is for the stranger in front of him to remove his glasses, but he is greeted by a pair of warm brown eyes framed by glasses similar to his own.

"The same thing used to happen to me all the time until I tried an anti-fog spray, if you want I can recommend it to you, it's very effective," it's then that the stranger starts wiping his glasses with his t-shirt. 

Regulus cringes. He's having violent thoughts right now. 

"And there you go," the boy says, ignoring the expression on his face and offering him a smile and then putting the glasses back in place. "Take your sketchbook too." 

Regulus, unable to respond, does nothing but stare at him through his poorly cleaned glasses.

"Oh, where are my manners. My name is James Potter," James says, holding out his free hand as if that had been the reason Regulus didn't accept the book. It is then that he seems to remember that Regulus is in a predicament. "Damn, I made a complete idiot out of myself, didn't I? Just let me..." James holds out his hand waiting for him to pass him the umbrella, to which, for lack of a better option, Regulus gives him. The boy helps him close the umbrella and passes him his workbook in quick, precise movements, as if to make up for his earlier mistake. 

James glances at his scale model and his face seems to light up. "So we're enemies!," he exclaims in a tone too happy for what he has just said.

"Sorry, what?" asks a confused Regulus.

"You're an architecture student, aren't you? I'm a civil engineering student, I'm in my third year! Your model looks spectacular but all those curves are a nightmare for me." 

Regulus is about to go blind thanks to all the light James seems to be radiating. He doesn't have time for this now.

"Hey, thank you for helping me, but I need to go."

"But your umbrella-"

"Keep it."

Now Regulus is really running.

—

An hour later, now without his reading glasses and after seeing his and others' models brutally destroyed - something he thinks he'll never quite get used to - Regulus leaves the room with it in hand. He passed and will now spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on the sleep he missed during the night.

"Are you ready? It's still raining."

Regulus considers for a few seconds before turning around. 

"You waited for me?"

"Yes, I couldn't let the work of art get wet. And neither could the model," James replies.

Regulus tries not to smile at that.

And fails.

"My name is Regulus."

"So the work of art has a name," is the reply from James who waits for him with umbrella in hand. "Maybe you can tell me more about the other artwork over coffee? Shall I help you with the model?" James holds out his arm, waiting for him to give it to him.

"Only if you promise not to clean glasses with your shirt ever again."

"I promise."

Not heartless enough to tell him he was planning on taking it to the model graveyard, Regulus hands it to him.

He wasn't that tired anyway.

Click here for more microfics.

[vividraft]

more than friends ! *ੈ✩‧₊˚ - in which you and Medi finally figure out your feelings for eachother ⋆·˚ ༘ *

⇢ ˗ˏˋ characters: Medicine Pocket

⇢ ˗ˏˋ important note: this is going to be my one and only reverse:1999 post. I honestly don't play the game enough to keep up with all the new characters, and that's why I don't think I will post for re:99 again... super sorry!!

⇢ ˗ˏˋ a/n: this is like super unrealistic... why did I think of this, it's very poorly executed!!

masterlist

“Medi I need your help”, you stood in their doorway with disheveled hair, that one could tell was previously done and a half finished outfit.  “You look… like you previously looked good”, Medi eyed you up and down. 

You two had known each other for as long as you could walk. People would consider you best friends, although that is an understatement. You guys were more like… people who were tied together by the wrist. 

“I know I know, but I seriously need your help”, by now you had entered their lab and a dog started jumping at you.  “Help with what”, Medi looked back to whatever they were working on before, some tool in their hand, and eyes no longer interested in looking at you. 

You took a really deep breath. Like really deep. You could have exploded right then and there, from embarrassment or from taking in too much air at once. 

“I have a date today, and I… need to practice before this date”, your thumbs were twisting around each other like a young couple dancing. 

“Practice what? Dancing around your words like an Idiot?-”

“Practice kissing”

Medis' tool fell onto the floor, and silence laid upon the room. Medi looked at you like you had just committed the most heinous crime, and you stared back with a weird smile (?) and a really REALLY red face. 

You don’t know why you found this to be a weird request. You definitely kissed them once before. Granted, you were ten years old and you and Medi swore that you guys would get married when you were old. You had a fake marriage on the playground that day.  A real marriage never took place. 

Why did you guys never get married? 

“And why am I your candidate for this?”, were the first words that came out of Medis’ mouth.  “Because if I mess up, you won’t try to pretend but laugh at my face, and I need the honesty right now”, was the only explanation you could find. 

Medis’ stomach already felt weird at the idea of you going out on a date. The idea of you practicing kissing on them, to then go off and kiss someone else was just… wrong? 

But why did it feel so wrong? It’s not like you and Medi were a thing. 

“No thank you” “Come on Medi I need help”, you really did look desperate. Medi found it a little funny how you were begging to kiss them. 

Another long silence. By now you were standing right by them. 

“Ugh. Fine. But you owe me one”, Medi reluctantly agreed, yet seemed to refuse to get out of their chair.  “Obviously I owe you one. Anything you want literally”, this was going to hurt your wallet. 

“Uhm… alright”, suddenly the air felt thick. You felt if you were going to take another breath you might explode, or choke on the lack of oxygen in the room. 

And Medi felt the same, and neither of you knew. 

“Just…”, Medi was as flushed as a tomato already, and since you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything, Medi seemed it was their mission to move. 

They brushed your hair behind your ear, and left their hand on their cheek to pull you down. You bend down to their level, since they were still sitting in that stupid chair, and your lips met Medis’. 

For just a quick moment, and you both pulled away again. 

None of you would have expected Medi to do what he did, but he pulled you back in for another kiss. 

And for another one. 

And another one. 

Your lips stayed on Medis’ long enough that you had the time to think about how you felt. Everything felt like it brought up feelings that you had long buried deep inside you, something that you had hidden not just from the world, but also from yourself. 

Everything felt right. Finally, right.

Your lips parted again, and you could only look at Medis’ face for a second, before they turned away, yet their ears were a burning red as well. 

Suddenly you darted out of the room. 

“Where the fuck are you going?!”, Medi shot up from their chair, face still red as ever. 

“To cancel my fucking date what the fuck do you think?!”, you shouted back from down the hallway. 

Suddenly Regulus looked around the corner.  “Oh did you guys finally figure out whatever was going on between you two?”, if an Apple could facepalm, he would.  

“Shut up Regulus”, you and Medi said in sync. 

extra: 

Back in Medis’ room, you were sitting on their bed, and they were on their chair, when they suddenly turned around to you. 

“Remember when I said that you would owe me one for the kiss?”, Medi asked. 

“Which you said right before not letting go of my face for a good while? Yeah I remember”, you replied with that stupid grin of your face which Medi loved hated. His face took on a little red color again. 

“If you kiss me again we’re quits”

taglist: @lupicalbestwolf

[aetherdoesthings]

Hey hey, am back again (the one who requested the movie headcanons)

I do have another request but I just got to say your impressive as hell. I had put in the other request just a day before it was made. Which is just crazy and the fact the headcanons were so accurate and good. Thank you for doing the last request once again.

Ok now I will get to my request now, just had to give that recognition 😅

I was wondering if you can please do, what it’s like to spread a morning with luffy, sanji, nami, and robin. How it would be like to wake up with them and get ready for the day with them. Stuff like that.

Thank you if you take this request, I hope you have a good morning 🫶🏾

hey hey! welcome back! thanks for the compliment, i'm glad you enjoyed it and found it accurate!

forethoughts: i can't believe i hit 100+ notes one of my post 🥹. thank you all so much for reading my stuff even though it occasionally breaks your hearts! ahhhh. also gonna use this space to have an fyi for people who request(ed) me. i just finished eneis lobby!!! if you request something that's way after eneis lobby, i'm either gonna have to wing it (aka poorly write bc i lack context and i don't wanna google bc google = spoiler), or you have to wait patiently for me to reach that arc. sorry for any inconvenience! anyways back to the matter at hand.

notes: all gn!reader

Luffy always sleeps whenever his body tells him to, so it’s not odd for him to suddenly disappear next to you while you two slept together. But ever since you two had gotten together, he would always make sure that he was by your side whenever you woke up. The moment your eyes open and consciousness rolls in, you feel a heavy weight on your body. Luffy’s fast asleep on you, his head bruised-no doubt from Sanji trying to steal food. You smile softly at him, petting his hair as you roll him over to his side of the bed, placing a kiss on his bruise as you look at him, admiring his peaceful sleeping form. Whenever you’re asleep, he’s awake. Whenever you’re awake, he’s asleep. You found this annoying, but seeing his sleepy baby face always washed your annoyance away. You would proceed with your morning routine as it is, and usually by the time you’re done, Luffy would’ve awoken, and smother you with kisses and whine about Sanji. Additionally, because now that you were with him and sleep with him (every now and then) at night, his hygiene significantly improved, so now he wasn’t always sweaty and covered in dirt!

Sanji is a gentleman, so of course he lets you steal the blanket at night, letting you snuggle up against him. Sometimes when you wake up, he’s not by your side, as he has to start preparing food for everyone, but you would always find a handwritten note and your favorite breakfast right next to you, as well as a rose in a vase on your nightstand. This was life with Sanji; he always had to be up at 5am, ready to cook every meal, while you always slept in. He’ll always make it up to you by giving you the best night, as he can never really give you the best morning, even though he tries his best. 

Nami loves to either big spoon or little spoon you. Either way, she craves the physical intimacy she can generate with you. She expects to either be treated like a princess one day, or absolutely spoil you with kisses the moment you wake up, and help you shower, get changed, etc. You cannot change my mind about the fact that Nami is a pillow princess, and will steal the blanket if she’s cold. You don’t mind it; in fact you're already used to this behavior, but you love it anyway, and she loves you for indulging her. Once she wakes up, she’ll kiss you on your lips, whispering a good morning as she snuggles with you. Once you’re awake too, the two of you get ready for the day. Nami spends majority of her time on makeup and clothing, while you simply shower and pick something nice to wear. Ever since you started dating Nami, you found yourself sitting down on a stool, Nami’s hand deep into your scalp trying to ‘fix your hair’, while making you look the most attractive person in the world (to her you already were).

Similar to Nami, both you and Robin will always wake up at around the same time, to say good morning to each other and be the first thing you see once you wake up. In the beginning of your relationship, she isn’t too keen on snuggling/cuddling due to her trauma and the hardship of opening up to others, but after a while of being with you, she’ll let you cuddle her and she grows to love it too. She always smells like fresh paper or flowers, a scent you’ve grown to love. Robin usually wakes up before you, and loves seeing your sleepy face buried in her chest. She’ll plant a soft kiss on your forehead, whispering ‘good morning’ to you. Soon enough, you’ll wake up, and whisper a ‘good morning’ to you. The two of you stay in bed slowly waking up, talking about your dreams and your sleep, then about what you were going to do/plan to do for the day. Robin loved talking to you and helping you achieve your goals, as nothing makes her more happy than to see you succeed. Everyday, she’d check in on you to see if you had completed your task you said you would in the morning, and always reward you with a special night. Ending your discussion with a kiss, the two of you get out of bed, ready to accomplish what both of you set out to do today.

[jooniperbonsai]

Thanks for the Sub (ksj) | Chapter Four

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 19.5k

Release date: June 11, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn, coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: As you spend more time with Seokjin, the threads seem to be even more tangled than before. Memories of the past threaten to ruin everything that the two of you have. Are you sure this is what you really want anyway?

Chapter Warnings (Oh god bear with me in this): angst, miscommunication (sorry sorry sorry we need it for the plot), cursing, alcohol, insecurity and self doubt, sexual harassment online and offline, pet names, fat!reader (we love to see it), sexual fantasies in the form of oral sex/face riding, Seokjin gets hard like 3 times (pretend to be shocked), masturbation, references to menstruation and first time sexual fantasies/masturbation, lingerie, sex toys, boundaries & lack of boundaries, references to poorly written novels (derogatory), verbal abuse from family members, gaslighting

a/n: Hi. I know it's been a while. Thank you for your patience. This week especially has been rough as my family lost one of our pet cats unexpectedly, but I wanted to put my best foot forward and share this chapter with y'all to enjoy our Seokjin's return! I hope you enjoy this chapter and that its length will tide you over. I have a special festa treat planned with another chapter for y'all this week, and I promise it'll have been worth the wait. Enjoy! -h

SpringDay: He didn’t leave a note

Wonu15: Was he supposed to?

SpringDay: No, but…idk

Wonu15: Then why are you upset if that wasn’t in your agreement

SpringDay: IDK!!!!!! Because we talked about things? At least, a little bit? And he saw me cry and he held me. 

Wonu15: But did you ask him to stay the night? Did you ask him to leave you a note? 

SpringDay: No

Wonu15: Well

SpringDay: I know!!!! I get it!!!

Wonu15: Maybe you should tell him

Wonu15: That you’re in love with him

SpringDay: Fuck you

“Ugh!” You exit your chat app and toss your phone across the covers as you roll over in your bed, inhaling the pillow that now smells of Seokjin. 

He was here. Last night. He held you in his lap on your bed. He moved your furniture around for you. He stayed until you fell asleep. And even after that for a bit longer. You’d felt a chill, possibly as he left the bed, and it was enough to wake you. 

It was still dark, but the sun was creeping in slowly. Enough that you could see his slightly mussed hair sticking up in the back, a yawn escaping him with a sigh as he idled in the doorway, almost like he was hesitating before he left. 

If you didn’t know any better, you would think you dreamed it all up, but as soon as you heard the door click shut behind him, you found yourself curling around that warm spot in your sheets and falling back asleep. 

And that’s where you’ve been for most of the day, savoring the feeling of him in your bed or standing in the kitchen slightly hungover as you finished off the rest of last night’s pizza. You’ve apologized to your followers for skipping last night’s stream, promising that you’ll make up for it tonight. 

Your stomach clenches a bit at the idea of an encore performance from the last time you were live. Maybe Seokjin could come over and hang around while you get started? At least for a little bit?

He probably has better things to do than hang around your place. 

True. You had monopolized so much of his time last night, and it didn’t even amount to an actual stream. It’s selfish to assume he has nothing better to do than to sit around and monitor you to make sure you don’t succumb to peer pressure. 

You need to be an adult and do this on your own. 

With a sigh, you hoist yourself up out of bed and over to your computer. Everything you went over yesterday feels like a blur. At this point, you’re not entirely sure what you’re supposed to do. You remember he mentioned something about utilizing wishlists as a monetary solution to some of the more unhinged followers. 

If they have money to spend, let them spend it. But don’t compromise your morals to do so. 

Is that something he encounters often? It has to be. You wonder what streaming was like for Seokjin at first, all the ways he compromised himself for his followers. Is the dominant persona he exudes even authentic? What if he’s more submissive or even plain vanilla and just doing all this for the money? 

You can’t say you’d blame him. That last stream had you feeling as though you were sitting on the blade of a knife as you debated what the extra cut of money could bring you. Your heartbeat pounds more heavily in your chest, a few beats feeling like they’re piercing into your throat. 

It feels awful to know the way money has made you so powerless. And now here you are, about to force yourself onto a stream for some extra bucks in this month’s payout. 

How does Seokjin do it, really? You don’t want to pressure him into talking about it. Not when you two aren’t intimate like that. But you can’t help but wonder why and how streaming, much less streaming sex, doesn’t tear him apart each time. 

You wish you could ask him.  

Your reminder on your phone alerts you and you groan, forcing yourself away from the desktop and into the bathroom to shower. In your hamper, you spot Seokjin’s pink button down that he’d lent you last night. 

It felt like a piece of armor then, shrouding you from the chill of anxiety. Even now, as you lift it up to your nose, that comforting and fresh smell of his detergent begins to settle the sourness of your gut. 

Maybe you could do this alone, after all. Just, with a little encouragement from a friend. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” someone said.

“I am not!” Another voice. A deeper one.

“You asked her if she wanted to fuck!”

“I did not! I asked if she wanted to come over and eat ramyeon! That’s all that it means!”

“No, no hyung, he’s right. That’s not at all what it means.” 

Words. Seokjin was hearing them flurry around him, picking up the tail end of whatever story Namjoon was telling the group. But he wasn’t really listening. He was too tired. He had napped for about an hour in his office earlier, though it was unintentional. He was sitting at his desk, placing a produce order when he felt one of his eyelids shut. Then the other. The next thing he knew, someone was banging on the door saying the register was jammed and they needed the key. 

He had left your apartment late. Right when the sun was beginning to rise. And he probably wouldn’t have even left then if it wasn’t for the fact that you finally had rolled off of him after about an hour of you sleeping heavily on his chest. 

You talk in your sleep, he learned. Not a lot, but in little murmurs, usually yes or no spilling out of your mouth with ease. He was grateful for them, because otherwise he would have fallen asleep with your body slotted against him perfectly, the weight of your head and arm on him just enough to tumble him into a state of safety. 

Both too late and too soon, you moved, rolled onto your other side. And then Seokjin left. 

He debated leaving a note so you would know he wasn’t bailing, going so far as to find a pen and notepad from the kitchen fridge to write on, but then he knocked sense into himself. Notes were for people who left after hookups when unsure whether or not they were welcome to stay the whole night. You’d invited him over, sure, but as friends. You would have of course expected him to leave after you fell asleep, as that was the agreement. Right? 

Seokjin had danced around your living room for ten minutes, pacing back and forth, looking like a crazy detective searching for clues. What would he even say in it? If he left one would you think that he’d expected you guys to have sex? 

So he didn’t, he tossed the notepad on the side table as he grabbed his things, aware now that his button down had gone missing since you changed into your pajamas, but he didn’t have time to look for it, and didn’t want to further snoop through your stuff to reclaim it. 

By the time he left, the sun was up, and he had just enough time to rush the few blocks to work. Besides that nap, he hadn’t slept at all last night. 

And now he was on Jungkook and Taehyung’s couch, a beer magically in his hand that he didn’t remember getting while his friends apparently talked about…ramyeon? 

“–clearly your fault you choose to pretend you’re so old and stay out of touch. Seokjin-hyung knows what that means, don’t you hyung?” 

Who was talking to him? He grunted, hoping whoever it was would let that be enough of an answer. 

“Hyung?” Jungkook. That’s who was talking to him. 

Seokjin blinked. His contacts felt like sandpaper in his eyes. 

“Don’t bother with him. He hasn’t had a single sip of that beer since he got here and has been zoned out staring at that wall for about thirty minutes,” Yoongi said, moving from Seokjin’s periphery into full view. 

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked gently, clearly concerned but also possibly using this moment to help redirect whatever teasing he was facing. 

“Just tired,” Seokjin responded. 

“Oh yeah, you had to work today. And you were at Y/N’s to help her with her stream last night, right? How did that go by the way?” Jimin asked. 

“What stream?” Seokjin asked, confused. And then he remembered. That was the whole point he had gone over there in the first place. 

“Um, you know, the one that you went to her place for?” Jimin’s eyebrows knit together. The rest of the group craned their heads in Seokjin’s direction, curious.

“She, um, she didn’t end up streaming.”

“Then, what time did you leave?” A broken, awkward silence fell over his friends as Seokjin shifted in his seat. 

It suddenly felt oppressively warm in here, and heat creeped up his neck as he tried to string words together. 

“I think like…7?” 

“So you got there, only to turn around and leave? So why didn’t you sleep last night? You look like shit,” Taehyung added unhelpfully. 

Yoongi rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Is everyone really this clueless today or are you all fucking with me?”

He pushed himself up from the beat-up leather armchair, his usual space during their hangouts and sauntered over to the small bar Taehyung and Jungkook had right off the dining area. He took his time, uncapping the bottle of whiskey Seokjin presumed they kept mostly for Yoongi’s benefit, and filled one of the highball glasses left out for him. 

Once Yoongi started drinking whiskey, everyone knew to prepare themselves for an evening of his contemplative and sometimes unfiltered ranting. This was when his self-proclaimed ADHD seemed to shine best. 

“Honestly, you guys still don’t see it do you.” 

“See what exactly?” Seokjin asked, finally awake enough to formulate sentences. 

Yoongi studied his glass for a moment and in a final decision plucked the entire bottle from the bar and brought it back to his group of friends. He groaned as he sat back in the chair, like it was painful to do so on his bones, like he was the age of Seokjin's father and not merely thirty. 

Yoongi knocked back his first glass of the whiskey, smacking his lips afterward. 

In the corner of his eye, Seokjin saw Jimin roll his in annoyance. 

“Can we get to the point?” He asked. 

Yoongi shot him a look, and then placed the glass down on the coffee table. 

“First of all, Taehyung-ah, he didn’t leave early. Hyung here left late. As in this morning. He was obviously out all night.”

Namjoon snorted. “Hyung, this isn’t a detective drama. We all kind of figured.” 

“I didn’t,” Taehyung objected.

“We know,” Namjoon chuckled and turned his attention back to Yoongi. “Ok, oh wise one, what is it that we all seem to be missing?”

Yoongi pouted, but he recovered his dramatic flair. It was something everyone knew to give him the space to perform, the odd pause in his quiet nature usually a sign that he needed attention and didn’t know how to ask. 

“Well, when you put it that way, maybe I won’t say.” A slight smirk cracked through Yoongi’s façade. 

“Did you guys sleep together or something?” Hoseok blurted, which had an immediate rush of blood to Seokjin’s head as he flooded with embarrassment. 

“No! God, no we didn’t!” He didn’t want to mention that yes, technically you slept with him, just not in that way. 

“Pfft, relax. Of course he didn’t. You think this guy will be looking all mopey after he finally gets laid again? No, he’s going to have that stupid dopey grin he always had with…you know,” Yoongi recovered the attention of the room, Soon Yi’s name unsaid but stirring a bit of unease among his friends. Yoongi and her had been particularly close during the period of Seokjin and her dating, having been his roommate for quite some time. He’d learned to weave his life around Soon Yi’s presence, over time warming up to her during the days he returned from class to find her studying on Seokjin’s bed and waiting for him to come home. Since the breakup, he’s always refused to say her name. 

“Ah, the dopey grin, I almost forgot about that.” Jimin’s warm voice filled in the gaps where Yoongi’s sudden coldness cast, sitting himself on the edge of the leather armchair as he plucked the glass of whiskey Yoongi had just poured from his hands and gulped it down. 

Yoongi glared at Jimin, but it faded quickly as Jimin winked back at him. He was clearly trying to lighten the mood, and Yoongi took the bait, softening back into Jimin’s outreached arm that began rubbing circles down his back. 

“I’m right here,” Seokjin said lamely, but his friends ignored him. He put the beer up to his lips and let it flood into his mouth. It was warm. Gross. 

“Do you think he’s going to start doing that thing again where he’s late for everything because he’s too busy having sex with Y/N all the time to manage his time better? Because that was annoying,” Jungkook complained. 

Seokjin spluttered, choking on the beer. “Wh-what?!”

Everyone laughed, including Namjoon, who gave Seokjin a sympathetic look. “I think now that he streams all the time, his time management skills have improved.”

“Besides, it seemed more like it was Soon Yi who was causing that issue. She was chronically late for everything. Is Y/N late for things?” Hoseok added. 

Seokjin blinked. How did this conversation even get to this point? 

“What the fuck is going on?” He asked, exasperated. 

Yoongi chuckled, stepping back into his guiding elder persona with ease. “You’re down bad for Y/N, obviously. We are just trying to be supportive.” 

“I am not!” He argued, the heat of embarrassment now turning into anger. 

“You are too,” Taehyung argued. “I’ve seen you at work with her a few times. You are always staring at her like she’s the most delicious thing you’d ever eat. You want her so bad, hyung.” 

Seokjin glared at Taehyung. “Just because I look at her sometimes doesn’t mean I am in love with her.” 

“Okay Namjoon, I take it back. You’re not a fucking idiot. Or maybe you still are, but Jin-hyung takes the cake as the biggest fucking idiot here.” Hoseok said, a humorless laugh flying from his chest. “Wow. No one said you’re in love with her.”

Seokjin’s face flushed. 

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed hyung!” 

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell us all your secrets.”

“Did you have sex though?”

“Taehyung-ah!”

“What? You’re the one who asked in the first place!” 

“So?”

“So, I know you’re curious too. I want to know which one of his porn star moves he pulled out of hiding. Did he Full Nelson her or was it purely missionary? Nah, nah, he’s too dirty for that. Hyung, did you Full Nelson her?”

“Wait, what’s a Full Nelson?”

“It’s a wrestling move,” Namjoon said.

“It’s a sex thing!”

“No. You’re making that up!”

“Hyung, is that a sex thing?”

“Yah! Shut up!” Yoongi said, and four pairs of eyebrows shot up as Namjoon, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook broke away from their conversation to come back down to Earth. 

Seokjin’s hands were sweaty and he jostled his leg anxiously as his friends composed themselves. 

“Sorry,” Taehyung mumbled. 

Jimin sighed, finally pulling his hand away from Yoongi’s back. 

“Maybe we should let Seokjin-hyung speak,” he suggested, gesturing to his anxious friend. 

Everyone nodded sheepishly. 

Seokjin took a deep breath, not even sure where to begin. 

“Well, I…First of all, Y/N and I really didn’t have sex. She had a panic attack over the possibility of me being gay for some reason. Er, well not me being gay but asking the question. And that seemed to be something for her that opened the floodgates to an entire larger panic attack. So, after I cooked us jeon, we just kinda hung out and ditched the idea of the stream. And then, she did fall asleep on me for a bit.” 

The memory of you this morning flooded his thoughts, how your hair skimming across his arms as you shifted your head gave him goosebumps. Or that your scent had invaded his clothes, his nose, so much so that he could just picture you and the soft, sweet smell would manifest around him. 

“Oh, oh hyung.” 

“Don’t look at me like that!” Seokjin shrieked as Jimin frowned. 

His friends all sat quietly, sipping their drinks. Taehyung awkwardly stood up, stating he needed to use the bathroom before he exited the room. 

“When did it start getting this serious for you?” Namjoon asked. 

Seokjin’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We aren’t serious. We aren’t even together.” 

“He means when did you start having feelings for her hyung? I know we said that none of us were accusing you of being in love with her, but are you sure that it’s just about sex, or friendship, or whatever it is you keep saying it is?”

Love. That word felt like fire in his brain. He couldn’t possibly love you. Not when he barely knew you. Not when he only just stood in your apartment for the first time, saw you asleep on him. What Seokjin knew about love was something faded and dusty, shoved under his bed in an old shoebox and hard to name. It had been so long since he felt the early feelings of life with Soon Yi.

Soon Yi. That was love, wasn’t it? The hot poker of constant chaos, being whisked away from one thing to another with pleasure and delight. Wasn’t that supposed to be what love was? He remembered ripping apart magazines with her in her dorm room to make a large collage that she created from top to bottom. All the colors swirling around them as they shredded page after page and refit together. Things clashed, patterns divided themselves into a kaleidoscope around her room. That was how Soon Yi was. A kaleidoscope of every color Seokjin had ever thought imaginable. 

And she was like that for him too, when she laid underneath him that night, her body wrapped around his in every way imaginable, thrown from the bed to the floor as they christened every surface of that space imaginable. 

With you, things weren’t able to be defined by colors. Instead, all Seokjin knew was that the heaviness and the intensity of first love wasn’t at all how he experienced you. No, you were like a fire that ignited in him, and he knew it. Scorched away every faded bit of that box under the bed and licked your flame along every part of him. 

The way he so easily complied with you last night, despite the fact that he knew it would be bad for you both to be so close. Letting you lie on him while he sat there hard just by breathing in your sweetness. How his body responded like this was some first love despite the fact that it wasn’t, and he found himself changing the rules of his life every single time a sigh left your lips. That couldn’t be love, only fascination, only primal, sexual curiosity. 

He’d admit his crush, but love? There was no way this could be it. 

“No,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m…I’m not in love with her.”

“But–” Jungkook began, but Jimin silenced him with a look. 

“No,” he repeated. “I’m not in love with her. I have a crush. And we’re friends. And yeah, I am really really ‘down bad’ for her like Yoongi said. But it’s not like that.” 

Jungkook rubbed his eyes with the back of his fists, sighing in clear frustration. 

“Alright, hyung,” Jimin said gently. “Alright.” 

Just then, Seokjin’s phone pinged, and his heart plunged right into his stomach. 

You were live? Now? Without him there? 

That wasn’t in your agreement anyway. You agreed to help her stream. You helped her. Now she doesn’t need you. 

That little bit of knowledge felt like a twisted knife, but he ignored it anyway, rapidly tapping the alert on his phone that led him to the app. 

“What’s that about?” Hoseok asked. 

His other friends repeated the question, filling the room with a hum of curiosity. 

“Shut up!” he snapped, clicking the side button to turn up the volume. 

“–and yeah sorry about not streaming last night. Time kind of slipped away from me. But I plan on making it up to you guys, I promise.” Your voice echoed throughout the living room, hushing Seokjin’s friends as they hunched forward to see what was the cause of his sudden irritation. 

“Is that…?” Yoongi began. 

“Yes,” Taehyung said as he waltzed back into the room, patting his damp hands on the back of his pants. “That’s her.” 

“Oh, oh okay I get it now,” Namjoon said. “Leave it to hyung to be down bad for someone who dresses just like him.” 

What? Seokjin squinted at the screen, taking in your appearance: your hair was loosely curled around your face, some juicy pink lip gloss that he knew tasted like strawberries (he’d smelled it on you before) glazing your mouth, and a black lace bustier that was barely being covered by a pink linen button down was peeking out. One that looked exactly like the one he was wearing last night.

“Because that is my shirt,” he replied, dazed. 

“What?” Jimin said, hurling himself across the coffee table and yanking the phone from Seokjin’s hands. 

Jungkook followed behind Jimin, resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder as he squinted at you on the screen. “Can we make it any bigger? I can’t see shit from here.” 

“No!” Seokjin protested, but it was clear he wouldn’t win this argument. 

“Wait, why does she have your shirt?” Yoongi asked as Jimin and Jungkook fumbled with the television setup to cast the stream. 

Seokjin glared at his friend. Hoseok laughed, sliding into the spot next to him and offering him some shrimp chips. 

“Who cares? The better question is why is she wearing it on her live stream over her lingerie?” 

“Ah, true.” 

Yoongi turned to Seokjin expectantly, like he would somehow know the reason. Honestly, he wondered the same. 

You weren’t ready for this. You two had barely covered the basics yesterday. Why were you streaming when the arrangement was between the two of you to do this together? Did you just not want his help anymore? Or did all the talking and your panic attack yesterday make you rethink things?

What if you had really wanted him to leave last night or your emotions got the best of you and you regretted everything? Seokjin could feel the spiral of his thoughts starting to unwind as he tried to figure out what the explanation for this stream was. 

“A-ha! Ok, we got it,” Jimin said as he clicked through the series of menu permissions to cast a larger version of you onto the screen. 

You were reading your comments, lightly gnawing on your lip. Nerves, he realized. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, we can play the same game as last time. We didn’t quite finish, did we?” You said, rolling your neck and flexing your shoulders. As you did, your breasts thrust further toward the camera, plush skin Seokjin dreamt of shoving his face into so many times now fully on display for all his friends. 

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook said from somewhere in the room. Seokjin had no clue. He couldn’t break his gaze as you giggled at something in your comments. He felt heat head south from his face. 

“Jesus hyung.” Hoseok said. “I don’t know how you get through a workday with her without getting hard.” 

“He doesn’t,” Taehyung added unhelpfully. 

He heard the air behind him shift, before a soft thwack and Taehyung’s responding groan informed him that someone had thrown a pillow at him. 

“Okay, so new rules,” you said.“From now on, if any of you say something super perverted, you’ll be unable to comment until the next stream. I’ll have my mods ban you from commenting. The only way you can get on my good side again and get yourself unbanned during a stream is if you fulfill something off of my wish list I added. You can type #springwishes and see all I’ve put on there. Sound good?” You smirked at your camera, a little bite of confidence spreading through you. 

Seokjin’s chest clenched, a tiny bit of relief washing over him as he saw you get your bearings, the comments spamming that hashtag for the link to your wishlist, which he’d advised you to make as a form of incentive and distraction during moments when you felt overwhelmed. If people were getting into deep waters with a topic, you could always redirect to the wishlist, making it more of a prize for your viewers to partake in versus punishment. 

“Alright, so let’s do this,” you said. “Game on.”

Maybe he was overreacting. In the last hour he and his friends spent intently watching your stream, you seemed to navigate your chat a little more with ease, or at least with redirection. 

Yoongi had nodded off in his chair despite the earth-shattering moans your game was crying out as you tripped different combos. You were getting better at the game, and as you finished another level that gave you the prize of some more very not safe for work photos by your “girls”, a heavy yawn escaped through your lips. 

Maybe you didn’t need his help after all. For what it’s worth, you seemed to be settling in comfortably to your performance aspect of the role, sometimes twirling bits of hair in your fingers, earning yourself half a dozen new subs and a few new things from your wishlist. 

“Wow, we’re making good progress,” you said, reaching for your water bottle and pouting at your screen as you sipped from the straw. 

The comments had become more mild during the game when you were fully immersed. Seokjin had been monitoring them closely, seeing your mod Wonwoo diligently screening spam out of the comments. 

But now that your attention had shifted, they were being flooded once more with people vying for your attention. 

Str3amballzak: Wanna fuk those tits

(Str3amballzak has been banned from the chat room)

Lickemup: sit on my face

(Lickemup has been banned from the chat room)

“And so it begins,” you said sarcastically, sipping more water from your straw as you switched your camera view to just you instead of the game. 

(Str3amballzak has fulfilled wish list item number 7: new streaming headphones)

Str3amballzak: worth it

“You guys are working hard at getting yourself permanently banned,” you said, rolling your eyes. “But thanks I guess.” 

Str3amballzak: ur welcome baby

Str3amballzak: ever do private streams?

“No, I don’t do private streams Mr. Ball Sack. Or Ball Zak? Anyway, do you want to go in time out again?” 

Str3amballzak: fine ill behave. 

Str3amballzak: daddy just wants to spoil u

Str3amballzak: u should put some other toys on that wish list ;) 

Heat flooded Seokjin’s face as he read the chat messages fluttering by. This was going south quickly. 

“Not your baby,” you said with a scoff. “And no thanks daddy. I’m good.”

“God, these dudes are gross. Is this the same kind of comments you get, Seokjin-hyung?” Jungkook asked. 

“At first, kind of. But not much anymore. On occasion someone will try to dom me from the chat, but there’s a tip feature for that,’ he responded, eyebrows furrowed as he studied your face for any discomfort. Annoyance, sure, but you could handle that. His hands still hovered over his phone, ready to intervene in a moment’s notice.  

(Lickemup has fulfilled wishlist item number 3: electric kettle)

Lickemup: something to keep you warm if it’s not my tongue in your pussy 

(Lickemup has been banned from the chat room)

(Lickemup has fulfilled wishlist item number 0: mystery gift)

Lickemup: loophole? 

“Oh,” you said, eyes going wide. “I…I didn’t know that was an option.” 

Seokjin didn’t either. And he certainly didn’t know what a “mystery gift” was. What he did know was that this wishlist would mail you anything without giving away your address. But that meant it could be anything. 

Uh oh. 

User27271: wanna cum on your face 

(User27271 has been banned from the chatroom)

(User27271 has fulfilled wish list item number 0: mystery gift)

User27271: hope you like pet play 

(User27271 has been banned from the chat room)

User8008s: stroking my dick to your pretty face rn

(User8008s has been banned from the chatroom)

(User8008s has fulfilled wish list item number 0: mystery gift)

User8008s: 💦

“Jesus Christ, guys,” you said weakly as the chaos of the loophole began to take over your chat, dozens more accounts flooding the comments to do the work around, plunging into the raunchiest of comments before being banned, then fulfilling some mystery gift before being banned again, this time for good. Seokjin looked at the view counter in the corner. It was rising exponentially. 

He could see how quickly your control was leaving you, the glassiness of your eyes and shakiness of your voice as you fought to reel in your chat leading you toward the verge of a breakdown. 

“Is there any way to turn that feature off?” Jungkook asked helplessly, his eyes wide as another onslaught of cyber attacks began.

“I don’t know, I didn’t even know it had this option,” Seokjin said, his voice tight as he helplessly watched you begin to shrink away from the spotlight he had spent hours with you yesterday practicing to do the exact opposite in. 

You pulled the shirt tighter across your body, and that seemed to spring him into action: you there in his shirt, this chaotic chat undoing the work you’d done in a matter of minutes. Fuck those people. 

“There has to be something we can do,” Jimin said, and Namjoon whipped out his phone, searching up the parameters of the wish list site you had used. 

“Tell her to just have her mods turn the entire feature off in the meantime,” Hoseok said, tapping his foot anxiously. 

Seokjin nodded, typing the message into the chat box. 

JokeJinSeokjin: Turn off your the gifting feature

But his comment was lost in the slew of the chat. He knew there was no way you would see it. 

“She definitely isn’t going to see that!” Taehyung groaned. 

“Call her, hyung. You have her number,” Yoongi said, his voice gravelly from just waking up. 

Right, a phone call. He could do that. 

Seokjin opened his contact list and dialed your number. He knew you kept your phone on silent during your stream, but in a moment of luck, you looked down, where he assumed your phone was at and hastily pressed the accept call button. 

“Hello?” Your voice sounded like a wild echo through the TV; the sound delay was just enough to warp you. 

Seokjin stood and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t even bother turning on the light, something about the isolation away from his friends and the darkness feeling like a comfort, like you two were in your own little world and not being put on blast in front of thousands. 

“Turn off your chat commands. Now,” he ordered. 

“Oh, uh, I don’t know how,” you said, then groaned. “Guys please I don’t want any of this. Get it the fuck together.” You paused. “What do you mean who am I talking to on the phone? It’s none of your goddamn business.” 

“Y/N,” Seokjin warned. You needed to stop engaging. 

“I know! I know, okay?” you snapped, and Seokjin nodded, even though you couldn’t see him. You took a shaky breath after a moment. “Are you watching?”

“I was but I needed my phone to call you so I’m not right now. Why? Is something happening?”

“No it’s just–never mind. I have set myself on away and muted so I can unlink this option. Wonwoo is turning off the chat completely for me.” 

“Good,” he responded and opened a browser window, typing in his query. “Okay I looked it up and you need to click the right toggle in your stream settings and scroll down until you see ‘outside links’ and then–”

“Slower, please!” You said exasperated. 

“You can always turn the whole stream off,” he said gently and you huffed in response. 

You paused for a beat. “I don’t want to. I was fine before this whole thing started. I want to do this.” You sounded like you were on the verge of crying. He knew this meant a lot to you. So much of the first few stream’s success determines your future. He knew this. Saw it happen in his own online presence. If you lost a lot of followers tonight, you’d probably not regain them. And then your payout at the end of the month would be a fraction of what you were receiving. 

“Okay. Yes. Then let’s take a deep breath,” he said, taking a deep breath of his own for you to follow. He heard the soft inhale through the receiver, and smirked. 

“Now let’s get you all set up. See that toggle on the right?” 

You hummed a response. “I think so.” 

“Okay, now go down. You see the external link options?” 

A pause. “Can’t you just do it for me?” You whined and Seokjin laughed. 

“I could but I’m across town at a friend’s house. It would be easy if you do it yourself.” 

He wanted to kick himself for saying that. Because he would be out the door in a heartbeat, would Uber or sprint toward you. But by the time he got there, it would be too late. Too much chaos was happening at once, and this needed to stop now.  

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to keep you—“ 

Seokjin clicked his tongue. “None of that, now. Focus.” 

If he did show up at your house to help, he also knows what would happen next. After the momentary panic was over, you would be pissed that you didn’t handle things on your own. At work, however big the mess, you were always insistent on doing it yourself. Here was no exception. 

After a few clicks he heard a gasp. “Got it!” 

“Good job, princess. You did well.” 

“Oh…thank you. Not without your help though,” you said meekly.

He knew you were running out of time. In a few minutes, you’d be back to kick ass in your stream, and life would go on. So he chose his next few words carefully. 

“I thought you wanted me to be there for your first stream.”

“I..well…I did, but I felt guilty and like I had to stream tonight. I didn’t want to bother you, but it looks like I did that anyway, huh?” 

“You’re not bothering me, ever. You asked for my help with this.” 

“And you did! You helped so much.”

An awkward silence fell between you two as Seokjin thought. He exhaled roughly.  

“So, what now? Are you just trying to get rid of me or something? Did I do something wrong?” His voice shook, the hurt he tried to conceal penetrated through the evenness of his tone. 

“No! No it’s not like that,” you said quickly. “I just, I feel like I had to.”

“Had to what?”

“Stream. I felt bad and like I owed it to them today.”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know really,” you said softly. “Because I’m desperate for the cash. And that sounds awful I know. But I want to make sure that when summer term comes around, I am ready for it financially. And my parents have been calling me a lot and I just…I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

He could hear the edge of your voice as you got more worked up, your last word cracking slightly like you were trying not to cry. 

“No, no I’m not mad, Y/N.” 

“Are you sure? Because I know you are helping and you already are spending time with me and it’s not like you don’t have other things to take care of! Like you had to work this morning and I got a text from Mino saying he caught you asleep in your office snoring. I didn’t tell him it was because of me, but god, if I could get this shit together, your services wouldn’t be necessary.”

“I’m not mad. Really, I think you’re trying to find reasons for me to be mad at you but I’m not. And don’t worry about my sleep schedule. It was one night out. I’m not that old for one night not sleeping in my bed to ruin my entire life.”

You hummed in response. 

“Listen, Y/N, I chose to stay out all night knowing I had to open today. You might be persuasive but you aren’t that good to manipulate me into anything. I was there because I wanted to be there. Okay?”

You hummed again. 

“I need some kind of verbal acknowledgement other than ‘hmm’.”

“Sorry. Okay.” 

“Okay what?”

“I was listening!”

“I know you were, that’s not why I’m asking.”

You sighed. “Fine, okay I am not manipulating you. You wanted to be here.” You paused. “Seokjin?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if I can go back.. Like, what do I do? I’ve already been gone for ten minutes and Wonwoo is blowing up my texts and…” Your voice broke, and he could hear the quiet sound of you crying. 

“Hey, breathe, princess. It’s okay. You can always just turn your computer off. The people watching were assholes.”

“Not all of them,” you muttered back. “God what is wrong with me?”

Seokjin turned on the light to the bathroom. His clothes were crumpled, heavy circles under his puffy eyes and disheveled hair making him look like some washed up finance guy. Honestly, he looked a lot like how he used to back when he did work in finance. 

“Nothing is wrong with you, and you know it. You’re perfect. A mess, and really bad at remembering to put the pickled radishes back in the fridge when you’re done with them, but that’s still pretty great all things considered.”

He heard a chuckle on the other end. “Yeah, I’m such a winner. Ugh, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.” 

“Let me help, then,” he offered.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, what do I do?”

He chuckled. “I’m not going to decide that for you. That’s something you need to figure out. But, I’ll give you a few options. First, you can just shut your computer down completely and not apologize, not explain yourself. Your chat and any good subscribers that you actually want to have around will understand. You’re forgetting that there were thousands of people watching, and the loudest ones were the trolls, but they weren’t the only ones there.

“The other option,” Seokjin cleared his throat. “Is that you can go back out there, finish the stream, leave your comments off, and do what you want to do. I can’t guarantee it’ll be as lucrative but you will at least won’t be engaging with those idiots anyway.”

He let you mull it over, opening the medicine cabinet and rifling through his friends’ things. Eyedrops, god, his eyes were on fire from these contact lenses. He had a pair of glasses in his work bag, but they were a little old and frankly kind of stupid looking. 

“Okay, I think…I think I want to try again. And like you said, I’ll keep the comments off this time.”

“That’s my girl,” Seokjin sighed as he squirted some solution into his burning eyes. Then he paused. “I mean, uh, you know. Good job.” 

You chuckled on the other end. God he really needed to monitor himself better. Something about his conversations with you were becoming less careful by the hour. 

“Thanks, I know what you meant. And thank you again.”

You paused again. “Is there something wrong, Y/N?” Seokjin asked. 

“Well, it’s just. I want to do this, I do. But I’m not. God I don’t know, it's like I’m frozen in place. I just feel like there’s so many things I need you to show me before I get good at this.”

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know. How to be sexy without ruining my career, how to just dust everything off and get back out there. That’s what you do all the time! With uh, with work and everything.”

Seokjin chuckled a little. Dusting things off was hardly something he was good at, but he did know how important it was to get back out there. He wasn’t quite sure what you’d meant in relation to work since that wasn’t really a space for it, but that wasn’t his focus. Instead it was on something else. 

“You…think I’m sexy?”

“Oh, uh…yeah duh. Don’t let it go to your head though, everyone thinks that.”

Seokjin could think of quite a few people who didn’t think that, actually. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll let it slide. And you’re right, it is important to just dust things off and move on. But that’s just one thing that I want to show you. There’s so many other things for you to learn.”

So many things. He felt proud knowing that you were doing this on your own, even after this hiccup; it meant that you were doing exactly what he’d tried to teach you yesterday. Even if you faltered once. It was impressive. And he couldn’t help but think of how much you were going to grow from this experience, how many doors it opened up for you, for both of you to forge a stronger connection. He wanted to show you all sorts of things, not just with streaming, but with him. How after seeing your apartment and couch with a dent in it, he wanted you to create a dent in his couch as you read books from your collection. Or that even in his large chef’s kitchen he had in his luxury apartment, he could stand side-by-side next to you prepping more carrots for other foods. 

Maybe cake this time. And when you inevitably spilled ingredients all over the place like you did at work, globs of cream cheese frosting on your cheeks, he’d laugh and find it endearing as you always were, and try not to think about your tongue doing more naughty things to him as you lick it off of your fingers. How you clearly had a little stubborn bratty streak in you that liked to tease and tempt him, and without a doubt you would spend an extra long and thorough job making sure he had a front row seat to you sucking your fingers into your mouth. Just like how you knew you were sitting in that apartment of yours right now, his pink shirt wrapping around your large perfect tits. What were you wearing on the bottom of that ensemble, even? That bustier that was so goddamn tantalizing. Did it have matching panties? Were you wearing those too? He knew you well enough to know you were probably wearing some kind of jogger bottom since people didn’t get to see your fantastic ass in the camera view. 

Good. That was something Seokjin didn’t have to feel jealous of. They could get their fill of your breasts on this stream, but he knew what that soft tummy looked like, how those strong, thick thighs looked in leggings and joggers and most recently, tiny pajama shorts. Thinking back to last night, the way those hiked up your thighs to your little panty line, how soft the skin looked. Would your thighs be just as soft if they were straddling his head? He could only imagine how delicious they would look after he left little nip-marks on them, suckling the flesh just enough to hear your breathing increase, to get you shifting all needy and antsy as you got more needy and impatient. Just as he would want you so that you would rub that wet pussy right on his face and–

“Are you still there?” you said, and Seokjin’s breath caught in his chest, causing him to cough. 

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he rasped. He heard you chuckle low in response, and fuck. Something about how sexy your voice sounded had his cock throbbing. “I got, uh, distracted. What did you say?”

“Oh….uh, never mind.” You paused. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but your voice flooded through the receiver again. “I don’t want to take you away from your friends any longer. I think I’ve got things for now, but thank you again.”

His heart sank with disappointment that absolutely should not have been there. “Ah, right. Of course. Well, then I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Um, on second thought,” you said suddenly, and his ears pricked up. “Do you…do you think you could come by just in case things get out of hand again? Do you want to? If not it’s okay but––”

“I’ll be over in thirty minutes,” he said eagerly.

Seokjin was already throwing open the bathroom door and barreling down the hall, his friends all shifting from the TV where your away message was cast and onto him. Jimin’s eyebrows raised in question. Taehyung grinned at his friend devilishly, winking and nudging Jungkook. 

“Okay,” you breathed, relieved. “Good.” 

“Good?”

 “Mhmm. See you soon.” Your voice sounded lower, huskier. If there was any ability to think anymore, he would think you were trying to sound sexy and flirty. 

“Yes, okay. See you.” As he hung up, Seokjin felt himself smiling at his phone, his heart feeling a bit fuller, more awake. 

“I’m uh, I’m going to go over there. There’s some stuff she wants me to keep an eye on,” he announced. 

He looked over at his friends. Namjoon attempted some form of polite nodding and understanding, but it quickly broke as everyone else erupted into laughter. 

“Yah! What is it now? Were you guys eavesdropping or something?” 

“We were,” Yoongi said between breaths, “but it wasn’t like you were having a particularly interesting conversation.” He dabbed tears from his eyes. 

“Except the part where you called her princess. Phew you’re whipped.” Hoseok added. 

Seokjin rolled his eyes, reaching down into the couch to find his keys that had been eaten by the cushion upon his arrival. “It just slipped out.”

“Yeah, well, you might want to take a breather before you head out, hyung.” Jungkook avoided eye contact with Seokjin, a blush rushing to his cheeks. 

“And why is that?” Seokjin asked. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Because your Big Dick Daddy boner is so incredibly obvious right now that I’m not sure it’ll be you keeping an eye on Y/N when it’s more likely she’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Seokjin looked down and as if on cue, his dick twitched. He tried to adjust himself. His friends roared around him, even Jimin trading his careful composure in for hilarity as he threw himself to the floor. 

“Fuck you guys.” Seokjin said as he headed toward the door. 

“Not us, but maybe you tonight!” Taehyung called. “I’m sure Y/N will be singing ‘Hey Daddy’ when you walk in!” 

Seokjin was already out the door, but he could hear the first few bars of the Usher song playing, and despite himself, he smiled. 

When Seokjin arrives, you have already explained to your chat that if they want to have any privileges at all, they’ll stop being asshats. That is a boundary you can more easily create, something less wavering than the control needed to essentially domme your chat. 

You’re not a domme. Not even close. 

“Be right back,” you say to your screen, kicking on the away message. You glance at your phone. Only about twenty minutes left until you’re ready to end things. Hopefully not too long to make Seokjin wait. 

“Hey,” you say, opening the door. His dark hair is disheveled, bags under his eyes. He looks like hell. You fight the urge to immediately turn him around and send him back home. 

He’s tired but his smile is still adorable and wide as he steps into the door of your apartment, discarding his shoes. 

“Hi,” he says softly. 

“Thanks for coming. I’m going to wrap my stream up soon, but I was thinking maybe we could debrief after?” 

He nods and plops himself down on your couch like he’s been here dozens of times before, not just once. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll just be in here if you need me.”

“Are you going to watch the stream?” You ask, suddenly feeling self conscious. It’s one thing if Seokjin watches your stream when you’re not there, but the idea of him seeing you in lingerie and playing some sexy game is kind of intimate. 

You in lingerie and his fucking shirt, that is. 

“Well, I thought about it. It’s probably the only way I can really understand what’s going on in case you need me. I’ve brought my earbuds so you don’t get feedback from the other room or have to hear your own voice delayed. So we should be good.”

The idea of earbuds does sound a little bit more practical and distancing. 

“Okay, yeah. Oh, and um, about your shirt…” Seokjin looks down from your face, scanning your body with his eyes. You feel heat lick over the places his gaze follows, down your collar bone and the curve of your hips and back up to the swell of your breasts that spill over your bustier. This is where his stare hovers for a moment, and it’s almost maddening, like he’s undressing you with his eyes. It stirs something deep in your core, pricking your nipples a bit to start becoming hard. The lace of the bustier is too thick and it’s lined to avoid exposing anything, but it doesn’t matter. 

Seokjin is looking at you like he wants to eat you, and it’s turning you on impossibly fast. 

“Keep it,” he offers after a moment, his eyes flitting away from your chest. His ears are turning slightly red. “It looks good on you.” 

“Thank you.” It’s all you can offer in response. You clasp your hands together in front of you, the soft linen of his shirt skirting around your naked thighs. The shorts you wore to bed last night were all you could find to throw on with this getup that were clean and comfortable enough for a few hours of streaming. They’re a bit too short, but you figured no one on stream would see them. 

You didn’t really consider that Seokjin would see them again, or really ever, and now you’re realizing how much skin you are showing. 

“I’ll uh, get back to it I guess,” you say and Seokjin nods, now appearing more engrossed in setting up his phone with the stream than talking to you about it or paying attention to what you’re wearing, or the lack of it. 

You scoot off to your room, shutting the door quietly behind you and sinking down into your chair. 

You hit the settings for the away message to turn off and unmute. 

“Alright, we are winding down for the night. Thanks to everyone who stayed with me to the end, I appreciate it.” 

Your comment section responds in kind, with thanks for you continuing to stream through the chaos. 

“Before I leave, though. I figured we can play a few more levels of the game. We have to make sure Candy has enough magic wands to unlock the special bonus game. Although, can I just say that picking wands was a weird choice? Don’t you normally just need one to get the job done? Why not something else, like different shaped dildos or something. Honestly, a little more variety in size and shape can’t hurt.” 

After a few seconds of delay, you hear a boom of laughter in the living room. His laughter is infectious, and it blooms a large grin on your face. 

“So here’s the plan. I’m going to unlock this bonus level tonight and then we’ll see what the hype is about during the next stream, okay?” 

The chat has calmed itself, and you’re glad you tested having it turned back on instead of totally following Seokjin’s advice earlier. Maybe his streams still function if he doesn’t have his comments on, but you know most of your royalties are given from moments of engagement; your parasocial relationship with your subscribers is based on more conversation than the actual thing you’re doing. It’s how you’ve gotten this far without being good at video games. No one seems to care when you get stuck on the same level each time if you at least have engaging conversation. 

JokeJinSeokjin: I’m hungry. Do you want me to order jjajangmyeon?   

You smirk at your screen and nod, then answer a few questions your chat has initiated. 

“Why did I decide to do a Late Night stream? I needed to change things up. You guys all started to follow me after Wonwoo’s stream and I feel like there’s only so many games I can play with the same kind of commentary before we all get sick of it.”

JokeJinSeokjin: What about mandu? The delivery minimum is way too high so we need to get something else. 

A chuckle leaves your lips and you nod again, redirecting yourself to the chat once more. Someone asks how you’re feeling about continuing streaming in this way. 

“Uhh, I would say that most of the streams so far have been a little crazy, right? It’s…doing this is hard. I’m hoping the more I do it the more things will start to chill out. I’m sorry to anyone who was offended by the comment section earlier. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand.”

JokeJinSeokjin: Food is ordered. Will be here in 30. 😋

Springin2Luv: @ JokeJinSeokjin who are you? I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend S.D.?

Your face heats as you prepare for the onslaught of drama this will cause, but then you’re shockingly surprised at Seokjin’s response. 

JokeJinSeokjin: Just a good friend to make sure S.D. is fed and for another stream. 

JokeJinSeokjin: Anyway 28 minutes until food time so hurry up and finish this level!

You laugh. “Well, you heard the man, let’s get back to the game.” 

Twenty eight minutes later exactly, Seokjin knocks on your door. “The food is here! I’m starving. Are you done yet?” 

You put the game on pause. “If you were watching the stream like you said you were, you would know that I’m not done with this level and am in fact stuck.” 

“Well excuse me for not staring intently and absorbing every detail when I’m this hungry. I’m going to open everything and eat it all before you!” 

“Go right ahead! You’re the one who wanted it so badly,” you call back, teasing. Though the second you finish the sentence, the warm smell of the crispy dumplings wafts into your room, Seokjin lightly creaking the door open and fanning the delivery bowl in your direction. 

He raises an eyebrow, challenging you as he takes one bite into one, mocking before his face contorts into pain. 

“Aish!!! It’s fucking HOT,” he yelps, and he drops the remaining dumpling back into the bowl, some of the green stuffing spilling throughout. 

“Well yeah, what did you expect!?”

“Not for it to be so goddamn burning hot!” He fans his tongue for good measure, and you can see even from your desk the slight red tinge some of his taste buds have taken. 

“There’s ice in the freezer. I’ll wrap this up now,” you sigh and shoo him away before turning back to your screen. “Well, you all probably heard that exchange, so I’m going to pause here. Sorry we didn’t get to beat it, but I’ll try again next time.”

You read over some of your farewell comments from your chat. But one really sticks with you. 

Babybibi: I feel like I know that voice from somewhere. 

Your stomach drops, but you remain composed, pretending you don’t recognize the comment. It never dawned on you that Seokjin’s fans could really be anywhere. Does he realize that? Is that why he safely stayed out of the camera’s reach? You’re not sure. 

By the time you have signed off, Seokjin has managed to plate both of your meals and get you drinks from the fridge. He’s plopped a throw pillow onto the floor to sit on at the beat up coffee table so you can sit in your regular couch spot. 

“I learned my lesson with that couch yesterday. It eats people.” 

“Oh yeah yeah, I know. Thank you, this looks great.” You blow on one of the mandu before popping into your mouth. Even after arriving ten minutes ago, it’s still crisp and hot. Meaning however hot it was for Seokjin must have been volcanic. “How’s your tongue?”

He pouts, sloshing some ice water around in his mouth before opening it to stick out his pink tongue. “It hawtsth,” he says with his tongue still lolled out. 

You chuckle. “Oh poor baby, do I need to kiss it and make it all better?” 

Seokjin shifts a little at the question, and you realize immediately the error in what you’ve just suggested. An image of the two of you drums up in your mind, you sucking each other’s tongues, an ice cube swapping from one mouth to the other as it melts. Nothing about this is even intimate; it’s just pure filth. And based on the matching redness in Seokjin’s ears, it’s clear his brain has gone somewhere similar. 

He finally rolls his tongue back between his plush lips and you sit awkwardly, suddenly unable to remember how to function. 

Seokjin makes the move to end the awkward pause, taking his chopsticks into his grasp and pulling out a large glob of noodles, shoveling it into his mouth. 

Right, food. Your stomach gurgles at the prospect and Seokjin raises an eyebrow at you as he chews, his eyes flashing down to your stomach. 

“Eat,” he instructs, so you do, following his commands to finish your dumpling and move on to your generous pile of noodles. 

How is he able to just push past the awkward and not have it freeze him in place the way it does with you? As you slurp your food down, you can’t help but study him, so effortlessly comfortable to sit in silence in your apartment after playing games about sex workers. 

You shouldn’t be surprised, you guess. Because Seokjin is a sex worker. He’s incredibly nonchalant about all of what you’re doing, no judgment to smudge this dynamic. 

If your old friends, or even your parents knew about you doing this, what would they think? 

Nothing good, you assume. 

It’s not that you were raised in an environment that was all helplessly ignorant about sex and bodies. You’d had sex. Your parents sat you down when you had your first period and explained every single detail about the human body and reproduction to you. It was painful and scientific, so divorced from the intimacy of what sex really is that it didn’t present itself to be much of an interest or issue until, well, you felt the first licks of desire. 

Those started as dreams. Ones where you would be heavily kissing and exploring the body of whoever you were crushing on at the time. The first one started with Wonwoo, after having spent all summer at the library memorizing the thin curve of his upper lips as he squinted to read the books in front of him. You would feel the heat of your core shifting you in your chair as you grew more intrigued, more curious about how his lips would feel on yours, what he would taste like. How his soft hands would feel if he actually held yours, not just the accidental brush when you would walk side-by-side back toward your neighborhood, where you would drop him off at the shop before slugging your way back through that sticky, angry heat that only added more to your discomfort. 

That was the first summer you started masturbating. And it was so awkward in some ways, trying to learn what you liked and how you liked it but also wondering why you liked it, why you liked Wonwoo in a way that was no longer so innocent and picturesque but scarier, more real. 

Your parents caught you, probably as every parent does at some point and just pretends they didn’t notice. Yours, however, made it clear that they knew. And while they never said anything beyond mentioning it once or twice, it felt humiliating. As if you were supposed to be above attraction and sex and pleasure. It was more in how your parents acted after this point that has given you enough insight to imagine how they would react if they knew what you did now. 

No direct words spoken, just blank, glaring looks and sneers. Just them ogling you like you had told them you murdered someone. Shame, in all the nooks and crannies of what it is. 

As for your friends, besides Wonwoo, they’ve all moved on. You had been so curious as a teenager, and wanted to know so much more. Yet, no one ever talked about sex. Some of them had dated through teen years. All of them dated someone in college except you. Sex was happening all around you and yet it was some forbidden topic. Even with Wonwoo after a while. You have a feeling you would have a next to near impossible time explaining what you are doing to those friends, and if Wonwoo wasn’t a streamer, you’re sure he wouldn’t fully get it either. 

But Seokjin understands. This is his life, this is so natural to him that he can sit in front of you after a long day and lazily smile with the knowledge that you are wearing lingerie underneath his shirt. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asks thoughtfully, and you blink, realizing that for the last few minutes you’ve been watching his gorgeous full lips, studying how his tongue peeks out to wipe away some of the sauce. 

“Lips,” you answer in your haze. 

“Ah,” he chides, and you blink away the memory. 

“What?” You ask. 

“Well, my lips are some of the best of them.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Given how long you were staring at me, I would bet that you were thinking they are. Don’t worry Y/N, go right ahead and get a good look.” He winks. 

“You’re so full of yourself.” 

“Well, at least I’m full of something. I haven’t seen you take more than a few bites of food. Quit stalling and eat your damn dinner.”

“You know, you’re pretty bossy.”

“I guess that’s why I’m the boss.” 

“Time and place. This isn’t the restaurant. Maybe it’s my house and I call the shots.”

He gestures around. “Well then, by all means. What are your commands.”

“For you to stop being a tool.”

Seokjin cackles. “Oh, that’s an insult I haven’t heard since middle school.”

“Well, is it any less efficient? I think it serves its purpose.” 

“I think you’re still stalling.” 

“Fine!” 

You twirl a large pile of noodles around your chopsticks and shovel them into your mouth. “Thewere. Hawppy?”

“Immensely so,” Seokjin says, his eyes twinkling. 

You don’t have the fight in you to argue anymore. The warm, savory noodles are so chewy and delicious, and the salt on your tongue is reminding you how deplenished you are from the energy of the stream. 

You eat in silence, until the heaviness of your limbs has scattered to mostly just the heaviness of your full stomach. 

You lean back against the sofa on your final chew, groaning when you’ve finished. 

“Ugh, that was so good.”

“I told you. I’m a genius for suggesting it.”

“You got lucky and picked the best place in this neighborhood.”

Seokjin scoffs. “Excuse you. Might I remind you of a humble restaurant that is also technically in this neighborhood?”

“And does this place serve jajjangmyeon at one a.m. on a weekday?”

“No.”

“Then my point still stands,” you say. 

Seokjin sighs and then follows up with a yawn that you can’t help but catch. 

“So, debrief time. Before either of us fall asleep.”

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You can go home and rest. I can’t imagine you got much sleep today.”

“Hardly any at all, but you can’t get rid of me so easily.” Seokjin smirks. “Let’s talk about the stream.” 

“Well, you caught most of it.” 

“Yes, and I think it’s worth talking about.” 

You mull it over for a minute, how you felt as the onslaught of gifted sex toys seemed to flood the chat, the overwhelm not really of the thing itself but the assertion over a boundary you were trying to place. Why was this so hard for you to do? 

“I think I still feel so much like an imposter. I don’t know a lot about gaming, but I’m gaming. I’m not at all sexy enough to have a stream that does sexy stuff, so I feel like I’m just…” You shrug. 

He opens his mouth, but then stops himself, nodding for you to finish. 

“I don’t know, I just don’t want to fall for the pressure of being what everyone wants me to be. Which is, this role of the fat funny streamer. Like, every single trope in fiction has the side friend be fat and funny as some comedic relief. And because people wanted me to stream because I was so ‘funny’. Or they just see me as something to fuck because if I’m not completely sexless I have to be basically a pocket pussy for someone. All so I can make money. It’s so fucked.”

“But…you aren’t just a character in fiction, Y/N.” Seokjin reaches across the table, grazing his thumb over the back of your pinky knuckle. “You’re real. You feel things. You feel this, don’t you?”

You nod. 

“So if this is the choice, to keep streaming for some financial goal, then who is it you want to be? You’re sure of what you don’t want, which is a good place to start. But what next? You have a choice.”

You pause. You have a choice. 

In all of this, has it ever really felt that way? From the start, streaming was so rooted in financial stability. And because of that, it’s been so much heavier when you are forced into a performer role that you don’t want to partake in. It never occurred to you that you could actually control any of it.

But you suppose that’s what Seokjin does when he streams. He gives his audience some version of himself that he has a say in, control over. 

“I…I guess I don’t know. I have never really thought about this being a choice.”

He nods, then stands, stretching his arms over his head. “Maybe that’s where you start. Trying to figure out who it is you want to be. And owning her. Whoever she is. Whether she wants to be funny or sexy or a combination of the two. If she wants to give up streaming and find another thing, or go full steam ahead and become the top streamer on the internet. You get to decide.” 

After dinner–and trying not to stare at your breasts– Seokjin helped you wash the dishes, talked a bit more about your plans for the next stream, and then he left. He knew he was risking another impromptu sleepover and after your debrief, he wanted to make sure you had the space you needed to sit with the idea of choosing this for yourself. 

He knew all too well how important that was. Two years ago, in the same position, it was something he also had to decide: which parts of him stayed with him when he streamed and which parts he hid so he could keep them for himself. It wasn’t an easy choice. He still felt it creep up sometimes when he streamed, constantly vigilant of the words leaving his mouth so he didn’t ever give too much away.

Even when his friends were in the chat, he tried to not call attention to them by name. Similar to how you were on your stream. He wished he could be honest with you and tell you that this part never gets easier. Regardless of how much you wanted to share with others, there was the unfortunate reality that in order to maintain any sense of discretion and honor on the worldwide web, regardless of the type of streaming, the boundary between you and your audience would always lead to disconnection and loneliness. Conversely, you also were not ever going to be totally private and anonymous again. At some point, there was a tipping point where you would never again just be you. The digital footprint was permanent. 

And in this limbo, as time moved on and winter finally melted into Spring, the pressure was on for Seokjin. He considered telling you that he was a sex cam streamer. He had felt it on the tip of his tongue that night, but in the many nights that have since followed, fighting against the decision to just tell you so you could move through it and potentially build a more realistic and relatable plan based on his own experiences and the potential betrayal you might have felt when you learned of the ways he wasn’t at all morally superior for doing things for money. Would you judge him for wanting better for you? 

Moreover, would you be able to live with knowing that your friend–your boss– did gay sex streams? It just felt too delicate at this point to bring up, so Seokjin shoved it down inside of him, just like he did with his audience every time he hit the countdown to go live. 

And unfortunately, in the last few months he’d only streamed a handful of times, which resulted in a significant decrease in engagement and therefore, income. 

But between working at the restaurant and then coming over to sit in the other room as you streamed, his time was limited. 

He was tired. You streamed late into the early hours of the morning, and unlike him, you didn’t work full time. On the days you did have the early shift in the morning, you somehow seemed rested, clearly used to the chaotic structure of your regular gaming streams that might have occurred the night before. You’d decided to do a brief pause on late night themed streams until you had a better game plan. And to the surprise of both you and Seokjin, your followers were supportive. So you would stream regular games in the late night slots on occasion, and Seokjin would sit on as an honorary mod despite the exhaustion. Granted, those nights you often fell asleep before Seokjin had even left your apartment, and he would gently nudge you awake as you drifted off on the couch, prodding you to go take off your makeup and looking on fondly as you thanked him sleepily before crashing on your bed. 

One day in early May, though, everything that was delicately woven into the balance of things began fraying at the edges. 

Seokjin had woken up to a grateful text from you thanking him for coming over the night before, and had sent a follow up invitation. 

You 7:59AM: You can say no, but do you maybe want to go get dinner tonight when you’re done with work? 

Seokjin 8:00AM: Of course I’m going to say yes. Any suggestions where?

You 8:15AM: What about that restaurant that you told me about?

Seokjin 8:17AM: The Mediterranean one? With a month-long waitlist? 

You 8:18AM: Shit. I forgot about that. 😓

Seokjin 8:19AM: Wait a second. BRB

Seokjin 8:32AM: Ok I got a reservation for 10:30. I know that’s pretty late but that’s all I could get. Kitchen closes at midnight though so we should be fine.

You 8:32AM: HOW???

Seokjin 8:32AM: Head chef went to school with my brother. 

Seokjin 8:33AM: They weren’t that close. If they were, we would probably have an earlier time.

You 8:33AM: I don’t care! I’ll just eat before I go. It’ll be a fourth meal type of situation

Seokjin 8:35AM: We can also go somewhere else

You 8:36AM: NO. 😡 Do not take this away from me. I already decided what I want from the menu. We are going. 

Seokjin 8:37AM: LOL. Ok. I’ll come get you before? 10?

You 8:38AM: 👍

Seokjin smiled to himself, finally getting himself out of bed and ready for the day. He had a lot of work to do. When he opened his emails to get started, he saw an email from Worldwide Handsome. He opened it, his stomach sinking as he processed the words. 

Dear User Jin,  We at Worldwide Handsome appreciate the streams you have trusted us to host for the last two years. In this last financial quarter, we have successfully increased our outreach to new targeted consumers, both from members of the LGBTQ community and their allies. In part, we have you to thank for this success. Your continued participation in WWH’s Partnership program has taken us to new heights for pleasurable camming and stimulation experiences. Among our competitors, we have maintained our position as one of the top pornographic live cam websites, with your stream being one of the most engaged with to-date.  However, in the last two months, the algorithmic engagement of WWH’s live shows has significantly plummeted. In conducting market research, we found that in this quarter, we have had a staggering 11% decrease in consistent viewership, subscription renewal, and ad revenue. While there are many contributing factors, it has come to our attention that one overlapping factor might be one of the major contributing factors to this financial loss. In most of our data, it was User Jin’s channel that demonstrated the largest risk among our partners, primarily due to your lack of consistent streaming over the last few months.  While we are grateful for your continued dedication to Worldwide Handsome, we regret to inform you that should your channel continue to trend downward in market data over the next 30 days, we will terminate your contract with us as Partner. If this should happen, we still welcome you to continue utilizing the basic features of Worldwide Handsome. You will still retain a generous commission rate, the ability to publish past livestreams to your channel, stream clipping functions, gifting, and more. If you would like to learn more details about the basic features provided with Worldwide Handsome, please visit the FAQ page on our website.  Once again, we are grateful for your ongoing support over the years. We at WWH are grateful to you and the many other streamers who continue to make sex a global artform that we can proudly stand behind. If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out.   Sincerely,  Worldwide Handsome Partners

Dropped from the partner program? His partnership with the website was what provided the groundwork for any sort of financial stability while streaming. It not only provided consistent scheduled payouts, but the commission retention was one of the highest in the industry. People were desperate to be part of the partner program, even if it belonged within the confines of gay sex streaming. And until this quarter, Seokjin had been leading the trend, securing his place within the company. But now, because of his neglect, it was being threatened out from under him. 

On top of it, the money pit of the restaurant was at it again; a sewer line bursting a few blocks away had caused flooding and an electrical malfunction a month ago, which resulted in a transformer blowing and frying his computer with all the records. His parents had been tech savvy enough to digitize everything, but clearly not enough to have learned to back up things onto the cloud instead of leaving them on the harddrive. 

For the last few weeks, he’d been shuffling documents back and forth between his laptop and the new system, begging his father to learn how to sign a PDF through some YouTube tutorial that only resulted in his father taking a fuzzy picture of the document in a poorly lit hallway of the cruise ship and sending it back over this morning with a text: 

Here you go! Hope this is okay. Probably won’t have a connection for a while. Talk next week. 

It was not in fact okay, and Seokjin was now considering just forging his father’s signature to get the new insurance forms authorized as soon as possible. The financial burden of what the restaurant was doing was starting to feel more like damnation and less of an investment. With each week drawing nearer to his parents' return, he began worrying that they wouldn’t be able to handle all the things that had become urgent needs.

He had a month to get it together. Otherwise, he could kiss both of his careers goodbye. With his father just adding to the slew of problems, today he was at his wit’s end. He was beyond stressed and in desperate need of release. 

Which is why when he logged onto Worldwide Handsome after a particularly frustrating call with the electrical company, he found himself falling naturally into his old persona easily. 

“I needed this,” he said to his audience, watching the bottom of the screen as the numbers slowly trickled in. It wasn’t nearly as many people as he had gotten accustomed to seeing you entertaining during your stream nights, and for some reason that felt intimidating to Seokjin. How you were able to secure an audience without needing to get naked, one that was flexible with you in ways that his audience could never be. He felt a tinge of jealousy at the thought. 

BGood4Daddy: Missed u pretty boy

He watched the comments flit by, many of them taking on the same sub-dom dynamic he usually played as. Some asked where he’d been, but most of them were just horny messages begging for him to act out their fantasies. 

His stomach twisted. Somehow he’d forgotten this was how things went. 

“Missed you too. Missed all of you. It’s been crazy lately,” he said. He palmed himself casually through his slacks, trying to convince himself to get into the mood. 

The tips started to slowly trickle in, starting to meet the bare minimum goals for Seokjin to begin stripping. 

That’s one thing about his audience he’d always be able to count on. They would always ensure that he had enough of a payout to take his cock out. 

He chuckled at the comments, starting to wind up as he removed his shirt, and then unzipped his slacks. 

XMasterX: you’ve been a bad boy. Sir needs to punish you for leaving us for so long. 

“Is that right?” Seokjin challenged. “Well, then if I’m just going to be punished, maybe it’ll be better if I leave.” 

The threat had the desired effect; Seokjin’s tip jar began to fill up faster, the view count starting to increase back to a somewhat decent viewership. 

Good. This was good. Soon he could get all of this over with and secure himself back into good standing with the website and his subscribers. 

Within a few minutes, the tip jar announced that the first two milestones have been unlocked: take off shirt and take off pants. 

“Eager are we?” he teased, slowly slipping his shirt over his head. He’d managed to get back to the gym in his apartment complex this week, but even if he hadn’t, it’s not like he wasn’t still toned from all the heavy lifting at the restaurant. With all the electrical issues, he’d been helping pull industrial heavy equipment away from the walls for the electrician to prepare to install a new grounding wire, and those weren’t particularly light. 

The comments lit up with the praise, usernames old and new beginning to flash across his screen. He smirked.

“I know you’ve waited a while, but maybe you should sweat it out a bit. Show me how much you missed me.” 

It felt so natural to say this, something he knew you hadn’t felt comfortable doing in your streams, but you’d tried a few times. He’d found it cute when you’d done it, almost like it was a gentle request. But for him now, this was about anticipation and tension, letting his viewers fall back into the world of fantasy he used to cook up every few days. This was a place of escape, where Seokjin was left behind and Jin took control. 

The tip jar shook, the animated coins piling in. 

He popped the button of his pants. Slowly. He smirked at the camera, reaching down and squeezing himself. He wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t small, and that was still part of the fantasy: the grand reveal that people had to work for. He often chose to work under the assumption that everyone was new in the chat, that this was a new experience for voyeuristic eyes. While he knew that wasn’t necessarily true, for all he knew someone could be stumbling into the chat room, unknowing to his body and the pleasure he was so willing to give. 

Someone like you. 

His cock twitched at that. He’d expected this fantasy to get a bit old for him: the idea that you would come across his stream and stay for the whole thing. It had been the fuel for his fire a few months ago, but so much had changed now that you were friends. 

But now that he knew more about you, all the little details, fuck. That just made it seem even more real. He could see you in your small room, his shirt draped over you safely while you strutted around in those tiny pajama shorts. 

He unzipped his pants, kicking them off at the ankles and sitting back down in the chair. 

You’d be doing the same thing, he thought. Those shorts riding up those thick thighs he now knew exactly the weight of as they’d rubbed against his. They were so soft, all of you so soft. And he knew you’d shove them down quickly, annoyed that they got in your way, pouting a little bit that he wasn’t there to tug them off of you. 

“Fuck,” Seokjin said. “I don’t know if I can really take it much longer.” It was true, his cock was hardening quickly, and the need to touch himself was growing heavier with urgency. 

His chat sounded off, various commands to wait or to go for it. It really didn’t matter. He wasn’t there for them tonight. Even though maybe he should have been, maybe the risk was that if he didn’t comply, there would be no great reward. 

mapl3stor33 tipped $3000: Welcome back. Give us a good one. You can always pay us back for it 😉

Seokjin smiled, his most loyal subscriber popping up with a generous tip. Yes, this was where he thrived, wasn’t it? Isn’t this what he was good for? 

2 milestones unlocked from another viewer, this time selecting from some of the few dozens of options programmed into the menu to help guide the stream: cock ring and edging, no cumming. 

God, why did he allow for there to be guided sessions? Why didn’t he lead the stream this time like the one he did a few months ago? That was the one where he’d cum all over himself after pretending to blindfold you. 

Now, he knew even more about you, how the curve of your ass felt shifting against him. How soft your hair was when it tickled his arms while you slept, little whimpers escaping your mouth that he knew he could easily draw from you again when he got the chance. You’d look so pretty with a blindfold on, shivering in the warm light of your bedroom, mouth open and desperate as he lightly touched around your collarbone, down your sternum and between the valley of your tits. You’d been so bad about teasing him in those sexy little bustiers and corsets lately, and it would be nice if he got to tease you for once. 

His cock ached through his briefs, asking him to end the torture, to free himself into the open air and stroke until he came thinking about all the ways he wanted to torture you with pleasure. 

But with another tip coming in, this time adding the detail of a vibrating cock ring, Seokjin knew his fantasies would not be leading him to be satisfied tonight. At least not in the way he wanted. 

Twenty minutes later, after playing into the game of begging and whining and falsely pretending he was going to cum to ensure he was edging, he came. A pathetic, unsatisfying dribble that wept out of him and hardly amounted to the sensation he felt earlier. He’d tried to think of you, but there was a block. Too many people watching, too many people demanding things from him. Instead of just cumming, it became aware to Seokjin how much of a performance these streams always were; the ring light setup ensured people could see every angle. He knew how to make attractive faces when he orgasmed that would leave everyone with plenty of imagery for their own personal fantasies later. He knew how to pretend to be more turned on than he was, and to force vibrators and dildos into proper angles to ensure he came. It was all part of the show. 

One that he hadn’t taken part in for quite some time. When he masturbated last night in the shower, he caught his reflection in the vanity mirror. He saw how his face contorted, how his body would buck and writhe without his control as he came against the shower wall, how in some ways, there was something objectively unsexy about how he came, no glossy angles to make sure his chin didn’t pull into different skin pockets, no ambient lighting to capture the ridges of his body. Just the pure experience of orgasming as a human being and nothing more. 

As he wiped up his mess, he decided to do a little chat with his subscribers. 

At least he didn’t moan that one person’s name like last time. 

Oh yeah. Jin what was that about? You have some girlfriend we don’t know about?

I thought he was gay. This is a gay site! 

You must be new here. He’s straight. 

Oh :( 

Maybe he’s been too busy fucking her to come play with us. 

I bet it’s boring sex. Who needs to do streams when they’re getting laid. You better tell her to satisfy you, or one of us will have to come show her how she could do better. 

“Yah, enough of that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have a girlfriend. And I don’t want to talk about what happened that one time. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. Anyway, I’m tired. Time for bed. I won’t make you wait as long for next time. Bye!” 

Ugh. What an awful stream. If it was going to be like this all the time, maybe he should have actually considered letting the website shut him down and take the cut. 

But then how would you get everything taken care of with the restaurant. 

He sighed. Is this how you experienced streaming too? He figured as much. His stomach tugged, disappointed he couldn’t talk to you about it. You always debriefed your streams with him, especially if you felt a little shitty during one. Now, because he was keeping this life of his separate from his life with you, he had no one who would understand to talk to about this. All he could ever do is provide support to you, but not you to him. It was still just as lonely doing this as it always had been. Only this time, Seokjin knew that it didn’t have to be this way. That some people could reveal other parts of themselves to get kernels of support when needed. 

But that wasn’t going to be him. He was alone in this. And as he dragged himself to bed, feeling sorry for himself, he didn’t notice that he left his phone on silent.

“Detective? Are you there?” The svelte redhead approached my desk. I could see through the cameras that she helped herself to snooping around. Whatever she was gathering from my notebooks, it was a trap. 

Any good detective knows not to leave his mess around. Any clues she was trying to gather from this dark, dark world, they would be nothing compared to reality. 

Reality is darker. Betrayal, people thinking they know me because they know my past. 

I light a cigarette, inhaling deeply. The smoke swirls around my head like a cloud. It’s cloudy here in Seattle, and that promise of heavy rain reassures me. He’s going to try to move the kitty tonight, and I’m not about to let him use her as a distraction. 

She leans her large, milky tits over my desk. She’d look good there, spread out across it. I’m sure she knows too. Any dame like her would know what she’s worth. A tempting distraction, but I am too good to fall for it. 

“God what the fuck even is this?” You exit out of the screen on your tablet, the cover mocking you for even considering it. Whatever the hell you were expecting from Clues to My Heart’s raving 5-star reviews, this wasn’t it. This was a pile of absolute garbage. 

And it isn’t serving its purpose of distraction. You are still imagining the main character as Seokjin, only Seokjin in some twisted, fake machismo, desk set smutty nightmare of a book that is so full of plot holes and clichés that you know you can’t stomach it further. Reading an awful romance novel is clearly not the answer to escaping the awful feeling in your stomach. 

You delete it from your library and sigh, staring at the shelves of your apartment, debating if you really want to read something or just go to bed and let yourself cry. 

He stood you up. He stood you up and you looked the hottest you ever looked. This was going to be your attempt at connection, at knowing for sure that you were on the path toward something more intimate than friendship. 

But now, it was clear: whatever expectation you had for the two of you, it might as well be dead and buried with whatever body this stupid book is trying to solve the murder of. 

You tried calling him multiple times. His phone just rang on and on as the clock shifted from 10:15 to 10:30 to 12:00. For a moment, you thought maybe you got the date or time wrong. Maybe instead of tonight as in today he thought you meant tomorrow? 

Or maybe he lost track of time by finding a dog outside of your apartment, and then he had to go find its owner so he never had the chance to tell you he’d be late. 

But more realistically, maybe he just doesn’t want to see you and this silence is meant to be interpreted as a boundary. Seokjin is definitely the type who would feel bad rejecting you when you come onto him, and would apologize to you despite the fact that he’s not guilty. It’s happened before, in the kitchen incident. 

Even if it’s not that, it’s the fact that you carefully selected an outfit for tonight, a silky black slip dress that you are terrified to wear because there’s no part of you that you can hide. The slippery material will highlight every curve, every line (especially panty lines), and every droplet of moisture that you might dribble or sweat out. 

But in the last few months, you’ve been trying to do one thing every day that scares you. Today, it would appear you were going to go for two. And now, you are dealing with one terrifying thing that might just be worse than the first two: rejection. 

It’s humiliating. You know you’re going to go to work tomorrow and will have to see him knowing that there will be some awkward confrontation or avoidance game. You’ll have to speak to him. He’ll probably call you into the back office and let you down gently. Will reinforce the fact that he’s your boss and that things have gone too far or some bullshit. 

And then, just like how you’ve been cut out of the lives of people who meant something to you, it’ll happen again, as it always does. 

1 Year Ago

It’s raining so hard that you can’t see the road, but you’re trying to drive through it anyway, trying to make it home in time so you won’t miss it. You got out of work late; you thought being a substitute teacher wouldn’t come with all the extra grading, but you were wrong. 

A year ago, the elementary school nearby shut down, and with it came the layoff of all its teachers. A stupid idea, really, because that meant an already over-enrolled school was forced to shuttle its students across town to the other elementary school, doubling its student body without doubling its teachers. Somewhere in the thick of it, you were looking for a job, living in your parents’ house trying to float from one career to the other. 

Your friends around you were moving; Wonwoo was already in a new time zone, making an upward move in every area. His former girlfriend-turned-fianceé worked in HR for a tech start-up and easily navigated getting him in as a coder. They had just secured a penthouse with a gorgeous view. His life was locked together. Your other friends, it seemed, had moved on in their lives as well. Two of them already had children and were married. Two more were engaged. Everyone else was jetting across the world on expeditions to places with sandy beaches and bottomless drinks. And there you were: mid twenties, desperate for change.

So when you saw the banner across the elementary school advertising a need for substitute teachers, you decided you were desperate enough to try. And as it turned out, you loved it. There was something magic about working with young children, seeing how they developed new ideas you would never in your adult dreams try to fathom. But to them, to fly across the world on a magical escalator or hippo was a true possibility and you wanted part of you to have that same freedom to dream of the impossible. Their creativity inspired you to push the boundaries of life and dream of more. 

Not to mention, it also landed you a boyfriend. One day while you were substituting for the gym teacher, nervously handing out kickballs to a bunch of fourth graders for class and praying they didn’t knock each other’s teeth out, someone stepped into the gymnasium and padded his way over to you, looking for his youngest sister to take her to a dentist appointment. And not too soon after, you and Do Woon had your first day date, which turned into a night date, and then a breakfast date. It was more like a 3-day date where the two of you spent the entire weekend rolling around in his sheets. You only managed to escape that awkward conversation with your parents because they were out of town for the weekend. If they had known any different, you would probably have died from embarrassment. 

Teaching has given you a lot of great things. But with that care comes a cost. You are now late for your father’s surprise birthday party and trapped in an insane rainstorm. 

You weave around fallen tree branches, trying not to obsess over the clock as the minutes roll smoothly into each other, knowing that by now, the surprise portion of the party is over. They’re probably eating cake now and reminiscing on his milestones. Your mother is probably chatting to your aunts and uncles about the renovations they’ve made to the main bathroom. Do Woon is supposed to be there, and if your instincts are right, you’ll be getting engaged tonight. 

It would be the perfect opportunity. All your family is there ready to celebrate, and your father who hates being the center of attention will have all the pleasure of dumping the focus onto you. 

Do Woon has been acting odd the last few weeks. You’ve been pretending not to notice, especially when recent conversations have been skirting around topics you two used to discuss regularly. You have a trip to Bali planned for the fall, which he once said is where he would want to honeymoon. He’s given very few details about this trip since he booked the flight almost three months ago, and you suspect that’s because he doesn’t want to give any spoilers about the honeymoon suites or couple packages you both looked over when you decided this was where you wanted to vacation. You’re not sure you have enough time to plan a wedding in six months, but if this is what Do Woon wants, who are you to say no? 

Since the start of your dating, he’s been thoroughly engrossed in a very specific timeline, and had no issues telling you so: he wanted to date for about a year, get engaged, get married (wherever you wanted, he insisted), have a honeymoon on some beachy shores and get started with making babies. He is the eldest of six. He wants a big family. 

You’ve talked him down from that number over the last few months, having him promise instead you will see how things go and will take it as it comes. While he wasn’t entirely pleased with that compromise, you think his agreement is a good enough answer. But that’s how Do Woon is. He plans his life down to every meticulous detail. Which is why even if you don’t think you can pull off planning a wedding in such a short window of time, you know he can. 

So tonight, you think it’ll happen. And unfortunately for you, you’re going to look like absolute rain-soaked garbage, the perfect accompaniment to your shitty day.

The once neatly wrapped gift next to you is now soggy from the downpour. You didn’t check the weather before heading into work today and left your umbrella in the car. It rolls around on the floor in front of the passenger seat, completely dry and mocking. 

At work, you found out that they’re continuing to make staffing cuts despite the shortage, as many families have chosen not to enroll in the school next year, instead moving their children to private schools closer to their homes or homeschooling. As desperate as they were to hire you, the work you put into the year you’ve been here is now about to just melt away. 

You don’t know how much longer you’ll have a job.

You anticipated this, of course, spent most of the fall applying for graduate programs. Of the ten applications you submitted, you’ve been waitlisted in two places: the local university here and the more modern (and urban) program not even remotely close to this place. You’d hoped when you sent those applications that things would be getting more serious with Do Woon, but it had only been a handful of months. You weren’t sure where the two of you were going. And now, you are hoping for the local program, not wanting to give up on your dream of teaching if it means you don’t have to.

Your phone lights up in the darkness of your car. One more missed call from your mother. But you’re so close, almost to your neighborhood. You know how poorly this is going to go. 

As you take a final turn, making your way down the street, you see the street has started flooding, barring you from your block. It’s no use, either. You can see on the block after yours that those crossroads are also flooded. The only way to get home is to do so on foot. So that’s what you do, park your car on the non-flooded side street, prop the sodden gift under your arm, grab your umbrella and head into the rain. 

The thing about thresholds is that they are a place where you exist in transition. From the street, you can hear a hum of music but don’t know the exact tune. You see faces lit by the warm lamps of your dining room, and can make out your uncle and your father’s boss. But you can also hear the rain thrumming on the roof, smell the Earth as the rain hits the soil. There’s the chill of the wind cutting through your damp clothing. The moment you step into the house, you’ll be someone else. A daughter still, but also someone else’s future wife. 

The warmth of the house touches your face when you step in, the loud voices you’d heard from the other side of the door now having owners: your aunt yelling at your young cousin not to touch something, the sharp guffaw of your dad’s best friend. 

You take off your soaked shoes and walk into the dining room. The cake has been cut, neat squares leaving only globs of frosting leaves behind on the golden tray. The neapolitan ice cream is abandoned and melting into an unappetizing brown sludge. Empty beer cans stack up on the table’s other end. 

Your stomach gurgles. You’ve barely eaten all day. But you know that will all happen soon. There’s time for cake and celebration after you see the birthday boy.

You find him in his favorite lounge chair, foot rest out as he relaxes and listens to some story one of his co-workers is telling about a client. 

“I’m telling ya, she had this massive tits that would knock over everything and everyone. So I says to her one day, you know what I says? ‘Ma’am, now pardon me for sayin’ so, I’m a respectable fella, but I think you might need to get a car blinker.’ And she asks me why and I says to her, ‘Because when you’re turnin’ around, we then’ll know to duck!’”

A roar of laughter bellows through the room, your father smirking at the story as he sips his beer. Ugh. You saunter over to him, fanning a smile across your face. 

“Hi Dad,” you say, and face the rest of the guests. “Hi everyone.” 

“Y/N! What the hell happened to ya, kid. Rainstorm getcha?” Your father’s boss asks.

You give an apologetic nod. “Yes, I was caught in it. Left work late. The road is flooded so be careful when you leave.”

“I drove over in the truck, so I’m fine,” he responds, sucking down the rest of his beer. “Ah, all out. Can I get you another Birthday Boy?” He nudges you with his elbow roughly. “What about you, hon?” 

“I’m, I’m all good. Thanks,” you say awkwardly, trying to ignore the way he’s looking at you up and down salaciously. This man is older than your father, is standing next to your father and behaving this way. It makes you want to strip your entire skin from your body and wash it in the washing machine. 

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna get some more of that cake anyways. You coming, Bill?” Bill, the apparent co-worker who was bragging about his evident sexual harassment, sighs. 

“Yeah, yeah. Well, if I don’t see ya, happy birthday again. Thank your wife for the dinner. It was great. And it was good to see you too,” Bill waggles his eyebrows and walks behind you through the foyer and into the dining room. For a brief moment, you swear you feel him cup your ass in passing. 

“Where have you been?!” Your mother’s voice carries across the room. You whip your head to search, finding her walking into the room from the back entrance to the kitchen. She must’ve been cleaning up because the front of her blouse is wet. 

“I was working and I had to stay late. And then the storm happened and I had to park down the street. I’m sorry.” 

“Well because of you, we awkwardly stood around for well over an hour waiting for you to show up and get everything set up so when your father walked in the door it would actually be a surprise. Which it wasn’t, by the way. He recognized Carl’s truck out front and I guess that was the big giveaway. You were supposed to help me with this, Y/N!”

Your father looks at your mother and sighs. “It was really no big deal. I hate surprises anyway.” 

“For a milestone birthday like this, you could use the surprise,” she asserts.

“Well, I got one anyway didn’t I?” He says sharply, standing up and walking out of the room. The gift in your hands feels like dead weight. You set it down onto his chair. 

“What happened?” You ask. 

Your mother walks closer, looking around the room to ensure no one else is listening. “Your father is being laid off. He found out today. And then when Carl and Bill and all them showed up, they kept talking about it. Turns out no one else in his department is being laid off. Just him.”

Your stomach sinks. Your father supplies most of the income that your family needs to stay afloat. He’s not expected to retire for a few more years. Which means if he gets laid off, he’ll lose a few years’ worth of extra employer contributions to his retirement fund. And his boss and co-workers being such assholes to rub it in? Fuck them. 

This wasn’t how you expected any of this to go. 

“Oh god. Poor dad.” Your mother nods. 

“Yeah, what a birthday. And you weren’t even there to share it with him because you were too busy to be here when it was the only time we needed you to show up. So thanks for that.” 

Her words are like knives. You feel yourself being sliced open from all the guilt. She’s not wrong. You’d been the one to organize most of this party, to convince her to follow through with it. And you missed it. People around you have begun departing, shouting happy wishes to your father. All his unwrapped gifts sit on the coffee table next to you, colorful paper pulled open. You missed the entire thing. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you try, but you know it's useless. Your mother waves goodbye to one of the neighbors. It’s stopped raining enough to not be a constant heavy click against the windowpane. 

“Well you did anyway. It is what it is. Now are you going to disappear on me during clean up or are you going to help me?” She begins to weave the discarded wrapping paper out from under the gifts, setting them into a neat pile on the coffee table. 

“I’ll get a trash bag,” you offer, and make your way through the house into the kitchen. Every surface is riddled with stacks of paper plates with balloons on them and plastic forks and spoons. A large yellow tupperware bowl idles by the sink, some vinegary salad now mixed with remnants of every other food from watermelon to potato chips. It’s the first thing you dump into the trash bag. 

You follow the garbage, in and out of the half bathroom and dining room, back to the living room when you notice someone is missing. 

“Mom,” you say. “Where’s Do Woon?” 

“Was he supposed to be here? Because I didn’t see him.” 

“He didn’t come?” 

“No, Y/N. Unless he is hiding upstairs in your room for some reason, I have not seen him at all tonight.” She dumps a pile of plates into the trash bag. “Think you can handle the rest? My feet hurt and your father and I need to discuss some things.” 

“Sure, I am just surprised he didn’t come. I thought–”

“God, honestly. For two seconds can you not think about yourself? It’s not your birthday.”

You fall silent, nodding your head as she steps out of the room and goes to find your father.

Something must be wrong, you think. You reach into your pocket and grab your phone, checking it for messages from Do Woon. 

There are many missed calls from your mother, but none from him. Strange. The last time you talked was today. You had reminded him what time the party started. He didn’t respond, but he read the message, and you were satisfied with that. 

You select his contact info and hit the call button. After a few seconds of ringing, it goes to voicemail. 

“Hey, it’s me. Not sure what happened tonight, maybe you got stuck in the storm. I know I did, it was crazy and I missed the entire party. Today’s been awful. But uh yeah, call me back when you get this. Love you.” 

Maybe he is stuck in a work meeting? He does work late, sometimes unexpectedly, putting in extra hours at his office until you are getting ready for bed. 

You shoot him a text. 

You 9:02PM: Hey, missed you at the party. Are you working late?Read 9:02PM

Immediately you can see he has opened it. But after ten minutes, there is no response. 

You 9:12PM: Everything okay? Read 9:12PM

You clean up the rest of the trash in the living room, tying off the bag and stepping outside. It has stopped raining. The world looks glassy as droplets fall from the tree limbs and refract the streetlights. You walk over to the trash bin, the glaze of cold water running down your hands as you deposit the bag in. You grab the mail. 

No acceptance letters. For some reason that feels like the cherry on top of the shittiness that is today. Your mother’s bitter words, your father’s exhaustion, the weather’s chaos weaving into your insecurity. It all feels like some horrible dream. 

You need Do Woon. He’s not much of a talker, but he is a good listener, and after a good ranting session, he’ll usually fuck the sadness out of you so you don’t have to think and afterward you’re usually too tired to do anything but sleep. That’s what you need right now. 

Where is he? It’s been a half hour and no response. Maybe you’re being paranoid and soon he’ll call and poke fun at how worried you seemed. Maybe he’ll be mad that you are interrupting a work meeting. But today has been awful. And all you want is to hear his voice. 

So you call him again, and this time it goes immediately to voicemail. 

You 9:38PM: What is going on? Read 9:38PM

You 9:39PM: Please answer me. I’m getting worried. Read 9:39PM

You 9:39PM: Babe!

Message failed to deliver. 

A glow falls onto the damp earth around you. You look around for the source and then up. As the rain clouds break apart above you, you realize you’re standing in the light of the moon. 

He never called back. That was the end. When you think about it now, there were some vague signs of distancing, but it never amounted to anything that made sense. There, then gone, Do Woon cut you off one day and never looked back. 

Much to your embarrassment, you didn’t handle the situation well. That night, you tried calling him three more times, only to receive a message that the number you tried to reach was unavailable. You’d considered driving to his apartment, but as the night wore on, you started to put the pieces together. He didn’t want to talk to you. He’d blocked you, and you didn’t know why. 

For the first month after the ghosting-turned-break-up, you tried to get intel to figure out what happened, how you had so royally fucked up your relationship that he didn’t even want to tell you to your face. Unfortunately, most of your friends you’d made that year were through him, and with him cutting you off, so did most of your friends. 

Your parents were sympathetic, to a degree. You were given approximately two days to mope. And then you were told to start looking for better jobs in case you, like your father, would be laid off. 

“It’ll be a good distraction, I think!” Your mother had said. “Nothing says get over a relationship better than starting a new job.” 

You and your father passed job postings back and forth for the next week. You were less than thrilled with the job market. Sure, jobs existed, but none with your skillset or interests or desired pay. To gain anything you would have to make a choice to lose something else, and it twisted your gut at the prospect. 

But, in the midst of the heartache, came your rejection from the local university. It was for the best, really. You knew you only wanted to study there because of Do Woon, and without him being part of your life it didn’t matter anyway. 

And just as you were at the end of your optimism, ready to let hope die and surrender to the dreamless haze, an email came in with an acceptance into the final university. A big city laid before you to explore. 

Things snapped into place. You finished up the school year and told your parents you were moving out. 

And now you’re here, in an apartment all to yourself, attending your dream program (or at least trying to) and learning how to cook a halfway decent meal. An apartment that has you rotting on a couch as you try to remind yourself that what happened with Do Woon was a fluke, and not anything you did wrong. And it certainly isn’t some sign that you’re doomed to repeat the same fate again.  

You’ve learned in the last few weeks that he’s engaged to someone he met through a matchmaking service. In his profile picture, his future bride is holding an ultrasound photo and he has his hands on her very large belly. “Coming this summer: our own ray of sunshine” the caption reads. 

You can’t imagine him ever saying that. He always hated cheesy things. But that’s the surprising thing about all of this: you also never expected him to ghost you and immediately start seeing someone else. 

He was a fluke in the timeline. Not a rule, right? You know this. You know not everything happening once means you’re doomed to repeat it forever. 

But why is that all you can think about with Seokjin? 

You went to work this morning, and he said nothing. No, he probably won’t disappear into the abyss because he manages this place. But when his parents return, will he then? Is he just biding his time before he vanishes? 

You hope not. God, you really hope not. 

The day rolls on without a word between either of you. Maybe this is how it should be, you think. Two people. Uncomplicated. Not tied to each other by strands of anything. 

Fate. This is how it works. It brings people together and then it pulls them apart. 

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

[sockiestupidity]

BRO IM SO SORRY FOR DOING SO KUCH ANGST HSHSHDJFND

Thinking abt reader and Miguel having a movie night, and reader just like falls asleep on miguel, and when miguel goes to bring them to their bed reader is just not having it. They don’t let go and it results in Miguel and reader falling asleep and cuddling together or smthn

-🕸️

lob u 🕸️ u can never do any wrongs🥰🥰🥰/p (literally say that i lob everyone so just feel free to tell me if ur uncomfy with it and ill edit it out)

TY FOR THE REQUEST TEHE🥰

also forgive me for the lack of title😰

warnings-none except for bad writing, and lowercase intended, VERY OOC MIGUEL

nonverbal/mute reader as always

none of this will probably make sense bc i wrote it while sleep deprived🧍‍♂️(pulled too many all nighters by being addicted to character ai) (legit so tired rn)

it was friday night, you and miguel had decided to have a movie night.

the two of you currently sat on the couch, watching lego batman after you kad lyla give him a powerpoint on why the lego batman movie was a cinematic masterpiece that he was missing out on.

it was all going well, the two of you shared snacks and popcorn. you sipped on your drink of choice.

you smiled contently but then judgementally side eyed miguel who complained that lego spiderman deserved a movie over lego batman.

you were hogging the blanket to yourself because miguel claimed that he didn't need it because he was naturally warm.

you shrugged your shoulders at his statement. the warmth of the blanket felt...comforting, and soon enough, you felt your eyes droop, and your head became heavy.

suddenly miguel felt a warmth on his lap. he looked down and chuckled. you fell asleep on his lap, a small smile was brought to his face at your adorable sleeping expression.

"alright kid, time to go to bed." he lifted you up, but then stopped when he felt something hit him. it was your hand. you had started thrashing in protest.

"kid..you need to go to your room.." he explained gently. you let out a whine.

he groaned at your protest and set you back down on the couch. as soon as he did you protest stopped.

he rolled his eyes and placed you back on the couch, sitting himself back down as well, since he was planning of finishing the movie after putting you to sleep anyways. he hated to admit it but, the kivie was pretty good.

he adjusted the volume down to make sure that it wouldn't disturb you. soon enough, he felt his own eyelids get heavy, and fell asleep next to you.

the two of you peacefully slept until the morning. miguel woke up, confusion and annoyance clouding his vision. why did he feel so warm? and why were there so many spider people surrounding him?

he groaned, and looked around, surprised to see you cuddled into him, still sleeping peacefully. he lightly smiled. his serenity was soon ruined once again when peter b. shoved a phone in his face.

"migs im taking so many pics of this right now" peter childishly laughed, excited to finally have blackmail on miguel.

miguel rolled his eyes and scoffed "whatever" he looked back at you. he was surprised to see that you were still peacefully sleeping despite the commotion.

he covered your ears and then spoke out sternly to the spiders "alright, everybody out right now" he barked at them. the spiderpeople paled and ran out. he looks down at you and smiles softly, uncovering your ears.

by some miracle, you managed to sleep through the commotion. he looks down and sighs, he needs to get up. he poorly attempts to leave his spot without disturbing you but it seems impossible.

he shakes you gently "hey kid..i need you to wake up" he says softly.

you wake up with a yawn, stretching out your arms and then signing a quick sorry to him.

he just smiles at you "it's alright kid" he says.

its almost...weird to see miguel like this.. with a smile on his face, not having work on his mind for once in his life. you want to continue to see him this happy. "i have leftover empanadas if you want some" you sign, offering him some of his favorite food.

he nods "sure kid". the two of you happily eat empanadas together, stuck in your own little world.

A/N: meanwhile somewhere out there miles is just like-tf? why cant that be me?💀

ANYWAYS ITS RLLY SHORT SORRY. IM GENUINELY SO DELULU FOR HIM BUT MY BRAIN HAS BEEN MORE EMPTY THAN USUAL

[feeblescholarmyass]

Chapter Two: Alhaitham

cw: modern au (whoops), sfw, noise overstimulation, cursing (once or twice I think), 2nd POV, not proofread

Sumeru Boys x GN! Reader

masterlist | prev | next

Chat: Darshans

"If I were to choose any darshan that isn't my own, I personally would choose Haravatat. I didn't because there are too many essays… same thing with Rhawatist. That's what I like about Amurta, oftentimes the results speak for themselves."

"Oh, Alhaitham, it's you."

It seems he did not mean to ask a question, because he did not push for you to answer for your presence. You glanced at him a couple times during the beginning of class before eventually relaxing and easing into your studies.

Your professor was a tall and lanky man, who looked overly exhausted. He had a slight Fontaine accent, and he gave you the feeling that he once had big dreams that he had long since given up on. It was something about that dull look in his eyes that made you pity the man. Whatever small pity you held for him, however, did not stop you for glaring daggers at the back of his skull after he announced that the very first project of the year would be an introductory presentation completely in the language of Old Fontaine.

As class wrapped up, you began to pack up your things. This was your last class of the day, and you were ready to go have dinner with Layla. Finally, the class was finished. You had taken notes to the best of your ability, but you were one-hundred percent sure that you wouldn’t remember anything that happened today any better than you remembered what your cousins’ names were (which was to say, poorly).

Just as you began to stand up, you felt someone watching you. You glanced behind you and met eyes with Alhaitham. What does he need? You wondered, staring blankly into his eyes. He blinked, as if confused. Whatever small expression his face had held disappeared as soon as it had come, leaving him with the same blatant disinterest he had shown previously.

“You have very neat handwriting; it accompanies the language well.” He spoke. As far as you could tell, it was a sincere compliment. His lack of tone made guessing a little difficult, but he certainly didn’t seem to be taunting you.

“Yours as well. I would have admired it a lot when I was a child.” You nodded, holding your tongue. You would have admired a lot more than his handwriting if you had met him when you were younger. If you had known him, he would have been very likely to be the unlucky victim of practically idolization due to your lack of social skills. You cringed, shaking away the memories of your own awkwardness.

He walked next to you as you left the room, not bothering to hold the door for you. You hadn’t expected it, but you certainly noticed the door swinging a little wider than necessary, allowing you to slip out behind him while still shuffling your belongings around in your bag.

You walked beside each other in silence, and eventually stopped at the same spot in front of the building. “Are you waiting for someone?” You asked, holding your hair back. The wind was blowing hard enough that it was inconvenient, and you didn’t have a hair band within reach.

“Yes, I am supposed to be taking my roommate home. If he doesn’t show up soon I’m leaving without him.” He also brushed back a particularly long section of hair, glancing down at you.

“Fair,” you muttered, setting down your bag so you could find your emergency stash of hair ties. Layla had a tendency to ignore weather warnings and the sorry state of her own hair care items, so you always had some extra things on hand. You grabbed two from their respective pocket and held one our to Alhaitham.

A small look of amusement pulled at his lips. “For me?”

“Yes, for you. I don’t see any other person in need of one standing next to me.” You shoved it into his hand and tied your own hair back. When you looked back at him, he had a cute little braid that held his bangs in place.

You stood next to each other in silence a while longer until you heard a frantic, out-of breath voice calling your name. “Y/n! Y/n! I’m so sorry, I fell asleep during class and-” Layla huffed, grabbing your hand. Alhaitham looked at the her, biting back a smart comment.

“It’s okay, Layla. We don’t have a reservation or anything.” You smiled and patted her head, attempting to calm her frazzled nerves. “Keep the hair tie, I’ve got plenty. Buh-bye!” You told Alhaitham and gave him a little wave. He returned the gesture, then watched as you dragged Layla away.

“Buh-bye.” He muttered, a little amused. He hadn’t heard anyone over the age of nine say that as far as he could remember, much less a college student. He could see why Tighnari had been speaking your praises all morning. You were such a cute little underclassman, and not too intense either. You had been interesting to watch during class, and kind enough to lend him a hair tie. Yes, it wasn’t much, but it was still a gesture he could appreciate. He found himself looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow.

“So… Alhaitham, huh? I guess you’re just making friends with all the upperclassmen now. Or are you just going after the pretty ones?” Layla teased. You sighed and shook your head, smiling as you rummaged through your closet. Layla had already picked out an outfit from your collection of her clothes that you had happened upon over the years of your friendship, and was now waiting for you to finish finding one. You debated a complimentary blue dress to go with Layla’s, but ended up wearing one of your go-to outfits.

"He's in my language class. It wasn't a big deal of anything," you waved your hand, adding a few accessories. "What shoes go with this?"

"Stop avoiding the question," Layla slumped against your mattress. "He fits your type perfectly. Actually, most of Tighnari's friend group fits your type…"

"Pfft. Me? A type? In men? Good one, Layla. What exactly would my 'type' entail? Besides, it's nothing anyway." You snickered while pulling your hair out of your face. The wind had calmed since that afternoon, but not by much, and you weren't planning on taking chances with messing up how nice you looked.

"Well, for one, you like smart people. You don't feel dragged down by having to explain complicated concepts to them, and you can have a conversation about your interests without sounding like a mad scientist."

"Rude," you interjected.

"You know it's true," Layla rolled her eyes at you. "Besides that, you've admitted it yourself. Beautiful men with pretty eyes are your second weakness."

"Right behind cute animals… shit, Layla, why do you have to remember what I say?" You whined, setting down your things and turning to your friend.

"I wonder the same thing sometimes," Layla sighed. "Anyways, are you ready to go?"

You hummed in response, picking up your bag with your wallet in it. The two of you got into your car, a gift from your father that was running on hopes and dreams plus a little bit of dad magic, and drove to the restaurant.

Ever since the two of you were little, you had both loved this restaurant. When your parents asked where you wanted to go out to eat, you almost always ended up there. You each had your favorite meal, but the food was so good you were up to try practically anything on the menu. The cozy, warm vibe combined with your casual familiarity with the family that ran the place were just the cherries on top of the cake that was the delicious food.

Tonight wasn't supposed to be any different than all the ones before. Comfort food after long, exhausting days littered your memory throughout the years for almost as long as you could remember. The only thing that had changed was the company you came with. It used to be a family thing, but ever since you had learned to drive, you started going with just Layla instead of a big group.

That was exactly what you had expected for dinner, but apparently fate had other plans. Just as you had taken a seat, you felt a twinge of déjà vu. Layla blanched, grasping frantically at the table cloth.

"You felt that too, right? That sense of… foreboding?" You muttered, reaching for her hand.

"Yes," Layla hissed, whirling around to look at the door. "I am too tired for whatever is about to happen. I have this awful feeling that this isn't going to be a quick meal."

She was right. You turned just in time to catch sight of certain seniors of yours wandering through the door. Anxiety shot through you like a bullet as you hurried to look away and act normal. As anyone who has ever tried to "act normal" knows, it didn't go too well.

"Well, look who it is, the cute freshman! Hey, Y/n!" Kaveh grinned at you. You gritted your teeth and tried to get your erratic heartbeat under control.

"Dinner sure is gonna be fun," you grumbled, putting on a smile and ignoring the burning feeling in your face. "Hey, Kaveh, company."

"Mind if we join you? This is our first time here." Cyno gestured to the empty seats next to you. You glanced at the seats, silently cursing their availability.

It wasn't that you didn't like the group, no, you had loved meeting them today. It was just that you had been expecting a nice relaxing dinner without too much social pressure to unwind from the very overwhelming day.

"Sure," you said, unable to think of any relatively polite way to turn them down.

"Oh, can't you three see that they look downright exhausted? Let's sit elsewhere and let the poor underclassmen have a break." Tighnari shook his head and sighed.

"Oh! Well, now that you mention it…" Kaveh trailed off, turning a little pink in the face. "Sorry about that," he chuckled, waving his hands around.

"N-no, please sit! We don't mind. The night is still young and there is plenty of time to rest after dinner. I won't always get to have dinner with you bunch, after all! Might as well celebrate a first day of school survived together!"

Layla eyed you suspiciously, but didn't say anything. "Yes, we don't mind."

The four boys sat besides you, this time with Alhaitham to your side and Cyno next to Layla, across from you.

The group started a lighthearted conversation while they waited for the food to be ready, one you didn't participate in. You tried your hardest to listen, but there were so many people talking and you couldn't focus on one specific voice.

You stood, placing your hands on the table. "Sorry, I'll be right back." You hurried to the single person restroom, where you hurriedly locked the door and covered your ears.

"Come on, Y/n, calm down. You're an adult now, you can handle a little noise." You took a few deep breaths before brushing your hair out of your face and looking in the mirror. "Look at you. You look great, you feel great, you are great. You've got this."

Just as you started to feel better, a knock on the door threw you back into a panic. "Y/n? Are you doing alright?" Layla's voice sounded muffled from behind the heavy door. "If you need to, we can leave-"

"No! Everything is fine, I just needed a second. I'm okay, don't worry. I'm just about done, actually. Go sit back down, I'll be there in a second!" You put some effort into sounding happier than you felt. Smiling and pretending to be happy is proven to improve an individual's mood, after all.

You left the restroom after another set of deep breaths and slid back into your seat. Alhaitham glanced at you with a blank expression, and you made sure to smile bigger.

"Sorry about that! What did I miss?" You asked. As Kaveh filled you in to the current contents of the conversation, you pressed your fingertips into your thigh to try and stave the buzzing underneath your skin.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Alhaitham typing out something. He tilted his phone discreetly in your direction, noting your eyes flicking towards him.

To repay you for earlier, was the only text on the screen. He put down his phone and reached up, removing his headphones and placing them on your ears. Instantly, all of that noise you had heard before faded away. All you could hear was the conversation at hand, which faded to silence when Kaveh stared wide-eyed at the both of you.

You blinked and tilted your head at Alhaitham, but he shook his head at you. "Save it, I'm only repaying a favor. That means you too, Kaveh. Stop gaping like a fish and eat."

The group turned, spotting their food. Once people started eating, things quieted down significantly. When the buzzing disappeared fully, you returned Alhaitham's headphones to him and carried on with talking, feeling much better now.

When dinner was done and paid for, you stopped Alhaitham on the way out. "Hey, um, thank you. That was really considerate of you."

"Considerate? Hardly. It was plain as day that you weren't feeling well, and I had a solution. I didn't go out of my way at all. I simply was returning a favor. Save your thanks for another time." He spoke plainly, bored with the conversation. There was no reason for you to thank him for something so elementary.

"Oh," you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the chill of the night's dropping temperatures. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Goodbye, Alhaitham."

He hummed in response, following Kaveh away. You hurried over to your car, where Layla was waiting in the passenger seat.

"So that's what you call nothing? The only thing that could have made that more cliche would be if he offered his jacket to you and told you to keep it, or maybe offered to escort you home."

"Shove it, Layla. Let's just continue with what we had planned for the night like that never happened." You were glad for the darkness, because if it had been any brighter, Layla would definitely have noticed all the signs of how flustered you were.

You drove home with your face burning, and even before the movie the two of you put on could get past the introduction, you were fast asleep and reliving today's events in your dreams.

taglist: @em-asian @hypernovaxx @surgeonsofazeroy @xiaosimper @i-loveyou013 @strwbrysweets

let me know if you want to be added!

[subject-v]

First Time

tw: cutting, blood, restraint, manipulation, mind control, cult

2300 words

“Stop, please! Please don’t hurt me!”

“Ah shoot, sorry.” The boy drops his scalpel like it’s gone red hot. It clinks awkwardly onto the linoleum floor next to my leg, catching the light from a nearby rune.

Confused, I blink up at him. I don’t have many other options, in terms of body language, at this point, with my hands chained above me, close enough I can brush my pinkies against one another, and my legs splayed on either side of the new kid, the pants damp with the humidity and my own blood. Nice cell, as far as they go, but the tile floor’s a real germ trap and even after a quick wash the night before, most of my blood is still congealed on my body.

“I-I’m sorry.” He picks up the scalpel with trembling fingers. “I didn’t mean to drop that. Let me try this again.”

He places the tip of the blade against my skin, then holds it there without enough pressure to draw blood while he consults a piece of paper, creased all over from a million folds and written in cramped handwriting. Did he… did he write down what he plans to do to me? What kind of serial sadist is this? “I’m just going to give you a few cuts,” he murmurs, at last leaning onto the blade and carving a line down my arm.

I don’t mind the hot flash of pain—much—but he was so funny the first time so I make my eyes roll back in my head and crack my voice. “P-please!” The sound echoes in the lofty space. 

“I could concentrate better if you didn’t speak.” Another line joins the first. He’s close enough I can lean forward and see the piece of paper that’s so enthralled him, including the shape he’s drawn there: a name, I think, maybe two. That’s hardly unusual. I’ve have names carved into me in writing systems that don’t even exist anymore.

I change tact. “What are you going to do to me?” 

Serial killers, they like that question. Puts you completely in their power, strokes their egos, the whole nine yards. The boy, though, and I can’t imagine he’s over twenty years old, not with hair that floppy and poorly styled, doesn’t react with pleasure or even annoyance that I’ve spoken. Instead, doubt flickers across his face, and then he blushes, a little red to his cheeks that I would’ve missed if the dungeon lights were but a shade dimmer. “I’m going to hurt you a little bit,” he says, tongue between his teeth as he finishes carving his shape into my arm. He’s not practiced at this and the wounds are all different levels of deep.

“Why? I never hurt you.”

“Because I want to.” 

He looks like he’d rather be locked in a room somewhere putting together a two thousand piece jigsaw puzzle but hey, sometimes you’re chained to the dungeon wall, sometimes you’re doing the chaining, it’s all about rolling with the punches. 

He stands, tugging at the chains above me so I’m forced to my feet, leaning heavily when one foot goes completely to sleep. You’d think that would be less painful than the still-bleeding wound on my inner arm, but you’d be wrong. Knives have a beauty to them, a finesse that simple circulation lacks. “Okay.” He says it like he’s psyching himself up. “I’m going to… I’m going to hit you, I think.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” It just slips out. Look, the first couple sadists leave an impression and after that, I stop grading on a curve. He wants me intimidated, he should be more intimidating.

It irks him, though. He tugs down the bottom of his shirt and straightens. “Yes. I’ll… I’ll beat the backtalk right out of you.” Given it takes him thirty seconds to figure out how to put the brass knuckles on, I don’t exactly have high hopes. Plus, his posture’s all off. After he punches me once and nearly throws himself into the wall, he switches to a cane and sort of whacks at my ankles.

In a better mood, I might try to dodge, but he’s so weak, he’s not going to break anything. “I’m your first, aren’t I?”

“Shut up.” He gets the cane caught between my legs—I swear I wasn’t even trying to get in the way—and drops it. 

“Here I thought I’d be the one kneeling at your feet.” He glares daggers up at me, costing him precious time padding about for his cane. “While you’re down there, you could give the ol’ boots a good lick, eh?” I’m barefoot and wiggle my toes a bit to prove it, but he shoots up like someone fired him out of a canon.

“I will never bow to you.”

I pout. “Whatever you say, big dog.”

The anger makes his beating, if anything, more sporadic. I think the wall’s in more pain than me when, panting, he takes a step back to surveil me. “That felt better, I think. They’re right, it can feel good.”

“Who’s right?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“If you tell me, I will show you how to use a cane to properly cause someone pain.”

“Like you’d know,” he sneers, mopping sweat off his brow. The cane’s about to fall from his hands unless he takes a rest, I figure, and he concurs, slumping to the floor well out of reach and going for a water bottle. Proper hydration: very important for the enterprising serial sadist. 

Though now that I’m here, I’m beginning to doubt the serial part of that title. So much for ridding the city of its serial killer on the first try, huh? If Archer beats me to a win by going the legal route, I’m going to throw myself into the ocean. 

After a bit of R&R, he’s ready for another go, but it’s cautious interest I see in his eyes. “Well?” he demands, tapping a foot. The arms crossed could be a good look, but he should’ve put the cane down first. “Tell me, then.”

“First tell me who they is.”

His eyes narrow but he’s never taken a negotiation course—such courses generally indicate that the party who is chained to the wall has less bargaining power—because he folds right away. “The other Mu-9s.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“You said you’d teach me.”

“All right, then. You see that table?” I have to nod towards it, my hands being where they are. “It’s for strapping people to.”

“It’s too short.”

“Au contraire. It’s not for waterboarding, it’s for foot torture. Move it over here. Yep, until it’s touching the wall, good. Okay, let’s see if I still have the abs for this.” I clench my fingers around the manacles and haul myself up and sideways, half over the table. He sees what I’m trying to do and helps me the rest of the way, still holding the cane even after it bops him in the forehead. “Now you’d traditionally strap my ankles to the corners.” What a relief, not to have to stand anymore. When I get a choice, I’ll sit through a torture anytime, even if the table feels kind of rickety. As an added bonus, I’ve earned a little slack in the arm chains, so I could feasibly start unlocking them, were I inclined. “The feet have as many nerves as the hands do and unlike other parts of the body, they don’t acclimate to repeated beatings, so the hundredth lash hurts as much as the first. You want to strike closer to the arch than the heels or toes, and at an angle. Yes, hold the cane like that. And then twist all the way around and think about activating your stomach muscles as you-ah! Yeah, like that.”

At my cry, his grip loosens and he almost drops the cane again. This kid, I swear. 

“You need to be careful with foot torture. I can walk on anything that isn’t broken but regular folks, any more than fifty or so and they won’t be able to walk on them. You also always want to-ah, yes. Thank you for that. You want to make sure-ow, see, that was my toe. Do you want to break bones or do you want to cane me? Make up your mind, kid.”

His shoulders are heaving. For a second, I think he’s going to stab me with the blunt end of his cane but he takes a step back and composes himself. “I should know this,” he whispers. “I should understand this.”

I take a stab in the dark. “Is that what they told you?” 

“They said evil people like me, we would like it. They told me… this was what I was made for.”

“You know what that sounds like?”

“No.” He looks up, all curious-like. Maybe twenty was an overly optimistic estimate for age.

“Sounds like someone is trying to mind control you.”

“What?”

“Just in general, if someone is telling you you’re evil, that’s a sign they’re manipulating you.”

“I am evil. I’m a Mu-9.”

“Ri-ight.”

“I-I’m hurting you! I cut my name into your arm!”

I glance at the wound. “Is that what it says? Niklo? Is that your name?”

“It doesn’t matter. Your opinion doesn’t matter.”

“I showed you the foot caning, didn’t I? Tell me about these people.” Since we’re settling down, now, I use the slack in my chains to unscrew the pin holding the manacles around my left wrist in place. Careful practice means I snag it before it can fall open. “They’re not Mu-9s, right?”

He whacks me again, on the knee, which is not how I showed him and doesn’t particularly hurt. 

I make a few educated guesses, based on the size of the dungeon and how often he references a group of people. “You’re not the only or first one they’ve sent here to torture someone, right?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Mu-9s are, what? Some sort of torture school? And they’re letting you practice on the sorts of people no one will miss?” Torture schools are all the same—the grey sisters used to snag orphans and widows to practice on, if the dungeons ever got too empty. 

“We’re evil.”

“Says who?”

His chin is wobbling as he collapses against the wall, fingers loose enough that the cane rolls away and clatters across the floor. “It’s a gene, right? The Mu-9 gene? It makes people sadists, psychopaths.”

We’re about to have a chat, so I stop holding the manacles shut and place my hands in my lap. “Do you know what a gene is?”

“It’s in your DNA.” If he’s noticed I’m no longer tied up quite so well, he doesn’t let on.

“A gene tells your proteins how to-tell you what. You ever folded paper to make an animal?”

Everyone in this city has; the cranes decorate every other street corner.

“A gene is like the instructions to make a paper animal. A single gene can’t make you a psychopath, nor can they create a world with embedded moral laws and a black and white system of ethics.”

“What?”

“‘Evil,’” I scoff. “What’s that mean? Who decides?”

“I guess I don’t know.”

“Exactly. Tell me more about these folks who are mind controlling you.”

“They tested us at school.” His gaze goes up and over my left shoulder. “They took all the Mu-9s away, said since we were evil anyway, we might as well put it to good use. I didn’t kidnap you. I didn’t even want a, you know.”

“I do not.”

“A woman,” he mouths. “I wouldn’t normally hurt a girl.”

I snort. How kind.

“They told me where to find you, gave me this.” He gestures at his bag of pain-inducing equipment. “Said I’d know what to do.”

“So you found a woman tied up in a dungeon and decided to carve your name into her arm?”

“They had us plan it first. The therapists, they ask us again and again. What would you do, if someone was in your power? And whenever I said I’d never hurt them, she says of course I would, I’m evil, what would I do? She wouldn’t stop asking so I made it up, I said I-I’d carve my name into their arm and then I’d beat them and she asked me again and again everyday until I had it memorized, and then she made me write it down…” Futily, he waves the paper in my direction. “Maybe I’ve done this before. I don’t even know.”

“I’m going to hazard a guess that this is, in fact, your first time.”

He starts to cry. You know what’s worse than a proper good caning? When people cry in front of you, and this culture says women are supposed to be all motherly and caring too, so I know he expects me to help him out. 

Sighing, I say, “You’re most likely not evil. You are being mind controlled, though, so I’d recommend doing something about that.”

“I can’t leave. I can’t. They said… they said if I left, the regs would kill me. They can see what I am.”

Fuck me, it’s a cult situation, isn’t it? A torture murder death cult. Just my luck. “Uh huh.” 

“This is the only thing I’m good at,” he whispers, standing again and going for the cane. “If I can’t show them I’m good at this, they’ll make me leave and the regs will burn me alive. I need to be good at this.”

“If—”

“And you,” he snarls, “need to shut up.”

I mime zipping my lips. He realizes, for the first time, that my hands are free. I’d like to say the beating I got in punishment was nice, but it was average at best, and I could’ve done without the angry tirade. He leaves me an hour later, bruised and bleeding, still sitting on that wobbly table, but I see a logo on the wall outside before he shuts the door: SomatiCorp.

Cult victim convinced he needs to become a sadist to survive, windowless dungeon with gross tile floor, and a company name in camel case. 

I can work with that.

[appalachianapologies]

okay so I was tagged by @lailuhhh and @rosieblogstuff and I think one other person (i am so sorry i forgor) many days ago and i am finally doing the first sentence of ten works thing. I guess the general consensus is no one knows whether or not this is for WIPs or posted things so like many others I'll just do a combo of both :D

From a wip that is uhhhh 22k and counting long, titled in my google docs as simply "fuck it desi lore," starting off strong with a sentence that I don't think is actually grammatically correct but you know what sometimes the vibes matter more than grammar and you can quote me on that: Later, Desi will feel guilty for it.

From chapter one of Remittent Distress, we have a line that sounds like it's going to be macriley WHICH IT IS NOT- (PS she's just out on a little mini mission she's not dead or anything) During the three days that Riley has been gone, Mac's been coping poorly.

Another chapter one first sentence, we have the first line of what's shaping up to be my next book! Cue the school intercom noise... "Good morning Ravens, happy Tuesday, and happy first day of school!"

Next we have chapter one (not the prologue) of False Dawn, which is a WIP that keeps me up at night and makes me feel far too many emotions at once: Bozer has a strange affinity for sending physical letters.

We have a bit of a secret fic that's up next- set in Tender Mercies universe, except this is set approximately 10 years in the future from Aground, the most recent fic in the series. Mac makes it a single step into the visitation cell before freezing on the spot.

Next up we have the first line of one of my favorite fics of mine, where we get some Sam Cage! (sam my beloved). Get ready for the first sentence of Episteme! Samantha Cage, despite her evergrowing want to be out of the life she threw herself into, isn’t exactly sure how to stay out of it.

Okay so this is the first line at the moment, but might not be if/when I finally get around to writing the vast majority of this fic. After drafting out an entire fic on a plane ride about a year ago, I only actually fully wrote out a few paragraphs. Here's the beginning of it as of right now: “Arriving in forty-five minutes,” comes the eventual answer through Mac’s earpiece. 

Now we have the first line from Past + Fire + Present, purely because I think it's a fabulous addition to the whole point of this post (and also this does happen to be a fic that i am quite happy about how it came out). The first sentence is a little bit lack-luster though... Hands.

Changing things up a bit, this next sentence is from my 95% finished The Martian fic that has been 95% finished for over a year at this point. I really just need to write two more paragraphs and post it at this point, but here's the start! Sneaking out of Beck's quarters as soon as he stepped out to talk to the rest of the crew was probably not the brightest of plans, but I can’t take it back now.

And to end things off, we're going to hop back to Remittent Distress, but this time in the form of the first sentence for chapter three! (Currently working on it, fear not) It’s to be expected.

I'm fairly certain that at this point everyone that I know has been tagged in this (and I'm also like a week or two late at this point), so if you see this, assume you're being tagged! (and also if you write your own please tag me somewhere in it so I can read your sentences :D)

[raineandsky]

#49

“You’ll have my back, right?” the villain asks hopefully.

They’re leading the way, through twisting corridors and up long flights of stairs. Their henchman is trailing along behind them, not even keeping track of which way they're going. They’re going to the supervillain’s office. That’s all they gleaned from the villain’s excitable speech before they set off.

“Of course,” the henchman reassures with a smile. “Always.”

The supervillain’s office looks like a slightly eviller version of a normal office. It’s just a bit darker than average, black and red instead of pasty grey. The supervillain himself is sitting at his desk, slightly raised off the main floor like some sort of incredibly mundane throne.

“I’m glad you’re here, [Villain],” he opens flatly, as if he doesn’t really mean it. “Shut the door.”

The henchman slips through behind the villain, offering a quick grin of confidence as they pass. The supervillain raises an eyebrow at their appearance.

“I think you’ll find this is a private conversation, [Villain],” he adds pointedly as they shut the door behind them.

The villain frowns like this is obvious. “Won’t tell a soul, sir.”

The supervillain’s gaze flits lazily to the henchman, who is trying very hard to disappear into the corner of the room as any good henchman should. “You brought a subordinate.”

“Oh.” The villain turns to glance at the henchman, throwing them a quick smile. “Yeah, they’re good.”

The supervillain narrows his eyes like it’s a challenge. “Last chance.”

His expression does nothing to shift the innocence in the villain’s. “I’d like them here, actually.”

The supervillain lets his eyes slip back to the villain, his contempt clear in his face, but after a moment he relaxes, almost smug. “Very well.”

He finally leans back from the papers sitting in front of him, resting his hands on the polished ivory desk. “Your work has been lacking recently, [Villain],” he starts sombrely, and even from here the henchman can see how the villain deflates at the bluntness of it. “Our plans are often falling short because you aren’t doing your bit.”

“I– I’m trying,” the villain defends feebly. “I’ve had a lot going on. I can’t keep with it, I’m—”

“Do you think your schedule will matter when the heroes take half of us down because of an error you made?”  The villain stays quiet, their entire figure wilting, so the supervillain happily fills the silence. “Your mistakes are tallying up remarkably fast. I expect to see your behaviour remedied within this next week.”

His gaze flits to the henchman again, his mouth ever-so-slightly upturned into a disgusting smirk. “And don’t bring your lapdog to a private meeting next time. It makes you look weak.”

The villain turns back to glance at the henchman and their face pulls like they’re trying not to cry. “I’m sorry, sir,” they say quietly when they turn back, stifling a hiccuping sob. “I was– I was just—”

“Scared? Needing moral support?” the supervillain finishes harshly, and from the way the villain’s shoulders hunch it’s obvious the tears haven’t stayed back. “You’re pathetic. Get your shit together this week or you’re gone.”

He turns back to the papers on the desk like the conversation is over. The villain stares at him for a moment before turning away, motioning for the henchman to follow suit. One look at the kicked-puppy expression and poorly repressed snivels are all the henchman needs to burst into action. The villain seems to suddenly feel something other than despair when the henchman stalks past them and up towards the supervillain.

“[Henchman]—” is all they get to before the henchman’s hands slam against the desk, much to the supervillain’s barely concealed surprise.

“Excuse you?” he manages once his expression is back to nonchalance.

“Take it back,” the henchman demands, earning another blasé eyebrow raise. “[Villain] is not weak, or pathetic.”

His expression turns humoured. “Oh, the lapdog is for moral support!” He laughs ecstatically, and the henchman feels a light hand on their arm.

“Thank you, [Henchman], but it’s okay,” the villain whispers a little desperately, but the henchman’s not done. They carefully shrug their hand away, throwing them a soft glance that they hope conveys let me help you before turning coldly back to the supervillain.

“You think you’re so special because you sit in an office all day and do fuck all,” the henchman spits, much to the villain’s audible dismay, “but I know you could never do what they do. You complain about their performance at their worst when you couldn’t even match them at your best.”

“I sit in an office all day because I’m running this place,” the supervillain reminds them coldly, and the henchman scoffs with disrespect he likely hasn’t seen in a long time.

“And yet you’d be nothing without people like us doing everything for you. You think you can throw your weight around because everyone bows down to you, but I don’t.” The henchman huffs in annoyance, finally leaning back. “If you try to get rid of [Villain], you get rid of me, too.”

The supervillain grins as if it's an easy decision. “Then say your goodbyes.”

“But I’m the best lapdog you have around here.” The henchman’s expression twists into a sneer. “I was top of the league as a support to all the villains I helped. You lose me, you’re just stuck with a bunch of asshole villains who think they’re too good to ever be like me. Do you know what happens when a bunch of assholes trying to be the main character try to do anything on their own?”

“I can replace you,” the supervillain says quickly, and the henchman knows they’re backing him into a corner.

“I’m the best this place has seen in years. We’ll say our goodbyes, but good fucking luck surviving without us.” They turn on their heel, happily done with the conversation. “Let’s go, [Villain].”

The villain glances in horror between the two, stunned speechless, but a quick nudge from the henchman sets them into motion. The henchman opens the door for them at the end of the room, and it’s only then that the supervillain suddenly pipes up, his voice uncharacteristically hurried.

“I won’t dispose of you, [Villain],” he calls with fake confidence, earning pause from the pair in the doorway, “but I still expect improvement.”

“Y–Yes, sir,” the villain mumbles with a short nod, and with that the door shuts behind them.

The villain waits until they’re a little way down the corridor before they speak. “Holy shit!” they announce finally, grinning as they swipe at the last of the tears in their eyes. “[Henchman], you maniac! Oh, my god, thank you, thank you so much—”

“It’s alright, [Villain],” they offer with a bright smile. “I said I’d have your back.”

[nicksbestie]

reader blushes when speaking in public and mike helps her with it? 🥲

Speeches

word count : 520

warnings : none

<3

Public speaking sucked.

And it made it even harder for you when you were dating a famous musician, because you were spotted a lot in interviews, pap walks, and even just by fans, but as much as you loved answering questions and talking to people, your anxiety made it so much harder for you to successfully speak a sentence without stuttering. Michael made it a lot easier when you were with him, the comfort relaxing your body, but sometimes you weren’t, and your anxiety would skyrocket through the roof. The people who spoke to you often apologized for making you uncomfortable, assuming you were shy, but you weren’t, you just were stricken with the paralyzing fear of speaking, which made your attempts fruitless to convey your genuine excitement to see people. 

You think that it may be poorly explained when you try to talk about it, but it makes sense in your head. Which led you to now, curled up in your boyfriend’s arms, fighting tears as you attempted to explain your frustration with the situation. He wasn’t saying anything, rubbing your back comfortingly as you nearly cried, half from exhaustion and half from anger at your lack of control over your own mind and feelings. Michael knew how difficult it was, especially being in the public eye, and he made no move to invalidate your feelings. He waited until you finished talking, just sighing into his shirt.

“I know how difficult this is, baby. And for what it means, I’m so sorry you have to deal with it. It’s painful, it’s stressful, it’s unnecessary, and you don’t deserve it. I wish that I could snap my fingers and fix it for you, and I would if I could. Would you like me to listen, or would you like me to offer advice?”

You loved the fact that he asked that question while simultaneously reassuring you, because sometimes you just needed to vent and didn’t want to be offered solutions until later. It was a lot easier to just let out your feelings and think about consequences and fixes after that. You were lucky that Michael understood your way of thinking, but now, you did want the advice. 

“Solutions, please, if you don’t mind.” 

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“I don’t. My biggest piece of advice, even though you’ll probably hate it, is to embrace it. It always makes it a lot easier for me when I don’t think of it as something that I should be embarrassed, ashamed, or humiliated for. A lot of people struggle with it. We can also look into therapy, or medication if that’s something you’d like?”

You nodded, truly thinking it over. It did seem like something that could be helpful, because being embarrassed of it always made it so much worse for you to keep it under control. You made a silent vow in your mind to try it the next time, and to your complete shock, it worked. You still stuttered, but you didn’t feel horrible about it like you normally did. And over all, you appreciated Michael’s help. 

[delivish]

fic year in review

i have written 75,313 words this year, not counting the 20k+ in the two chapters i've added to ypiac since i started working on it again.

i started writing consistently in april/may, after not doing any creative writing for 6 or 7 years — it often felt like an uphill battle, but to say i'm super proud of picking this up again is an understatement. :')

one thing i want to focus on is putting out a lot more complete, polished stories. i have very much always been a "vibes first" person when it comes to writing and find meticulous planning and outlining very, very tedious. but on the flip side, i often find myself running out of steam on things that would have turned out much better if i had only taken the time to do ~some~ planning.

this, unfortunately, is the case with this vampire fic; while i still really enjoy the concept, the execution is lacking, imo. D: i didn't want to delete it, so i added to my 'crapolaeldel' collection — basically, a personal graveyard of fics that, for whatever reason, were either poorly done and will eventually be rewritten, or i never intend to finish and i'm tossing a rose over their graves. fortunately, there's only the vampire fic and one ancient clyde/butters thing i'm keeping for sentimental reasons in the collection, and i plan to keep it that way. sorry to everyone who read and liked that vampire fic!! D: good news is, i can and will do better. i'm already working on remixing the vampire/monster fic, because, well, if you're gonna write some monsterfucking, why half-ass it? :P

i have a list of upcoming fics on my pinned post. in an effort to get better quality things rolling, i'm going to be writing a bunch in advance, which will — hopefully — translate to more regular updates once these fics are ready to be posted. at least, that's the plan xD I get excited to share stuff, ngl

mostly, just feeling super grateful to have rediscovered a hobby i enjoyed so much. here's to a productive, non-writer's blocked year!!

oh, and here's the summary for the new Monster Fic™:

The year is 1926, and in a world where monsters and magic are as common as the air we breathe, rookie “paranormal exterminator” Leopold “Butters” Stotch, along with allies new and old, soon find themselves in a race against time to save the world against an enemy no one ever expected.

until next time!! :D

[thetrashbagswasteland]

Nothing makes my day better like seeing more Tolerance Tested, would love to see a snippet for the wip game 🙏

Sorry I took so long getting to this (I absolutely did not forget I was meaning to do it like, 5 times over nope, no sir) Tolerance Tested - for the uninitiated this is a short romp through Omega and beyond wherein Avitus heads off on an ill-advised, self-appointed mission and Macen, who's yet to discuss Andromeda or a vast number of other important questions with him, follows on to supervise help. As much as anything, it's the two of them figuring out how well they work together and whether they do genuinely want to spend the rest of their lives together. And for a snippet: This is from Chapter 4: The Catacombs (WIP still)

“Oh, the usual suspects are acting up.” The quarian slumped back, sounding bored. “Aria and Kandros are fighting again - she’ll be up in your business in no time I bet. Blood Pack got decimated a few weeks back, barely more than a couple of survivors, so they’re out vorcha trapping in the mines. There’s rumours about a new gang, no details about them but they’re supposedly headed by some really nasty new bastard that ran with the Talons at first - Nyreen’s yet to make up her mind what to do with them I think. Someone said they saw Collectors on the station too but they’re always saying they saw Collectors somewhere out here so…” One name registered above all else to him. Kandros. He knew a Kandros - he was blackwatch, even. Just finished his mandatory. Tiran was a nice sort from a decent, well respected cipritini name and… there was a relation of his out here? Macen resolved to ask Avitus about it as he said his farewells to the quarian and moved on past. Once they were out of earshot, though, Avi distracted him with an answer to another question he hadn’t even considered that he was curious about. “Nihlus saved her son’s life. Sosu - the kid - he’s biotic. Seena left the fleet and came to Omega to give him a better chance at life. Only… kid’s dad wasn’t happy about losing his child. He contracted some mercs to kidnap the little shit and bring him back. Mercs realised that he was biotic and decided to auction the poor brat off instead though. Dumbasses.” “Spirits, that poor child…” He said before he could stop himself, matching his pace so they could walk side-by-side down the filthy corridors his love apparently was familiar enough with not to need directions. “What did he do?” This earned him a grim smile. “You’ll hear that there’s one rule on Omega. That’s a lie. There’s an official rule but one of the unofficial ones is that you don’t mess with kids. Nihlus spent some time out here, y’see, he knew the rules and he was pissed on principle. Wasn’t even a council mission but he went after them all the same. Picked me and Saren up to help - he wanted in because he’d a soft spot for kids in peril, no matter what he claimed and… I wanted my own back on Sinyico for melting my favourite gun. Now there’s no more Sinyico anywhere.” Eradicating an entire mercenary company just to rescue one child? It spoke wonders of his friend’s morals and was also a horrifying example of just how powerful the group of them had been. Macen had, actually, heard of Sinyico in passing. They’d been a combination of turians and quarians, some of whom had attempted to set up shop on Epyrus, relying on the fact that it was poorly protected by the hierarchy to give them an in under the guise of extortion-labelled-protection - only to discover that the locals were decidedly hostile, even if most lacked combat experience. They’d vanished a few years ago, out of nowhere. Guess he now knew what had happened to them. The thing was, there had been a good few hundred, according to the information that was passed around. Not a major company like Eclipse, sure, but they’d been numerous enough that three people exterminating the lot of them was a massive achievement. And yet… it hadn’t been done for any more official reason than someone had wanted to get payback for breaking an unwritten rule. Hard not to love and hate what that said about them.

[lillartztranslations]

Hakuoki Reimeiroku: Souma Side Story

A story from before the events of Kyoto Winds, about the meeting between two young men and the origins of a certain picture.

Kazue Souma: "Um... It should be somewhere around here..."

I took out a piece of paper from my pocket and opened it to confirm the written address.

It's been a long time since I've been to Edo, so I don't really know my way around.

Although I’m trying to find a destination based on the written address…

Kazue Souma: "Ah... I'm sorry!"

Because I was walking while looking at a piece of paper, I bumped into someone.

Not good. At this rate, I seem to cause trouble for others...

For now, let's ask for directions at a nearby store.

Kazue Souma: "The shopkeeper said it was here, but... is it really the right place?"

No, he has no reason to lie to me...

There are rows of rather poorly built tenement houses.

I can't imagine an ukiyo-e artist living in a place like this...

I stand in front of the building written on the piece of paper and call out.

Kazue Souma: "Excuse me, I'm a messenger from the Kasama domain. Is anyone here?"

After calling out to the other side of the entrance door, it stayed quiet for a while.

Then the sliding door opens and a person appears from inside.

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: “You're from the Kasama domain...?”

Kazue Souma: "That right, I'm Kazue Souma from the Kasama domain. Are you master Ibuki?"

Then the man scratched his head with an embarrassing look.

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "I wouldn't call myself a 'master' just yet." "Anyway, come in. I've prepared some of the sketches you asked for."

Prompted by a blunt gesture, I walked inside the building.

The room was filled with the peculiar smell of paint.

Judging from the state of the room, this man doesn't seem to have it easy...

Perhaps this is what the painter's life is like.

Ibuki brings some paintings from the back of the room.

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: “You asked me to do a scenery of swordsmanship training, right?” "I have drawn a few rough sketches, but please choose which one you like most."

I looked at the paintings that he had displayed in front of me.

All the pictures he displayed depict a young man practicing swordsmanship.

Kazue Souma: "Hmm... I see."

I carefully inspected each picture that was presented to me.

Although they are just sketches, they are all quite impressive.

Kazue Souma: "Personally, I think this one is the best. Please proceed with the work with this picture."

I chose a picture and handed it to Ibuki.

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "...I see, I thought so. I also actually thought that this one would be best."

Kazue Souma: "Is that so?"

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "That’s right. Of course none of these paintings are lacking..." "But I can tell when a picture will be good before you finish it."

Kazue Souma: "I see... That's what it is."

I rarely have the opportunity to exchange words with an artist...

So I had no way of knowing what they were thinking when they were painting.

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "...I understand. Well then, I will carve the woodblock with this picture." "I'll let the Kasama Domain know when it's finished, so please wait until then."

Kazue Souma: "Please do."

The Kasama domain ordered illustrations for a book aimed at the younger children of samurai...

Its purpose is to encourage swordsmanship and the training of the mind and body.

It seemed that young people would rather read a book with illustrations than a book with only words.

That’s why this time they had decided to add illustrations .

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "...Even so, I was interested in why you're asking an unnamed painter like me to work often."“Does the Kasama domain have considerable curiosity for unknown painters?”

Kazue Souma: "Well..."

I wasn't sure how to answer.

The Kasama domain should have the budget for a famous painter...

But why did they end up asking this young painter to do it instead?

…I don't know the circumstances around their decision.

Seeing me struggle to come up with an answer, he could guess what was going on...

Ryuunosuke Ibuki:"... Well, I won't pry." "I'm also having a hard time making a living, so I'm grateful that you're giving me a job."

Kazue Souma: "... If you say so, we’re glad to help. Besides–"

I picked up the picture he showed me earlier.

Kazue Souma: "Your paintings are powerful. In particular, the scenery of swordsmanship training makes me feel like I was there..." "It looks like someone who knows a lot about swordsmanship drew it." "You may be unknown now, but I'm sure you will become a famous painter someday."

Then Ibuki looked away embarrassed.

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "... Flattering you won't get anything."

Kazue Souma: "I'm not trying to flatter you. I'm not very good at flattery."

I just giving him my honest opinion

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "...Come to think of it, I haven't even served you tea yet. Please wait right here."

After that, he disappears behind the shoji door as if escaping.

…Maybe I said too much?

As I was thinking that while waiting for the tea, I casually looked around the room.

The room is carelessly littered with drawings that look like they were failed drawings or sketches.

As a painter, it’s only natural that he draws a huge number of pictures.

Kazue Souma: "...Hmm?"

Among the paintings, one caught my eye that was clearly different from the rest.

It depicted a white-haired demon standing majestically in a landscape painted in red and black.

It caught my eye in an instant, and I unintentionally reached out to it.

When I looked at it up close, I was overwhelmed by a strange and ominous force.

Kazue Souma: "Is this kimono from... Kanadehon Chushingura? No, he's wearing Asagi's haori so that can’t be it..."

If I remember correctly, I've heard that there is a ronin formed corps in Kyoto that wears light blue haori.

I think they are called the shinsen-something...

As I was deep in thought...

The shoji door opens, and Ibuki returns to the room.

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "I'm sorry I kept you waiting. It may not be the best tea, but-"

He suddenly froze mind sentence when he saw the picture in my hand.

And then...

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "You! Why do you have that picture...!"

Kazue Souma: "I'm sorry for looking around without permission. But as soon as I saw it, I was intrigued..."

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "That's fine, now give it back!"

The teacup in Ibuki's hand tumbled onto the tatami.

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "Ah... Hot!"

Kazue Souma: "Are you alright!?"

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "No, I'm fine. Rather than that, give that back...!"

Kazue Souma: "Please hold up. There’s something I want to ask you about this painting."

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "What do you want to know about it? It's just scribbles, it's not worth anything!"

Earlier, when he showed me the pictures I had requested, he was totally calm...

I wonder if he really doesn't want anyone to see this painting.

Kazue Souma: "Scribbles....? I think it's much more powerful and well-made than the drawings from before."

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "What are you talking about? Just give it back!"

I should have returned it immediately...

But still, I was curious, so I asked.

Kazue Souma: "This picture isn't about Chushingura, is it? Is it about the Shinsengumi... the ronin group from Kyoto, right?"

The moment I asked that, Ibuki almost stopped breathing.

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "No! It's not Shinsengumi!"

Kazue Souma: "But this light blue haori is from the Shinsengumi, isn't it?"

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: “Do you know the Shinsengumi!?”

Kazue Souma: "I've heard of them." "They’re a group of thugs who cut down ronin in order to make a name for themselves."

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "...Yeah, I heard similar rumors, so I tried to draw them from my imagination."

It's a common practice to depict historical heroes as transformed yokai...

For an ukiyo-e artist, it may not be such an outlandish idea.

Kazue Souma: "Is that so, that's why I drew him as a demon-like figure?"

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "Y-Yeah, that's right. Now that's enough... give it back!"

But...

I faced Ibuki head-on as he tried to retrieve the painting.

Kazue Souma: "...Ibuki. Can I keep this picture?"

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "Huh!? Why are you so drawn to that picture?"

Kazue Souma: "I don't know why, but I really like it"

"Besides, I thought that this Enma-like fearsomeness would work as a good talisman against evil."

"Of course, I won't take it for free. I'll pay you properly."

Ibuki was staring at me with a dumbfounded expression.

But eventually....

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "It’s like an Enma amulet, huh?... Haha..." "...You really like it alot, don’t you." "It's fine. It's just some sketch I drew for fun, so you can have it for free."

Kazue Souma: "Really? Thanks alot!"

Ryunosuke Ibuki: "But don't show or talk to anyone about it." "If it's known that I drew the Shinsengumi as demons, I'm afraid I'll be in big trouble."

Kazue Souma: "Oh, I understand. I'm just going to use this as my personal amulet."

I put the picture Ibuki gave me in my pocket.

Of course, at this point, I had no idea what was still to come...

I had no way of knowing that the person depicted in this painting was Kamo Serizawa, the first head of the Shinsengumi.

Nonetheless, I was fascinated by this painting...

Maybe it was a calling from deep inside telling me about what fate had instore for me in the not so distant future.

~END~