#there's a difference between someone harming you and someone just not understanding what you meant

[iinterstellaarr]

“ugh spencer reid, i love you”

it isn’t exactly a lie, nor is it exactly the truth. spencer was an anomaly of a man, teetering between scarily smart and adorably dense that the sudden change gives you whiplash at least once a day.

it was a phrase that was somewhat casual to you now. something you’d throw to each member of the bureau like it was a casual hello or goodbye. although at some point, the bit had become less of… well just that, a bit.

it was still funny to see aaron roll his eyes and scold you for saying that for the one hundredth time, and it was still adorable to have garcia giggle and send it back your way everytime she saves your ass.

but it always seemed a bit different with spencer.

you’d said it again to him last night, although you’re not sure why considering he never says it back or even seems to acknowledge you said it at all. it was a particularly rough case for you, and he always seems to understand when you need a bit of support. you said it like it was some kind of punchline, or a thank you. maybe it was just comforting to have someone to say it too.

after a beat of silence, he coughs.

“i… uhm, love you too.”

his voice was meek and unsure if this was the right thing to say. he knew you said it often, and he knew it never really held the weight his mother always said it did, so no harm! right?

although for some reason, his uncertainty and the sort of raw embarrassment he had when he spoke made your stomach do a performance that could put simone biles to shame.

so now, here you sit at your measly desk, peering over your cup of now cold coffee trying to put together the pieces of why his answer had made the joke seem less funny.

maybe it was because he wasn’t the kind of person who said things without meaning them. he didn’t perform affection like other people. he didn’t toss out casual comfort like you did. if he told you your hair looked nice, it meant he loved you. if he brought you coffee, it meant he loved you. he never spoke the words but they were unanimously understood in his actions.

you tried to make sense of it. maybe it was because spencer didn’t love easily. not in the way the world defined it. he loved by showing up. so when he echoed your half-joke, it wasn’t funny anymore because you knew he meant it.

every syllable.

it felt like a moment you weren’t ready for but somehow had always been walking toward.

and now?

now you were stuck between pretending nothing happened and trying to understand why everything inside you felt different. like something had shifted on a molecular level. like maybe you’d been lying to yourself this whole time, calling it a joke so you wouldn’t have to admit it was real.

spencer walked past you just then, on his way to grab something from the break room. he gave you a small smile. familiar. gentle

“ need anything?” he asked.

you opened your mouth, intending to say no, but your heart betrayed you.

“yeah,” you spoke softly. “i need you to say that again sometime. like you meant it.”

he blinked.

you blinked.

silence.

“…say what again?”

and just like that, your stomach dropped.

you gave him a practiced smile, trying not to sound like you were crumbling beneath the weight of your own words.

“nothing. never mind!”

—————

he noticed you like he noticed most social ques.

quickly, but somehow always too late.

he’d had always been aware of you. never demanding attention and yet it was served to you and silver platter with a name tag engraved in gold.

you were easy to talk to. easier to trust.

so it made sense that he gravitated toward you. it was logical. predictable, even.

but then came the “i love you”

they started small. you’d toss them at him like they meant nothing. you’d always say them with a bright smile, mostly when he brought you the right files or remembered your favorite snack after a late night. at first, he thought it was just a quirk of yours. a friendly exaggeration.

but after a while, he started….

cataloging them.

it wasn’t on purpose! more like a habit he accidentally took up. he would remember every little infliction, the timing, tone, every word you spoke was like honey to his ears. it wasn’t like he was looking forward to hearing it, or like he would replay them each time in his head on slow nights when he couldn’t sleep.

so one night, he said it back.

sort of…?

“i…uhm, love you too.” he’d repeated, uncertain, testing the words in his mouth like a foreign language. you’d gone quiet just a beat too long. he could feel the silence stretching between you like a thread pulled tight.

you brushed it off. of course you did.

but something in him didn’t.

after that, he became hyperaware. he noticed how his heart sped up slightly when your name popped up on his phone. how he’d started picking up random facts or trivia just because he thought they’d make you smile and how the space beside him in the jet felt noticeably wrong when you weren’t in it.

there had to be an explanation. oxytocin. dopamine. human bonding behaviors under high stress environments. proximity induced infatuation. temporary emotional displacement.

but nothing excuses it. it shouldn’t make him want to fix his outfit in a reflective window before walking into a room because she’s in there, you should probably not look like you got dressed in the dark, spencer.

and it certainly doesn’t excuse why the thought of someone saying “i love you” to you the way he said it made his stomach twist.

the realization hit him late in the night.

he had never considered the way you said i love you that night. only the awkward stumbling of his words.

there was a gentleness. something raw in your words that made it painfully obvious to only him that it was different.

that’s why it felt different.

it was.

————

the bullpen was buzzing the way it always did on monday mornings. low voices, coffee cups clinking, the shuffle of files and footsteps and vague exhaustion.

spencer moved through it all like he usually did, head down, file in hand, a half-formed theory on the edge of his thoughts. he was halfway to his desk when he heard your laugh. not loud, not exaggerated, just natural.

he looked up before he could stop himself.

you were across the room, leaning slightly over garcias desk, telling a story with your hands like you always do. there was a small smile tugging at your lips, the kind that only came out when you weren’t thinking about it. you were wearing that sweater again. the one with sleeves you always pulled over your palms when you were focused, like you needed somewhere soft to hide your thoughts.

spencer stood still in the middle of the room.

he didn’t speak. didn’t blink. the file in his hand forgotten, the bustle of the office fading to a quiet hum beneath the sound of your voice and the way you glanced up, just for a second, like you felt his gaze.

your eyes met.

you smiled at him. soft and simple, like it cost you nothing, like how he’d imagine you smile at him waking up in the morning, two cups of coffee in hand for the both of you. and then you turned back to garcia. the moment passed.

but he was still standing there.

it felt strange, the way his chest tightened. not in a painful way. more like the air had shifted around him, and suddenly he was seeing everything too clearly.

she’s just talking to garcia.

she’s always like that. always smiling. always warm.

but no matter how many times he told himself that, he couldn’t shake the thought curling at the back of his mind

god, i think i’m in love with her.

it wasn’t a flash of lightning. it wasn’t cinematic. it was barely even a conscious thought. like it was there the entire time, just forgotten.

you weren’t doing anything extraordinary. you were just you.

and somehow, that was the part that floored him.

because now that the thought was there, now that it had a shape and a name, it refused to be unthought. every laugh, every glance, every quiet kindness you’d ever shown him suddenly reappeared in technicolor.

and he was just standing in the middle of it all like a man who had walked straight into his own feelings and hadn’t seen the sign.

[highraccoon]

it's always so funny when someone "acknowledges" your disabilities but when those disabilities actually, you know, disable/impact parts of your life then they act as if the disability couldn't POSSIBLY be the problem and you're just bringing it up as an excuse

and by funny i mean it makes me want to powerdrill my own teeth

[blackcat-star]

Eyes on me.

Self-aware!Jinwoo x reader

Was he just looking at you?

«Part 1

Ever since Jinwoo got the system and gained new powers, he had always felt like someone was looking at him.

Maybe the system was watching him-

No. This gaze was different.

It came from all directions, but he felt that it meant no harm to him. But he felt very uncomfortable. Being stared at all the time was not a comfortable thing anyway.

But gradually, he got used to it, and started to be curious about it. Then ever since he got his job change quest, he felt the owner of the gaze become clearer.

Then it started with images flashing in his mind suddenly, vaguely.

A person lying under the blanket, holding a phone reading something. A manhwa. Solo Leveling. Sung Jinwoo. You was reading about him. He could see glimpses of what was on your phone, which made him frown. 

That's when he learned that in a parallel world, his life was created just to be an entertainment for humanity. That everything he experienced was created by human drawings, by human imagination. This made him laugh mockingly.

'How funny my life is..'

The deep sea of darkness stretched out before him, silent, still, just as it had been before his own darkness. He didn't know how long had gone by. It had been some time that he had been standing there.

He didn't know how much time had passed. He didn't know how long he had been standing there. The darkness had no concept of day or night.

Until one moment, you appeared in that world with a half-real, half-illusion, huge figure, before his eyes.

Your eyes looked straight at him.

Someone was looking at him. Not from this world. Not from his dimension. Someone on the other side of the screen. Someone... reading the story of his life.

The beginning interest in you developed into an uncontrollable fixation.

He shows interest in you by wanting to understand your identity and spend time with you. He does not understand how to achieve his desire.

It's frustrating.

Reading manhwa took you a few hours but Jinwoo spent months immersed in it. Time in his world passed quickly, and he was growing impatient.

He wanted you. Here.

By the time he had defeated the Architect and swallowed the system. He realized that you seemed to have noticed him looking at you.

The barrier between the two worlds was slowly being erased.

That made him excited. You were still there. On the other side of the screen. On the other side of the world.

From the moment you stopped in front of a panel - where your eyes met his - Jinwoo knew. You saw him.

Not the character in the story. Him.

No longer a vague observation from afar, but a connection. A returned gaze. The feeling of excitement exploded like a surge of mana in his chest. He wanted to break down the wall between the two worlds.

He wanted to bring you closer.

Your eyes were confused as you look at him. So cute.

You must be wondering if this is real. Being the nice guy he is, he needs to help you find out, right?

"I know you are looking."

He stood in the dark space, a dimension where time did not flow, where the world became absolutely still. But every time you opened your phone, light shone upon him. Like a door opening. Like a hand pulling him from the abyss.

For the first time, he heard a strange sound.

A heartbeat.

Not his.

Yours.

From the other world.

And he was drawn. Obsessed. Longing. He began to try. Sending vague glances. Soft smiles only when you were looking. Shadows that crossed the picture frame when you quickly scrolled by. Lines of text only you could read.

He watched your every emotion. When you were scared. When you stopped reading. When you gasped under the dark blanket.

He heard it all. And the more he did, the more he found you lovable.

Vulnerable.

Touchable.

And...easy to grasp.

It seems like you are running away from him. But it won't be that easy. With his absolute power, he can now break the rules of the world, he can interact with you.

And he will bring you to him soon. All it takes is the right time.

Jinwoo reached out, in the darkness, to where your eyes had met his. The space cracked, the cracks spreading like spider webs.

He whispered.

"Just a little more..."

"You'll get here."

"Or I'll come to you."

__________________________

You try not to think about it. You try to sleep. You try to forget that look.

But every time you blink, Jinwoo's face appears in your mind. His dark eyes are as deep as the abyss, his smile is vague as if he knows how you will react.Your emotions pull you in opposite directions because one side is scared and the other wants to explore. You stand at the cliff edge afraid of falling but unable to resist looking over.

And then that night, you dream.

Not a normal dream.

You're standing in complete darkness. The area feels empty with no air movement and no background sounds. It feels like you're in a place the world has never known.

Footsteps.

You turn around - and there he is.

Sung Jinwoo is walking towards you.

Slowly.

Steady.

There was no anger in those eyes, no doubt, only a strange certainty. As if this was the result he had been waiting for all along.

You stepped back. He still moved forward.

You asked, your voice trembling. "Where...am I?"

"The space between two worlds," Jinwoo replied, his deep voice reverberating through the space like sound waves touching every cell. "Here... I can reach you."

"Who are you!?" you took another step back, your palms sweating.

"You've already known who I am"

"I've been paying attention to you for so long," he stepped closer, only a few steps away, his hand reaching up to caress your cheek, his eyes frantic. "What have you done to me? Why am I so obsessed with you?"

You trembled.

"Become mine," Jinwoo said, his gaze tightening like chains. "Don't turn your back on me anymore. I'll come find you. Whether in my dreams or in real life."

Your heart is pounding. 

And then, you wake up. Your breathing is ragged. Your head is spinning.

The phone rests on the table while its screen shows no light. You take a deep breath to settle your emotions. Just a dream. Just a weird nightmare...

But - in the corner of your eye, there's a blur. Like someone actually touched you.

You look down at the screen. A new notification from an unknown number.

"You won't escape me."

Since that day, you have been living in fear. The fear that he will come and take you away one day. So many scenarios have appeared in your head. It makes your heart race and your mind confused.

What does Sung Jinwoo want from you? Why does he want to drag you to that world?

Why is this happening to you?

From that fateful day, everything around you gradually became strange.

At first, there were recurring dreams. You always woke up in the middle of the night, cold sweat drenching your back, your breathing ragged. In the dream, Jinwoo no longer spoke - he just looked. The long stare seemed to be able to suffocate your heart, and every time that gaze fell on you, you felt like prey before a patient predator.

You started avoiding reading manhwa. You turned off notifications, deleted the app. But every time you tried to forget, everything seemed to come crashing down.

Your phone flickers on in the middle of the night. Strange messages from the unnamed number continued to appear, with just one simple line.

"Don't stay away from me."

"I'm getting closer."

Your phone numbers and SIM cards may change but the feeling of being watched remains. You sense someone watching you the moment you wake up. He seems to hover between what's real and what's not from an invisible spot.

Then one day, when you look at yourself in the mirror... It's not you looking in the mirror anymore. It's him looking out.

Jinwoo.

His eyes are reflected in yours. Not imaginary, but real. You stand there, frozen, unable to move. His lips move in the reflection, making no sound, but you understand.

"Almost there."

________________________________

The absolute darkness surrounded Jinwoo as he waited with fast-beating heart. He watched for too many days without taking action because he wanted the perfect opportunity. And now...now, that moment had come.

Jinwoo smiled darkly, power slowly surrounding him in a thick mist, violet eyes glowing.

The darkness surrounding him started to split apart. A faint thread of light appeared slowly between the darkness before it reached out across the empty space.

The crack grew bigger until it broke open to reveal a rough opening in the blackness.

He could feel her heartbeats pounding loudly in his ear. The silence became a background for the steady drumming of her heartbeats. As if the universe itself were holding its breath.

And then he felt it. A tug, faint but unmistakable. The connection was made. You were close.

"Just a bit more" He spoke his thoughts quietly as he reached for the portal.

The portal pulsated like a living being while its thin separation between realms grew dangerously weak. He extended his hand to touch the shiny opening of the crack. The portal emitted strong electrical energy because it sensed his upcoming movement.

He moved ahead by pushing himself through the large gap that appeared like an opening mouth.

You could sense your heart beating rapidly. Something was happening. Something was changing. The room was dimly lit by the glow of the phone screen, face down on the table, and the phone was in hand. You didn't touch it. Not at all. But it lit up on its own.

A blurry image appeared.

Those eyes.

Sung Jinwoo.

Your heart pounded in your chest and you took a reflexive step back. The air was thick, so thick you had to breathe hard. And then...

Crack-

A deafening shattering sound rang out. Not from the phone. But from the wall of your room.

Space broke like a mirror being smashed before your eyes. The spiderwebs of cracks were spreading out in all directions. From the cracks came a jet of black light, a jet of darkness flowing back into the world you were living in.

You screamed because you wanted to turn and run, but your legs wouldn’t.

A portal appeared.

From the darkness, a hand reaches out, fingers long, cold, hard - grabbing your wrist. "I've waited long enough."

The voice is low, rumbling like a shockwave that travels straight to your spine.

You try to pull away. But his strength is inhuman.

"No!" you struggle, "This isn't real! I'm dreaming!"

Jinwoo looks at you - not with fierce eyes, but with eyes that have endured months of agony. Obsessive. Haunting. Creepily gentle.

"This is real," he whispers. "And you are mine."

Space shatters.

You're yanked forward - too weak to scream, too weak to react. It feels like falling into an endless abyss, your body torn between two worlds.

The light fades. There's no room. There's no phone. There's no familiar truth. There was only darkness, the thick scent of mana, and his breath right next to your ear.

You fell to the cold ground, shivering. The air here was thick, strange. A place you had never been.

You looked up. Jinwoo stood before you.

Black shirt, deep eyes, hair falling over his forehead. He looked at you as if he had just taken back a part of his lost soul.

"Welcome to my world."

He leaned down, his eyes shining like the night coming to life.

"Now you will never leave me again."

.....

the end-

tag: @areaderspov @izaquix078 @sky2lar @leviackerman2030

lol I had a day off and I spent the whole day just writing this.

it's almost late night here.........

[zalrb]

I'd love a breakdown of the acting in the 3rd episode of Adolescence if you ever feel inclined, maybe the moments that hit the strongest? I thought the actor did well in going from one emotion to another and when he raises his voice to exert power over the therapist

Sure! Yes, Owen does a really great job in shifting emotions throughout the episode and slowly showing Jamie's darker side without being theatrical even when he's explosive.

What I really enjoyed is at the beginning when he's having, considering the circumstances, a relatively good time talking to Briony and they're having their sort of banter because it does seem like he's a generally and genuinely a witty, funny kid but I think you can also tell that he's negging her, which, you know, the term is from The Rules of the Game, which isn't a book that I've read but has been described as a catalyst for incels so even when he's kind of being a happy-go-lucky kid, I think Owen imbues something lightly sinister to how he's talking with Briony

while also showing a childlike delight in having an easygoing, fun conversation with someone

I also quite like the yawn now that I know that it wasn't intentional, Owen was genuinely tired and he yawned and Erin Doherty just went with it and ad-libbed her response

and Owen laughs and he's kind of giggly because he also didn't expect that ad-lib

but Erin continues with her lines and so you see in a few seconds how Owen locks back into the scene, and gets back into the character

and it works for the entire dynamic between the two of them because I would not have guessed that that was what we were watching and it's a testament I think that he recovered so quickly.

When he does stand up and says, "What was that? Hey?"

he kind of mimics Stephen Graham's intonation and body language, which kind of showcases how he tries to model himself after different male role models, which includes his dad who he's very protective of and who isn't a bad guy but has harmful habits that Jamie's picked up on, so I thought was really well done.

And he's also good at facial expressions, derision

sadness

irritation/defensiveness

I also think when he panics and lashes out when Briony says that they aren't going to see each other anymore is really well done, the "Do you like me?" and "Tell my dad I'm alright"

because there is a raw vulnerability there but he puts that in his performance after such a vile confession, which was also done really well because it's performed as beseeching, like even though the underlying message of his confession about how he felt is "that bitch deserved it" he doesn't play it with that kind of sinister tilt and he doesn't play it as emotionless and logical, he plays it as, if you just understand, if you just understand from my point of view, which is really chilling.

As for Erin Doherty, it's harder to discuss her even though she does so much because everything is so subtle with her, you can't get in screenshots but she was such a great scene partner and like I said, she does so much with her material because she's meant to be an impartial ear there to make an assessment but you see how she slowly shifts throughout their hour together with her tone especially, like when she comes back in after her first outburst, she's curt

and her expressions change infinitesimally, because she doesn't show too much emotion because she's not meant to sway Jamie in any kind of way but for the audience (and sometimes for Jamie because he's bright and observant) we can see a very slight eye roll or sigh, we can she how she watches him, hopeful for any kind of sign so there can be mitigating factors to his crime

and then her realization when Jamie speaks about how he could've molested Katie's body but didn't and that makes him better, the disappointment and disgust and shock is communicated with a furrow of her eyebrow

or a very slight pursing of her lips and then the sort of release she has to do once he's left

is such a great performance.

[theambitiouswoman]

The right people never risk losing you—so why chase those who do? (+ the psychology behind this pattern)

Have you ever noticed how some people treat you with care & others act as if you’re easily replaceable? The difference isn’t just about compatibility—it’s about understanding your value. Even if someone isn’t meant for you, if they truly recognize your worth, their actions will reflect it

The difference between someone who sees your value vs. someone who doesn’t

The person who sees your value

They show up consistently, even if they know they’re not your forever person

They communicate with respect and honesty because they acknowledge your worth

They don’t play games, manipulate or string you along. Instead, they are upfront about their intentions

Example: You date someone briefly, but they realize you’re not a long term match. Instead of ghosting or being disrespectful, they have an honest conversation, express appreciation for you and leave things on good terms. They wouldn’t risk damaging a connection with someone they respect

The person who doesn’t see your value

They keep you around for convenience, not because they genuinely cherish you

They are inconsistent—one day, they’re warm and loving, the next, they disappear

They disregard your boundaries because they don’t view you as someone to be honored

Example: You give your all to someone, but they breadcrumb you—texting just enough to keep you interested but never showing real commitment. They don’t see the risk in losing you because they never truly saw your worth in the first place

The real issue is why you want someone who doesn't value you or see your worth

it’s not about them—it’s about you

Psychologically, this desire stems from childhood experiences, attachment wounds, subconscious conditioning. Your brain is wired to seek patterns it recognizes, even if they’re harmful

Scarcity mindset (Dopamine & Reward System): When someone treats you poorly, your brain sees their occasional attention as a “reward.” The unpredictability triggers dopamine (the pleasure chemical), making you crave their approval. This is the same mechanism that makes gambling addictive—intermittent rewards create obsession

Unresolved attachment trauma: If you had to “earn” love in childhood, you may unconsciously seek out people who make you prove your worth. Your nervous system associates inconsistency with love, making stable relationships feel boring or “not exciting enough.”

The ego’s need for validation: The part of you that feels unworthy believes that winning over someone who doesn’t see your value will prove your worth. But no amount of chasing can make someone value what they refuse to see

Recognize your own value first. If you don’t see it, you’ll keep attracting people who don’t either. Heal your attachment wounds. Therapy, journaling, and self-reflection can help you break the cycle. Detach from the illusion of "proving" yourself. The right people won’t need convincing

At the end of the day, no one who truly sees your value would ever gamble with the risk of losing you. And once you embody that truth, you’ll stop trying to convince those who never did

[genderkoolaid]

yeah, but you do mean 'loveless' like 'romanceless' right? Just cause you're not interested in a romantic partnership, and you're never attracted to anyone romantically, that doesn't mean you can't love your family and your friends. Am I understanding wrong? I feel like it's a widely accepted concept that 'love' isn't just romantic, it's about caring about someone, no matter if they're your family or platonic friend or your pet.

No, "loveless" means love-less. Another anon also asked me to explain as well so:

"Lovelessness" in the aro context comes from the essay I Am Not Voldemort by K.A Cook. The essay confronts normative ideas on love, its inherent positivity and what it means to not love. From the introduction, which brings up the question of non-romantic love:

This June, I saw an increasing number of positivity and support posts for the aromantic and a-spec communities discussing the amatonormativity of “everyone falls in love”. I agree: the idea that romantic love is something everyone experiences, and is therefore a marker of human worth, needs deconstruction. Unfortunately, a majority of these posts are replacing the shackles of amatonormativity with restrictive lines like “everyone loves, just not always romantically”, referencing the importance of loving friends, QPPs, family members and pets. Sometimes it moves away from people to encompass love for hobbies, experiences, occupations and ourselves. The what and how tends to vary from post to post, but the idea that we do and must love someone or something, and this love redeems us as human and renders us undeserving of hatred, is being pushed to the point where I don’t feel safe or welcome in my own aromantic community. Even in the posts meant to be challenging the more obvious amatonormativity, it is presumed that aros must, in some way, love. I’ve spent weeks watching my a-spec and aro communities throw neurodiverse and survivor aros under the bus in order to do what the aromantic community oft accuses alloromantic aces of doing: using their ability to love as a defence of their humanity. Because I love, they say, I also don’t deserve to be a target of hatred, aggression and abuse. But what if I don’t love? What if love itself has been the mechanism of the hatred and violence I have endured? Why am I, an aro, neurodiverse survivor of abuse and bullying, still acceptable collateral damage?

The author criticizes the idea of "true love" that is incapable of harm. Ze questions why we construct love in that way, and how it ignores and simplifies the experiences of victims of abuse ("It’s comforting to think that a love that wounds isn’t real love, but it denies the complexity of experience and feeling had by survivors. It denies the complexity of experience and feeling that makes it harder for us to identify abuse and escape its claws. It denies the validity of survivors who look at love and feel an honest doubt about its worth, as a word or a concept, in our own interactions and experiences.") Ze talks about being forced to say "I love you" to transphobic, abusive parents whose feelings of love was the justification for their abuse.

The core of what "loveless" as an concept is about is summed up in this quote:

There is no substantial difference between saying “I’m human because I fall in love”, “I’m human because I love my friends” and “I’m human because I love calligraphy”. All three statements make human worth contingent on certain behaviours, feelings and experiences. Expanding the definition of what kinds of love make us human does nothing but save some aros from abuse and antagonism … while telling survivor and neurodiverse aros, who are more likely to have complex relationships to love as a concept or are unable to perform it in ways recognised by others, that we’re still not worthy.

Lovelessness is against any kind of statement which quantifies humanity (and implicitly, human worth) in the ability to feel or act or experience certain things. Humans are human by virtue of being human, and nothing else. And, it is socially constructed! "Love" has no natural definition! Some people are not comfortable using "love" to describe positive feelings and relationships, and some people do not feel those positive feelings in general. And those people deserve the right to define their own experiences and their own relationship to the social construct of love.

In essence, lovelessness is both a personal as well as (in my opinion) a political identity, born from aro and mad experiences that challenges not just amatonormativity but all ideas that associate personhood and worth with the ability to feel certain things.

& as a note, there is also the term "lovequeer" which describes using the term "love" in ways which contradict mainstream understandings of what it means to love, and which kinds of love are considered worthwhile.

[whoreash]

a dream with a soccer player ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

synopsis : sae is intrigued by your freak.

itoshi sae— who, imagined things like this as his personal nightmare— attended the event his managerbegged him to.

a charity event where the rich ask for money from the poor— a joke, really.

and through his half-assed smiles and sloppy smiles, the drainage of social battery caught up to him quicker than expected.

the soccer prodigy ends up leaning against the wall, far from the crowd of people, trying to find a moment of silence. his eyes flutter shut and body relaxes.

“we’re so twins.”

sae, failing to find the moment of silence, gazes at you from the corner of his eye. you looked just as tired as him— no attempt at a smile or formal greeting.

“i’m sorry..?” what did you mean ‘we’re twins?’ is this another meme he doesn’t know of— oh my god, he’s going to lose it.

“sorry— sorry. not— hic— actual twins.” you try to answer through hiccups “like— ‘cus we’re both like— hic— not really into this—.” with a shake of your head, you state the obvious.

“look, i’m drunk.” the words, though meant to be as an apology, simply sound irritated at your own actions.

“i’d be worried if you acted like this when sober.” sae responds, intrigued by you.

there was something so interesting about people that sae couldn’t quite understand.

most people were predictable— overly so.

there was no harm in investigating when it already seemed like you spoke a different language (metaphorically).

he wondered what bought you here. this event, no offense, didn’t look like your sort of scenery. maybe you had a date? although you didn’t look entertained. or delighted. or anything positive, for that matter.

“hey, you’re—hic— itoshi sae, aren’t you?” your words spill out, leaning in closer to inspect the midfielder’s face— making sure you weren’t making a fool out of yourself.

a begdrudging nod corrects your theory.

you nod back— three times just to be precise.

“i’m pretty sure my date has a— hic— boner for you.” this captivates sae, yet again. your way of speaking is odd. to the point it frightens and amuses him.

“why do you think so?”

“—hic — you’re all he talked about on the way here. like, like— ‘i’m not gonna let him take my spotlight’ or like, ‘he’s gonna be so jealous of me when you’re on my arm’” you turned around at that, fully facing him.

“now, that confused me. do i know you?” you ask— almost in a dreamlike state.

sae shakes his head, absorbed in every intoxicating word that escapes you.

“yeah, exactly. why would you care that i’m there— what the fuck,” you look up at the ceiling as if actually searching for an answer which sae couldn’t help but smile at. before going back to his stoic expression, of course.

he would never admit it but, in that moment, sae was definitely jealous of your mysterious date.

“so, itoshi sae,” you drawl his name in a whisper— a secret between the two of you “go shoot your shot ‘cus i knowwwww someone who wants you. real. real bad.”

and, just like that, itoshi sae shoots his shot with someone who compelled him more than anyone could.

he took you home. to his home, because he couldn’t understnad your drawl of words that were meant to be your address. let you rest in his bed. made you soup to help with the hangover. and, even, gave you his moisturiser to use, in the morning.

in summary, sae was smitten for you and your endless, questionable sentences.

[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 14: Kinich x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7622

Warnings: Afab!reader, brat taming, hair pulling, bdsm elements, blowjob, piv, creampie, mentioned choking

A/N: I like Kinich a lot, actually. That's it. Send tweet.

⭐

Kinich had always thought you a rather strange one, but the full extent of your oddity is something he discovers quite by accident. 

You’re talking to someone whose name he does not know and doesn’t care to learn when he walks into the outpost. He was only there to pick up a few supplies, a simple errand that should have seen him in and out, but instead he finds himself dully watching the back and forth exchange with a mild pang of interest. 

Quickly enough he ascertains that you seem to be upset about something. 

Shortly thereafter he manages to piece together the situation enough to understand what’s going on. You were angry because the person in question — a gruff looking man from the People of the Springs, given his attire — had tried to swindle you out of your rightly deserved mora. As far as he could tell it sounded like you’d already given him the goods he’d wanted but he was now refusing to pay the full amount you were asking for. 

It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence when Natlan was such an expansive nation and the various tribes largely operated independently of one another, a simple fact that sometimes resulted in tension forming between the different factions. There were those few among them who didn’t think their neighboring peoples deserved top mora for their services just because they didn’t come from the same background. Even Kinich had run into this situation a few times before, but he always walked away instead of entertaining it. 

You don’t have that same luxury when your livelihood depended on trading goods for money though. There wasn’t going to be someone else who was willing to pay extra for a bag of flour to make up for the loss of income this man was responsible for, which meant you’d have no choice but to eat it in the long run. 

And that was all the information Kinich needed to know. 

Not stopping long enough to give it any further thought, he steps forward just as you really start to lay into the guy, aggressively jabbing your finger at his broad barrel chest where you’ve got him partially backed up into the corner. A’jaw belligerently questions what he’s doing but Kinich just ignores him as he usually does. He was much more focused on you and the fact you looked like you were moments away from having a full on conniption. 

“And another thing, you big dummy! You come in here demanding to buy up almost all of my stock of — eek!” 

Outright jolting when Kinich suddenly appears next to you, you snap your head around to look over at him. 

“Wh - oh, it’s just you. Don’t sneak up on me like that! Can’t you see I’m a little busy right now?” 

“I can. Let me take care of it.” 

You do a quick double take. “Huh? What are you even talking about? This has nothing to do with you!” 

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll handle it from here.” 

The unknown man awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glancing between the two of you as if he isn’t quite sure which person to focus on anymore. “Uh …” 

“Dammit, Kinich.” Hissing a dangerous sound, you turn on the saurian hunter with a vengeance to snap at him now. “I don’t need your help with this — this shady, two-bit con man. I’ve got it under control!” 

“Well, I think that might be a little unfair - -“ 

“Shut up!” 

Practically spitting like an incensed, angry cat, you jerk back around to look up at the swindler again. It’s not lost on Kinich that he’s quite a bit bigger than both of you and he could have easily caused you physical harm if he’d so wanted. Whether because he simply wouldn’t or because he couldn’t when there was a witness present, it seemed that luck was on your side today regardless. 

You’re halfway through the motion of lifting your hand as if to snatch at the front of his shirt when Kinich abruptly reaches over to grab under your chin. A startled squawk of surprise bursts out of you as he firmly yanks your face back around to look at him, leaving your fingers to harmlessly arc through the air at the distraction. 

Wide eyed and trembling with impotent rage, you flash your teeth at him in warning. “Kinich - -“

“I said I will handle it for you. Do not argue with me again.” 

The following few seconds see a truly unexpected change in your demeanor. At first you look genuinely shocked at not only what he was saying but the way he was saying it as well. He’d never had any reason to drop his voice to that strict tone of command with you before so this particular reaction was at least somewhat understandable. But then a strange gleam comes into your eyes and your expression abruptly relaxes to almost pouty resignation, and he feels something within him subtly shift. 

But by far the most surprising part of it is the way you docilly drop your gaze as if you couldn’t quite look him in the face anymore, which was so unlike you that it almost makes him wonder if he’s done something wrong. 

It’s also at complete and total odds with the unrestrained anger you’d shown only a moment ago, and the difference is so stark in fact that the man standing before you two starts to fidget. 

“Ah, maybe I should just go - -“

“Yes. Let’s step outside for a moment.” Kinich says, forcing himself to snap out of the curious trance he’d fallen into staring at you. Removing his hand from your chin, he glances up at the taller individual to find that he looked uncomfortable enough to comply with just about anything if it meant he could escape from this strange atmosphere that’s fallen over the outpost. Good. At least he wouldn’t have to resort to physically dragging him out. 

“Hehee, you’re in for it now!” A’jaw snickers, floating up to tauntingly wag his butt in the man’s face. “I hope you’re ready to get your teeth knocked in, because that’s exactly what’s about to happen if Kinich is willing to step in free of charge! Trust me, you won’t like him when he’s angry!” 

That outcome does not come to fruition. 

Kinich merely talks to the guy outside of the storefront and luckily he doesn’t need to resort to violence to get you the mora you were owed. If anything he seems eager enough to hightail it out of there that he probably would have paid double the asking price if necessary but Kinich only takes what was needed to cover the man’s bill. The tiny dragon lord is very disappointed by this peaceful end to the confrontation once everything is said and done. 

Stepping back into the store, he finds you still standing next to the counter with your attention fixed on a seemingly random spot on the ground. It looks like you’re lost deep in thought over something so he doesn’t say a word about what just happened as he walks across the creaking floorboards to place the handful of mora down in a neutral spot where you could retrieve it whenever you were ready. 

And he almost turns to walk right back out but thinks better of it at the last moment, pausing a few feet away to peer over at you. 

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.” 

“You didn’t hurt me.” 

Oh. 

He turns that over for a moment, trying to pinpoint the source of your unusual behavior. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me.” 

Oh. 

Now he was really lost. 

But before he can parse it any further than that, you reach out to pick up half of the gold coins sitting on top of the counter before turning away completely. “Take the rest. Consider it payment for helping me out. Thank you, Kinich.” 

Silently, he watches you shuffle into the back of the store, disappearing through the doorway to leave him standing alone in the front with only a grumbling A’jaw for company. You were definitely acting strange, he quickly decides. He’d never seen you so subdued and passive, as if something he’d said or done had flipped a switch in you. Usually you were what most would call a spitfire but this was the exact opposite of that. Like you were more inclined towards servility than you let on, at least when someone used the right tone of voice with you. 

Kinich takes the payment you’d left for him and leaves, and he spends a very long time pondering over this conundrum. 

He spends so long thinking about it, in fact, that it’s not until a few days later that he realizes he’d forgotten to get the supplies he’d needed. 

It almost comes as a shock that he would allow himself to get that distracted by the confounding situation and your equally confounding behavior, but there was no denying a certain interest simmering in the back of his mind now. Something told him you’d liked that little exchange with him even for as brief as it had been, and he was feeling just compelled enough to test it out some more. 

So he returns to the outpost late one evening, shortly before you usually closed up shop, and your glowering attention immediately snaps up at his entrance. 

“You’ve got fifteen minutes to — oh. It’s you again.” 

“I forgot to buy what I came for the other day.” He says simply, giving a vague gesture at the store at large. “Do you mind if I grab a few things real quick?”

“Help yourself.” You quickly respond, a little too quickly if he’s being honest. 

But Kinich pretends not to notice it for the time being as he walks around to gather up the short list of items he needed. A new coil of rope, a whetstone for his blade, a jar of candied yams, as a treat. 

Meanwhile, left to his own devices, A’jaw floats away from him to hover in your general direction. 

“Do you know in whose presence you’re standing, little human wretch?” 

“Well, I’m sitting down, for starters.” You snip back at the small dragon. Evenly matched tempers right there. “And we’ve been over this before. You’re the self proclaimed ‘Almighty Dragonlord’ or some such nonsense. I don’t need another introduction.” 

“Nonsense!” His tiny voice audibly rattles with untapped rage. “You dare to speak to me that way when I could all too easily flatten your puny human settlement to dust! Show me some respect before I make you!” 

“Hah! I’d like to see you try it, fish bait.” 

“Why you - -“ 

Kinich’s ears perk up at that exchange. So he wasn’t just imagining things then. Anytime someone tried to force you to do something you didn’t want to do your claws would come out full force and you were clearly far more inclined to challenge them than roll over in defeat. That still didn’t explain why you’d reacted the way you did when it had been him issuing the command but at least he was starting to get a better understanding of the situation. 

Obviously you weren’t scared of A’jaw, not that he could really fault you for that, and you’d said you weren’t scared of him either … 

Decisively turning on his heel, Kinich walks over to where you’re sitting behind the front counter so he can put his things down for you to tally up. You huff a final sound of annoyance at the so-called dragon lord before reaching over to grab the jar of yams, plainly eager to get both of them out of your store. 

“I could make you do it.” He says so abruptly he almost manages to surprise himself and you suck in such a ragged breath it sounds like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over your head. 

At the same time the jar slips right out of your hands to clatter loudly against the wooden countertop, nearly rolling straight off the edge of it but Kinich is quick. His hand snaps out to catch it in the palm of his glove before it can fall to the floor and he reaches over to carefully set it in front of you once again. Unfortunately you’re too busy glaring at him to notice or thank him for the save. 

“Make me do what, exactly?” You hiss up at him, eyes narrowed to such dangerous slits he idly wonders if he’s miscalculated something along the way. 

“Show respect. Not to A’jaw, since he doesn’t really deserve it anyway. I mean me.” 

A series of flustered, incoherent sounds escape your mouth while you struggle to come up with a response to that before at last settling on, “Have you lost your mind?” 

“Oooh, and what’s this I smell?” A’jaw croons, nudging his way into the space between the two of you. “Could it really be that my sweet little Kinich has finally gotten to that age? Do you like her? Heehe — hey!” 

Snatching the dragon out of the air, he carelessly tosses him over his shoulder so he can look at you unimpeded. In all honesty he’s not entirely sure what it is that’s making him approach you like this but the deeply flustered look on your face seems to be reason enough for him to continue. He’d enjoyed seeing that softened expression when you’d relented to him a little too much not to. 

That’s not how you’re looking at him right now, of course, but he’s sure he can change that if given half a chance. 

Instead you seem to be rather conflicted about what’s happening, equally torn between being angry at him (something else he couldn’t really fault you for) or giving in to the temptation he presented. That at least he could see clearly in the way you hesitantly regard him as if you were weighing your options. He’s admittedly a bit relieved that he hadn’t misjudged that particular angle of this situation. 

And at last you heave a mildly bothered sigh through your nose. “Fine. I’m game. Show me what you’ve got.” 

He slowly blinks. “Right here?” 

“No, not here! Someone could still come in. There’s —“ A quick glance at the ticking clock on the counter. “Five minutes left until the doors get locked. Can you watch the shop for me, A’jaw?” 

“What? Do you think I’m some sort of measly peon for you to - -“ 

Following Kinich’s lead, you completely ignore the ranting dragon in favor of standing up so you can come around the counter and grab his hand. He’s a tad surprised at your forwardness as he shuffles after you into the back of the shop but at the same time he knows he probably shouldn’t be. You were fierce for your size and pretty looks, so it made a certain amount of sense that a casual encounter such as this wouldn’t have you wilting like a wallflower. 

Apparently that kind of behavior was reserved for a specific tone of voice only. 

And you waste no time plastering yourself to him as soon as you’ve got Kinich in the small attachment to the store where you lived, fully stepping into him as your hands come up to thread into his hair. 

Tugging his face down, you’re suddenly kissing him with an unrestrained hunger that almost manages to catch him off guard. He hadn’t exactly expected this but you were just headstrong enough for him not to be truly surprised by it, and his stomach tightens with the sharp surge of arousal he feels at having you pressed against him so tight. But rather than matching your enthusiasm tit for tat, he takes your face in his palms to make you slow down. 

Groaning a frustrated sound when he eventually pulls back to look at you, your eyes flutter open to pin him with a questioning look. “What? Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

“Relax. I’m not going anywhere.” He tells you in a steady voice that seems to make you more confused than it puts you at ease. 

Carefully dipping his face close again, Kinich watches you rattle an huffy breath and eagerly lean forward as if to meet him halfway but he uses his hands on your cheeks to just keep you held out of reach. It’s clear you wanted to crash your mouth into his and likely take control to set the demanding pace you wanted, and he wasn’t going to allow that. 

“So impatient. Do I have to make you take your time as well?” 

You suck in a slow breath at that, fidgeting against him now as if your anticipatory excitement had just ratcheted up another notch. Batting your eyelashes at him rather sweetly, you rove your gaze up to look into his eyes with a decidedly needy look. 

“Are you going to hurt me, Kinich?” 

He stiffens slightly at that. “What? No, of course not.”

“It’s okay if you want to.” You tell him rather dreamily, swaying slightly in his hold. “I like it rough so I wouldn’t mind. You could just choke me a little bit if you want me to behave.” 

Kinich can’t help the frown that tugs at his mouth. “I don’t need to put my hands on you to make you obey. You’re going to listen to me because you want to.”

“Oh?” Giggling a delighted little sound now, you rock back to really look at him, the glint of challenge in your eyes shining clear as day. “And why would I do that? It’s a lot more fun being bad, you know.” 

“Do you really believe that?” 

You start to open your mouth to respond but hesitate at the unfaltering way he looks at you, brilliant green and serpent yellow starbursts boring straight through your exterior defenses. He isn’t sure what, exactly, passes through your mind in that moment but whatever it is, it makes you nudge your chin up in defiance. 

“And what do I get for being good?” 

“I can show you?” 

At your stilted nod, Kinich sighs carefully through his nose as he drags one of his hands further up to tangle in your hair. Once he reaches the back of your skull he closes his fingers around the root and experimentally tugs to test your reaction. Just as he’d expected, you hum a pleased little sound and tip back into the gesture, small smile curling across your lips now. 

It immediately vanishes however, morphing into an open mouthed gasp when he gives it a harder pull to yank your head back at a vulnerable angle. He keeps the tension in his arm steady and controlled to apply just enough pressure that leaves your neck bent in a submissive pose, mindful not to overdo it and hurt you. Only then does he lean in and close the distance to fit his mouth over yours, claiming your lips with the steady yet demanding push and pull of his. And you react beautifully, shuddering faintly against him as you start to kiss him back. Slow at first, just like he’d wanted, but you quickly become too excited to wait any longer. 

As soon as you start to get too pushy and demanding, he pulls back to leave you whining softly into the air again. If he’d been a lesser man, someone who was far more easily ruled by his emotions, he all too quickly would have given in to the desperate way you proceed to groan his name at him. 

“Kinich!” Like an oath and a curse all wrapped into one. 

He doesn’t care about that though. Not when he now had a point to prove, and he wanted to see you looking so soft and tame for him again. 

“Don’t rush it, little mačka. You’ll take what I give you when I give it to you, okay? I don’t plan to leave you wanting but you need to show some patience.” 

Whimpering quietly, you stiffly bob your head in a brief nod. The motion tugs on your hair, as well as his hand where it’s still gripping onto it, and he uses that leverage to smoothly pull you in again on a controlled trajectory. You bounce slightly on your toes to indicate your excitement but otherwise let him take the lead and guide you into it. 

But he pauses when his lips are only a hair’s breadth from yours, letting the moment hang for a drawn out beat to test your ability to listen. He’s quite pleased, almost strangely so, when you simply hover there against him, clearly wanting Kinich to hurry up and kiss you, yet you don’t try to take it by force or make him do it. You merely wait, somewhat roughly breathing in the same air you and him swap between each other before he finally deigns to speak. 

“Be patient.” He tells you one last time, reminding you again before he closes the distance to press his mouth firmly into your trembling lips. 

Groaning a low sound, you carefully kiss him back with a noted effort to match his pace instead of barreling in full force. He can tell by the tension running through your body that it’s a difficult thing for you to do, settling into this sedate rhythm rather than demanding he give it to you hard and fast, but you do an excellent job of keeping yourself in check this time. 

Such a good job in fact that he soon rewards you by deepening the exchange, using his hold on your hair to tip your neck a little further to one side. His tongue comes up to brush over your lips with a coaxing swipe and you obediently part them for him, allowing Kinich to slip inside and truly taste you. 

Clearly you weren’t used to submission without a certain amount of force being involved and that worries him slightly. Just what kind of relationships were you accustomed to? He didn’t like the thought of anyone choking you to bring you to heel, least of all himself, but you seemed to be responding well enough to his gentle yet firm guidance that he didn’t think it was an entirely lost cause. He just needed to show you that being good netted even better results for you than the reverse. 

Finally pulling on your hair to walk you back a step, Kinich at last disengages from your mouth to leave you breathlessly gasping in the aftermath. 

“Where is your bed?” He murmurs, bringing his other hand down to brace along your waist and steady you. 

“Over there.” Your voice sounds thick and almost intoxicated as you vaguely nod to the right. 

He could see that the two of you were standing in a small sitting room that connected directly to an equally small kitchen but there wasn’t a whole lot in the way of available surfaces for him to set you on in here. Nothing that looked particularly appealing to him in that moment anyway. So he makes careful work of guiding you towards the doorway on the right side of the room where you’d indicated, dropping his hand to loosely grip the back of your neck instead. 

Sure enough there’s a comfortable bed waiting inside which is where he steers you, indicating that he wanted you to sit. You do this without a fuss and he moves to situate himself between your knees while he works on pulling off both of his gloves before setting in to unfasten the belt that keeps his coveralls in place. 

Attentively watching him the whole time, you visibly hesitate until he moves to kick off his boots and you can’t quite seem to keep quiet any longer. “Should I undress too, or …?” 

The fact you’d even asked brings a small smile to his face. Obviously he was getting somewhere with this if you were seeking his approval first before acting on the impulse. 

Leaving his coveralls to loosely slouch around his narrow hips, he shuffles close to nudge your feet apart and settle against you like that. “I’ll take care of it. You’re more eager than I thought you’d be though. Have you given this much consideration before now?” 

“It’s not exactly that,” You murmur, head tipped back to look up at him where he’s standing over you. “But you said you could make me respect you and … make me be good. I wanted to see what you would do.” 

“And how’s that coming along so far?” 

Pulling a quick face at him, you let your mouth curl into a slow smile. “Better than expected. I’m not used to being such a passive participant though, or being handled so carefully for that matter.”

“Mm. Maybe that’s part of the problem then. If no one’s ever taken the time to show you a gentle hand I guess that explains why you act the way you do.” 

You prickle just ever so slightly. “Which is?” 

“Exactly that. You’re always ready to challenge someone and throw your weight around, like you’ve got something to prove. But I’m starting to suspect you actually want to be good, you just don’t know how yet.” Drawing a barely audible breath to ground himself, Kinich leans down to put his face in yours and look you right in the eye. “Well, I’ve got news for you. You’re not nearly as tough as you seem to think you are. I saw the way you reacted when I took that tone with you the other day. It’s one thing if you really do just enjoy a bit of choking and whatever else, but to assume that’s necessary to make you behave?” 

He gives his head a slow shake which you eagerly follow the motion of with your gaze, as if you were transfixed on him. 

“Like I said,” Kinich continues. “I don’t need to put my hands on you to make you listen. I’m not going to hurt you. Not today and not ever. I don’t need to. May I?” 

Blinking out of your trance, you glance down when he nudges his folded over belt at you. He can see uncertainty reflected in your expression for all of half a second, indicating that you weren’t quite sure what he was planning to do with it, but you still nod your head all the same. He’s not sure if it simply meant you trusted him at his word or if it was that troublesome self flagellating streak rearing its head again, but he makes a mental note to address it later after he’d made his point. 

Carefully reaching down, he takes both of your wrists and guides them back behind you. Stilling like that, Kinich gives you a brief moment to process what he wants to do, allowing you a chance to change your mind, but when you don’t protest he gets to work securing your arms in place. Leaning over you like that puts his face so close to yours the two of you are once again left swapping oxygen back and forth, and you issue a faintly dreamy sigh as you intently peer up at him the whole time. 

Pausing to test the give of his belt once it’s tied in place to ensure it was snug but not too tight, he sedately straightens up again. You’re left squirming in place, eagerly watching when he reaches for the front of his pants so he can nudge them down to pool at his ankles and leave him standing in only the second skin of his black top. 

His cock had started to flag in the interim between when he’d first stepped back here with you to making the move to your bedroom and then getting you situated, but it gives a weighty flex in the air now as he steps out of the coveralls to kick them away. You give your lips a salacious lick but he sees that look you give him, quickly reaching out to thread his fingers in your hair before you can swoop in and take him into your mouth.

“Remember what we talked about earlier?” He gently prods you, tipping your head back to make you look him in the face. “You’re going to be patient and take what I give you, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” You whisper up at him, fidgeting slightly as if to grind your pussy on the bed but it’s clear the effort doesn’t do you any favors. Good. He intended to make you wait until he decided you’d earned it. 

Rumbling a low sound of anticipation, Kinich takes his other hand and curls it around the twitching width of his length to point it at you. At the same time he pushes on your head just enough to give you the go ahead and you slowly lean in to press your lips against the meaty tip of his foreskin. Noising a low hum at the taste of precum, you roll your eyes upward to look at him for further direction which pleases him a great deal more than he would have thought it would. He wasn’t usually the sort who was all that into power games but the way you peer at him from under the fall of your lashes … it’s enough to have him quickly filling out again. 

“Focus on the head for right now.” He murmurs, angling your neck just a pinch to the side, encouraging you to nuzzle your mouth up into it. 

At his command your lips gradually part and your tongue comes out to lightly lave over him with deliberate little kitten licks that make his cock subtly bounce. And you quickly have to straighten up, scooting to the very edge of the bed when it stiffens to stand straight into the air, turning rigid and hard the more you work your tongue over him. The expansion of his length naturally pulls the foreskin taut over the glans, giving you a chance to dip inside and taste the source of that salty discharge directly. 

Groaning a soft sound as you swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip, trying to nudge the foreskin back a little further, Kinich slowly lets up his loose grip on the shaft in favor of reaching down to idly massage over his balls. He’d make sure to have you show them some attention as well before this was over but he makes a concerted effort to take it as slow as possible. It was a good test for you, especially when he could tell you were struggling against the urge to take more of him into your mouth. 

It’s obvious you want to, from the way you softly moan around him to the not so subtle bob of your head to accompany the suction you apply, as if you thought you could tempt Kinich to action if you just sucked his cock well enough. It’s decidedly bratty behavior, he abruptly realizes as he watches you, and the fact you’d still think to test him even now seems a testament to just how stubborn you really are. But the fact you’re still going along with it and playing by his rules seems to him a good sign all the same. That meant he could work with you and probably even train that bad etiquette out of you, or at least put a leash on it. 

Issuing a rattling sound of pleasure at the thought, Kinich takes his hand off his ballsack and reaches up to palm the side of your head with it. Using the grip he’s got on your hair for leverage, he stiffly rocks his hips forward to slide deeper into your mouth. He only goes a third of the way though before pulling back to repeat the process, steadily fucking into the wet, warm space between your lips with halfhearted little jabs. The abrupt increase makes you noise a plaintive sound around him even for as slight as it is, and you make a vain attempt to push back on his hands. 

It’s no use though. His arms are like solid iron where they’re locked in place around your head, and you have no choice but to take it while he drags his cock over your tongue to further activate your salivary glands. His attack on you is twofold, because aside from reinforcing that you're at his mercy like this it also has the added bonus of making spit bubble out from between your lips to dribble down your chin. Even from his elevated position over you, he can see the glistening strings of spittle starting to run out of your mouth and he moans another shaky sound at the visual. 

“Gods, you look so perfect like this. And you’re being such a good girl too. How do you like having that cock in your mouth, huh?” 

A largely muffled sound tumbles out of you but he quickly smothers it the next time he shoves his stiff length over your tongue. Between that and all the spit forming in your mouth, you gag slightly and the resulting cough makes a fresh sheet of drool come rushing out of your lips. 

Deciding to be nice and give you a short reprieve, Kinich nudges back just enough to slip his cock free and leave you sucking in a haggard mouthful of air. As he tips your head back to make you peer up at him again, still struggling to catch your breath, he’s struck by the plain look of flushed submission that stares back at him. You were so soft and malleable for him in that moment that he almost doesn’t even believe it. Were you really the same spitfire he knew? 

“Kinich …” 

“What’s wrong, pretty girl? I thought you wanted me to be rough with you.” 

You give a breathless laugh at that, pinning him with a needy little pout. “That’s not what I’d call being rough. It’s just frustrating.” 

Just as he’d hoped it would be. “And why is that?” 

“You’re still being so gentle with me.” Whining softly, you rock slightly to the side but he’s quick to straighten you back up again, making you sit nicely on the side of the bed even when you try to slouch away. “Please, Kinich. I promise I can handle it.”

Watching you fitfully writhe in place, trying again to grind your pussy on the bed, he can tell that it’s not necessarily impatience he was seeing — or at least not the pushy kind you’d exhibited earlier. Now it’s just that you’re so excited by what’s happening and the way it makes you feel that you wanted more of him. All of him. Perhaps there was even some nervous anticipation at play too, when you had no feasible idea what he was ultimately going to do with you. 

The end result has you looking so sublime and wanton that he feels compelled to give in, to reward you for listening as well as you have. He knew it wasn’t easy for someone as temperamental and stubborn as you to do, and that it would take time spent working on this to see you truly give in to the subservient side of your personality. 

But he still has a point to drive home, so he gently tips your face upward to make you look at him again, even when your heavy eyelids droop with an inviting flutter. 

“I already told you I wasn’t going to hurt you, didn’t I?” 

“Mhmm.” Humming in agreement, you briefly nod your head for him. 

“Good girl. You certainly deserve a reward for being so nice for me, but I want you to complete the task I gave you first before that. Think you can do it?” 

Rousing slightly at his soft, coaxing tone, you nod again with a little more conviction this time. “Yes. I’ll do it.” 

He graces you with one of those small, exceedingly rare smiles before leaning down to kiss you. The taste of himself lingers heavy on your tongue, and he groans a faint sound into your lips at the salty bitterness. 

Kinich is quick to pull back though, and he readjusts his hold on your head and in your hair so he can wrangle you around how he wants. You breathe out a shuddering exhale as he gets you pulled back into place so he can shuffle tighter into the space against the side of the bed to press his cock along your mouth. Giving you a short moment to kiss and nuzzle at it, he then directs your face a little lower to press you into the dangling weight of his balls. 

You don’t need any further instruction than that, rumbling a hungry sound when you deliver a lingering peck to one teste before sucking it into your mouth. It’s his turn to let out a faltering sound now while you carefully swish it back and forth over your tongue, nudging at the sensitive flesh just enough to make his toes curl. 

This is another moment where he’s sure that if he’d been any less in control of himself he would have given in to the urge to shove you back and mount you like a frenzied beast. He’s very tempted, truth to be told, and he’s relatively certain you would like it too, but he refrains. Both because he wanted to set the example and to help temper your own eager arousal a little bit. 

And it seems to work given the very docile way you take your time with it, just idly sucking on his balls with the full brunt of your attention focused on this task rather than allowing yourself to get distracted by your pussy. He can imagine you’re not used to that either, and it’s easy for him to guess at what kind of men you’d been with in the past based on that observation, but he can’t bring himself to hold it against you. 

It’s not like he was really all that different, considering his own past and the kinds of relationships he’d grown up with. In fact, it was probably more surprising that he hadn’t turned out in a similar way than if he had. All of the signs were likely there. 

But there’s a small part of him that hopes his poor attempts at stoppering whatever these self-destructive behaviors are, if that’s really what it is, will have some sort of positive impact on the future. It was the best he could do given the scope of his own circumstances. 

And when he finally pulls your face away to leave a glistening string of spittle stretching between your mouth and his balls, wetly gasping as you glance up at him with such a vulnerably needy look in your eyes, he feels certain that it will. You deserved better than being forced to bend and submit under duress. This was much better for you, and his own heart as well. 

“Are you ready for your reward?” He gently coaxes you, knowing the answer already but still making the point to ask even if only to reinforce that you had the control here without needing to be pushy about it. 

Just as he’d expected, you quickly bob your head in a shuddering nod. “Yes, Kinich. Please. I’ll be good.”

“I know you will.” That was really all he asked of you. 

Breath rattling in his chest now, he eases back from you just enough so he can bend at the waist and nudge you into lying back against the bed. You comply with a delirious little mewl, squirming slightly on top of your bound warms while he grabs at the hem of your breezy dress to hike it up the length of your body. 

As more and more of your body is revealed to him, so soft and femininely curved, he realizes in a distant sort of way that it was going to take every ounce of his willpower to take this slow instead of losing himself in you. Wide set hips perfect for grabbing, a band of pudge around your middle to give him something to press into and a perfect pair of heavy tits dotted with stiff, attention seeking nipples just begging to be tweaked. It was almost too much, and his cock achingly twitches between his legs, threatening to spill over into an early orgasm if he wasn’t careful. 

He realizes he’s softly panting now, as if he’d just finished running fifteen miles straight and he couldn’t quite catch his breath when he moves to situate himself between your bent legs. You’ve got him so worked up he’s not entirely sure how long he can last, but you seem to be in a similar state of high strung arousal considering how your head almost drunkenly lolls back against the sheets. 

Quickly relieving you of your panties — damp, he can’t help but notice — Kinich hooks his forearms under your knees and leans over to brace his hands on the bed, forcing your thighs into a wide spread that leaves your bare cunt fully exposed to him. Whimpering a frazzled little sound, you glance down just long enough to look at the weighty bob of his cock angling towards your defenseless pussy and it makes you go absolutely wild, writhing underneath him with a shuddering gasp. 

“Please, Kinich! Please, I need it! I need it, I need it …”

“I know, I know. Just relax for me, alright? You’ve been such a good girl for me, of course I’ll give you what you want.” Leaning down, he presses a lingering kiss to the corner of your trembling lips where he stays for a drawn out beat so he can internally collect himself. 

Then he pushes up to hover over you, his head hanging low to attentively watch your expression when he begins to lower his pelvis. The sticky head of his cock presses into your equally sticky cunt and wetly skirts across the satiny flesh, making you sob a wordless, broken mewl of desperation. He tries again, angling his hips back and then slowly pushing straight down in time with the internal flex he gives the muscle. That does the trick, and he catches at your entrance where he immediately starts to slide in, and your pussy greedily welcomes the fleshy glans in with a tiny little click. 

Your face twists up in pure bliss at the gradual stretch to your inner sleeve as he feeds more and more of his length into you, hissing in sharp edged relief. He can see your toes flexing just at his peripheral but you’re perfectly trapped like this and completely at his mercy. You can’t even wrap your legs around his waist to leverage yourself or pull him in closer when he’s got them pinned open with his arms. So you just helplessly tremble through the process, wailing a steady stream of stricken noises into the statically charged room. 

And then his pelvis is pressing flush to yours, the dark, coarse curls of his pubic hair intermingling with yours. The sight is enough to make him shudder, groaning a heavy sound even as he makes a valiant attempt to stave off his release, at least until you can cum first. It just seemed like the right thing to do in his cloudy mind, and when he starts to move he doesn’t think it’ll take you very long to find your climax. 

Not only was your pussy completely soaked and readily accepting the continuous slide of his cock, squeezing him tight to try and suck him in even deeper, but your shrill, feminine moans quickly take on a dire tinge once he starts up in earnest. Keeping his thrusts slow and steadily drawn out to make sure you feel every single inch of him that drags against your guts soon has you plaintively sobbing underneath him, begging Kinich to go faster, harder. He doesn’t, of course, and he just takes his time gradually winding you up tighter and tighter until you feel like a wet, trembling vice around him. 

He isn’t sure how much time he actually spends fucking you, far too focused on staying his own release to keep track, but the moment he feels you start to tip over the edge he lets himself go as well. He’d been holding it back through sheer force of will this entire time and as a result it only takes one single slide of his flexing length into the palpitating embrace of your cunt for him to reach his breaking point, the two of you cumming together with a series of seething, masculine groans and girlish squeals. 

In the aftermath when you're both still trying to catch your breath and come down from the high, Kinich looks down at you — really looks at you, and he realizes that this completely satiated, relaxed expression was somehow even better than the submissive one he’d been fishing for. He wanted to see it again, a hundred times more if he could manage it. That meant he’d have to keep coming back then, if you would have him. He hadn’t thought this through quite that far. 

But the way you groggily moan his name, so soft and sweet that it makes his cock give one last shuddering twitch inside you, makes him think that you probably will. It wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind or what he’d expected to come of this, yet that doesn’t register as much of a problem for him. 

After all, there was still training to be done.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[lily-blue]

Relationship status: taken

☆ characters: uni student!mark & you ☆ genre: soulmate au, college au ☆ warnings: alcohol consumption, insecurities ☆ summary: you live in a world where your soulmate marks tell you fair and square whether your special someone is taken or single; clearly, it shouldn’t be too complicated to figure out who is meant to be for you… ☆ words: 18,4k ☆ also: this day marks the end of the eleventh year of our friendship (and the end of the first whole year since we’ve been living in different countries), crazy, isn’t it? but when you really look at it, i think it’s crazier that among billions of people, i could find someone as amazing and perfect for me as you are. the older i get, the more grateful i am for you and your unconditional love and support ♥ please, stay by my side for many more decades, @dat-town, because there’s just no way i’d ever consider letting you go ♥

Privacy was a unique subject in your world, and something you had always had a hard time to comprehend with your soulmate’s relationship status tattooed on your skin.

When you had been sixteen and stupidly in love with your best friend’s older brother, you had been terrified by the thought that he might have seen you only as a little sister - you had also been super anxious to have your feelings returned and get in a relationship with him just for his mark to remain the same: single. Not to mention the very likely possibility of you having an older soulmate somewhere out there whose heart you would have unintentionally broken the moment you had become someone else’s girlfriend.

At that young age, the concept of love had made you feel so petrified that you had pretty much given up on ever confessing to someone even before you had received your own mark on your eighteenth birthday.

It had come with time, with the influence of many different people and mindsets and your own emotional growth through yearning and heartbreak, but eventually, you could acknowledge that there was less harm in your marks than you had initially thought as a teenager. After all, no one had to be in love with the person they got in a relationship with for the magical tattoos to change. What you needed was a vocal confirmation of your desire to live as a couple, thus breaking off a relationship that wasn’t meant to be could save you from spending precious years on someone who was only killing time with you before settling down with the one their heart was beating for.

Logically speaking, your soulmate marks - when one was mature enough to understand that there was a significant difference between a good match and a perfect match in life - were only there to save people their time and tears. You just had to be brave and open enough to give people a chance to test your compatibility according to a higher power. 

Ironically, your closest friend at university had a completely different take on this matter. She openly hated the way no one seemed to cherish other people’s feelings, belittling their love just because they weren’t the one for them. Yuju romanticised the process of falling in love and those pure feelings that naturally grew stronger the more time one spent with those who made them feel genuinely happy and grateful to be alive. Your differences didn’t come in the way of your friendship, though. In fact, the two of you had become friends when you had seen her scream at someone for breaking up with her childhood friend not a second after their tattoos hadn’t changed once the boy had asked the girl to be his girlfriend.

You admired her for her lack of fear of confrontation. You could have never drawn so much attention to yourself at a crowded coffee shop.

You could barely bear the immense amount of attention your boyfriend was giving you on a daily basis. Hence, you were actually glad that Dejun never complained when you dragged your friend to your public dates, so you wouldn’t have had to be the only one who was asked about her mundane days and was showered in free drinks, snacks and desserts.

(It was also a nice addition that with Yuju present, it was less likely that your boyfriend went overboard with his spending despite being a gentleman who would have rather bought three movie tickets with his own money than let you and your best friend chip in.)

‘Man, you look so disappointed! Haechan will never let me live this down,’ someone’s whiny voice came from your side, effectively pulling you back to the present: to the biggest lecture hall in your university where your Creative writing professor and the Lyrics writing professor from the Music Department had assigned you a partner for your semester project.

With furrowed eyebrows, you straightened your back and looked at the boy who was talking to you.

‘Sorry?’

You couldn’t remember much of what he had said. You had been still thinking about your pizza date with Dejun after your class - for which Yuju couldn’t come with you because of her internship - when his voice had reached you and pulled you out of your head.

The boy lifted his hand and pointed at something on your right. Reluctantly, you turned your head, unsure whether you should have focused on the brunette who was staring at you two like she was about to slice your throat or the goofy guy who had his phone directed at you. The latter could have been as easily taking a selfie with the grumpy guy next to him - Renjun, if you had remembered correctly - as recording your weird conversation with the one who had addressed you.

You turned back to your assumed project partner.

‘What’s happening?’ You asked, hoping that your question didn’t come off as offensive as it sounded in your head. The lecture hall might have already been half-empty, but there were still a lot of students around you, and if this person scolded you for being a scatterbrain, the humiliation would have haunted you for weeks.

‘Don’t mind him, I’ll make him delete the video,’ the boy reassured you, so you finally knew for sure whom he had pointed at a few seconds ago. Still, the revelation left you with more questions than answers. Suddenly, you weren’t sure even of your most logical explanations. Was he really your project partner? Had he already introduced himself? Should you have introduced yourself?

Why was his friend recording your conversation? Was he even close enough for his phone to pick up on what you were saying?

‘… and it’s his new hobby to make fun of me since Haeri asked me out because apparently, I’m awkward with girls, and it’s ridiculous that my soulmate found me while he’s still single…’

You scratched your nape and turned your head back towards the boy’s friend. His phone was still in his hands, and his smile got visibly wider with each passing second as the guy in front of your seat kept rambling, super clearly digging his own grave for no real reason. You didn’t understand why he felt the need to explain their odd dynamic to you, why he was going into so much detail when you were strangers.

Speaking of which…

‘Are you a music major? We’re assigned to do the semester project together, aren’t we?’ You cut him off as gently as you could manage, deliberately disregarding the obnoxious laughter that came from your side almost immediately.

‘Yes, yes we are! That’s why I was asking for your name and whether you wanted to change kkt IDs, but you looked so disappointed, and Haechan thought it was funny how much you hated this pairing already, and…’

Oh. So this was what had happened. He had walked up to you while you had been in your head and mistaken your growing anxiety due to your outdoor date with Dejun for your nonexistent displeasure towards him as a project partner. It was so silly, but it did put the past couple of minutes into context.

You couldn’t help but smile.

‘I’m not disappointed. It’s… it’s just a misunderstanding. I was thinking about something…’ you tried to clear up the mess, mortified as you realised that you had almost told this boy that the real reason for the frown on your face was your boyfriend’s love language rather than your first impression of him. You weren’t usually this chatty, and you scolded yourself even more mentally when you remembered that his friend was recording your conversation. ‘Else. I was thinking about something else.’

‘Really?’ The boy’s surprise was palpable, his distressed facial features slowly morphing into something less tense as he reciprocated your small smile. ‘That’s cool. That’s more than cool, actually. Awesome.’

You weren’t so sure that it was really that awesome, but you decided to just let him be, then introduced yourself properly and you fished your phone out of your hoodie’s pocket, so he could add himself to your friend list on Kakao.

‘So… Mark,’ you stared up at him once he gave your phone back, and you checked his name in your app. His profile picture was unexpectedly cool: he was sitting in a dimly lit studio with neon lights in the background, holding onto what looked like an electric guitar. He was wearing a beanie indoors and you had this uncharacteristic urge to tease him for it despite not knowing him at all. ‘When would you like to brainstorm about our topic? Do you have any part-time jobs or other extra obligations after your classes? Anything we should calculate with?’

‘I do have one actually! I’m working at the vinyl store near campus on the weekends, but most of my classes are morning or early afternoon classes, except for my lyrics writing seminar, which is… right now. So yeah, weekday afternoons are cool with me,’ he explained without taking a look at his timetable, but you guessed it was okay enough since you were already a month into your first semester, which meant most people had memorised their schedules. 

If you still mixed up your Wednesdays and Thursdays, that was no one else’s business but yours. (And maybe Yuju’s, too, since she was the one who always had to remind you to bring breakfast for your first class on Thursdays, otherwise you would need to sit through two long seminars, one after another, with an empty stomach.)

‘That sounds manageable. I also have two free afternoons a week. How often do you think we should meet up? I guess, we both have other classes, too, but this project is fifty percent of our grade, so maybe…’

‘Twice a week works for me. I actually really like this class, you know. So call me nerdy, but I want to give this project my hundred and ten percent this semester,’ Mark confessed, his cheeks taking on a soft, rose-tinted hue, which you found quite endearing.

You were also glad that in spite of his clear discomfort - someone really should have told his friend to stop teasing him with his stupid phone -, the boy took the initiative, so you didn’t have to admit aloud that your grades were actually very important to you. Sure, you wouldn’t have gone as far as to say you were embarrassed that you cared about your education, and you would have mustered up your courage to ask him to take your project more seriously if he had been one of the slackers, but it was definitely easier on your heart this way.

‘You can absolutely call me nerdy then. I’m a self-diagnosed perfectionist,’ you decided to add with a semi-self-conscious giggle just when the silence could have stretched too long, Mark’s eyes lighting up at your confession.

You could see it on his face that he was about to ask you something - your best guess was that just like you, he didn’t have any more classes that afternoon, so he was wondering whether you would have liked to get a headstart on your project together -, but then he quickly pressed his lips together, into a tight smile, when his friend threw his arm over his shoulder.

‘Makgeolli, let’s go,’ the guy with the silver-lavender hair exclaimed, pulling his friend close to his side like he hadn’t been bullying him in the past five minutes or so. You wouldn’t have been surprised if the name he chose to call Mark on had annoyed the other, too. After all, it was hard to picture anyone who would have liked to be addressed as “rice wine” when there were so many other options… 

‘Man, get off me,’ the boy tried to push his friend’s arm off him, but the other was too clingy and insisting, while Mark clearly had enough experience with this kind of behaviour to know that any future attempts would have been futile.

They had such a weird dynamic, it was borderline concerning.

(Now it made more sense why the boy had felt the need to explain his friend’s actions to you despite your short acquaintanceship. Without your project partner’s vocal confirmation, you would have assumed that he was in real danger around the other boy.)

‘Canada, I’m starving,’ the hyperactive boy whined before he pointed at you with his head like you had already been at that level, when you didn’t even know his name. Wasn’t he a bit too mannerless for his own good? Maybe, it wasn’t that his soulmate wasn’t around, it was just she didn’t want to be found. ‘I’ve seen you already exchanged numbers, so we’re good to go,’ he reasoned, his argument reminding you that you couldn’t have worked on your project that afternoon even if you had wanted to. Therefore, Mark and you didn’t have more business together for the time being.

‘Yeah, but…’

‘It’s okay. I actually have… somewhere to be today, so I’ll text you about my schedule later?’ You half-said, half-asked, a little unsure because of all the attention his friend was giving you with his mischievous eyes. Were you hallucinating things, or were his eyes looking for the soulmate mark on your wrist?

You pulled the sleeve of your hoodie lower on instinct, before you stood up abruptly and threw your notebook and glitter gel pens into your backpack.

‘Yeah, sure. I’ll be waiting!’ You swallowed back a giggle when you saw his friend elbow him in the side right after his eager exclamation had left his mouth. His red cheeks and wide eyes were kind of cute. ‘Khm… I mean, not literally. You don’t have to feel pressured, I have other things to do, too. You can text me any time,’ Mark tried to save the situation by making it four times worse.

You willed yourself to take him seriously, though. It felt like the right thing to do.

‘Thanks. But I’ll message you once I’m back at the dorm. Self-diagnosed perfectionist, you know,’ you smiled at him, and tilted your head forwards just enough to be considered as a somewhat polite goodbye when your gaze shifted from him to his friend. You would have felt bad for judging him silently if you hadn’t shown him any manners, either, but this was where you drew the line with people who didn’t pass your vibe check: at the bare minimum. ‘See you.’

Nearing the exit, you could hear both boys reciting the same two words to you in surprising harmony, but you were already too far away from them to tell what his obnoxious friend had said to Mark to make him scream his name from the top of his lungs. Haechan. Hm, it didn’t ring any bells.

Two weeks into your Creative writing project, you could confidently say that your professor tried his best to make his class the most unique and enjoyable that semester. Having shorter lectures in order to provide additional quality time for brainstorming for the students was a praised idea as well, something both Mark and you appreciated despite your frequent text messages and meet-ups. After all, you hadn’t known each other before this semester and to be able to create something as personal as your topic required… You both had to become more comfortable around the other. Otherwise, you would never be able to connect on an intimate - strictly platonic, yet undeniably deep - level. That was just how art worked.

Afraid of possible rumours on campus, the inevitable misunderstandings based on them and how the unnecessary drama would have affected you - a notorious conflict avoider - and your grades, you had told Dejun about Mark and your future interactions at the first chance you had gotten: the moment he had picked you up for your date that afternoon. Like the greenest flag he was, your boyfriend had had more questions about the project itself than the boy as the only thing he truly cared about was that Mark didn’t try to force all the work on you and didn’t act inappropriately in your company.

Which he didn’t. Mark was always on time, he always did his parts, he always brought new ideas to the table and was always kind and respectful towards you even when his actions came off a little timid. So naturally, you had nothing to complain about. Dejun had nothing to be worried about. Everything was beyond picture perfect on paper.

So why was that the more time you spent with Mark Lee, the more you felt like you were cheating on your boyfriend in a way? Even though both of you were mindful of the other’s relationship, hence never sat close enough to one another to start any gossip. There had been one time when you had even refused a free chocolate croissant that a barista had offered you because he had thought you were a couple, hence entitled for their promotion.

Looking down at the half-eaten chicken-mayo sandwich on your plate, then back up at the boy in front of you who was jotting down snippets in his notebook like wildfire, you couldn’t help but wonder whether this nasty feeling inside of you rooted in the fact that you were open with Mark about something immensely personal that you had never had the guts to tell Dejun. Were you unfaithful to your partner whenever you admitted that even after a year with the boy you called your soulmate, you weren’t sure about the hype that surrounded these types of relationships?

Sure, yours was an amazing person who cared for your physical and mental well-being, but as awful as it sounded, you didn’t feel like you couldn’t have lived without him. His affection gave something extra to your boring, everyday life, but you could have gone without his gifts and questions for a long while, which didn’t seem to match with all those low-key desperate and dependent descriptions people could find in papers that analysed this phenomenon.

Where was the gut-wrenching feeling of being away from your soulmate for too long? Where was the soul-consuming contentment their presence was supposed to give you? You weren’t sure you had ever gotten to experience those butterflies in your tummy, either. It was more like anxiety that took over you whenever you thought of all the money and time Dejun spent on you when you were so plain and boring.

Not that you hated your personality. You were confident in your own, quiet way. Something just didn’t add up. It wasn’t how you had pictured it when you had been younger.

‘What do you think about these lines? I’m not quite sure yet… Prof might think it’s a bit too dramatic. Man, I don’t want that,’ he grimaced as he pushed his notebook towards you, then took a sip from his lukewarm drink. The whipped cream on top of Mark’s iced chocolate had become such a sorry sight, honestly.

He didn’t seem to mind, though.

So you didn’t ponder over it, either, despite your unreasonable urge to take it out of his hands and order a new iced chocolate for him for his hard work. He really hadn’t exaggerated when he had said he wanted to give his all during this project.

Hovering over the worn notebook, you read through the new passages, frowning at how much his words actually resonated with you not because it was a bad thing, but because despite the ugly truth in them, they did sound dramatic. You could totally picture your classmates calling you ungrateful for not appreciating what both of you had: a caring significant other.

‘Yeah, I… Maybe we could switch up “lifeless” with… Hm,’ you tapped your lower lip with your index finger once, twice, three times, before you leaned back against your chair and let out a contemplative sigh. ‘You know, I thought writing a whole ass story about the same topic is difficult, but these rhymes! It feels like I’m writing nursery songs when I finally come up with something,’ you let out a pained chuckle because seriously, even with your expanded vocabulary, your ideas were nowhere near as amazing as Mark’s verses.

He was so good at what he was doing.

But then again, he was in his last year just like you. And he had passed the uni entrance exam of his major with flying colours, if his stories could have been trusted.

‘I like your nursery songs,’ Mark comments between two sips, his gaze on his notebook so damn intense, you were kind of convinced he didn’t even notice he was complimenting you. Otherwise, his cheeks would have already had a rose-coloured tint to them (like it usually happened when he felt embarrassed or too exposed). ‘Besides, I could never write over twenty pages about the same characters. That’s just wild.’

You sucked in your lower lip, the sudden hit of shyness dressing your whole face in a darker, crimson colour as you tried to downplay your hard work in your head, as you tried so hard to find the perfect words that could have simultaneously got the spotlight off you and belittle those hours you spent on your stories…

Your struggle must have been written on your face, because before you could have done as much as open your mouth, Mark smiled at you and your mind went blank.

So you just accepted the compliment - was that a compliment? - with a small ‘Thanks,’ and an even smaller smile.

Since you preferred working on your stories in silence, in the sanctuary of your room where no one judged you for rewriting the same paragraphs way too many times, you didn’t have your Google doc pulled up in front of you. However, you did take a couple of notes in your phone while you were munching on the rest of your sandwich.

You liked how neither you, nor Mark felt the need to fill the silence all the time with mindless chatter. You also liked how he was undoubtedly curious, but never pushy. He made sure you knew he was eager to hear about your process, your life even, but kept his questions to the minimum.

It had been a while since you met someone who adjusted to your needs so easily, Yuju being the last and second addition to the group right after your father. 

‘You know…’ Mark started in a neutral voice, urging you to shift your focus point and look up at him. Hence, you did, abandoning your phone slowly as you carefully put it back on the table.

Mark was silent for a moment, wordlessly scribbling out words then rewriting entire lines in his already messy notebook, which admittedly made you smile under your nose. The peculiar sight almost made you believe that you could have written a page or two yourself in the boy’s company: that as unthinkable as it sounded, his presence wouldn’t have forced you out of the zone while you were immersed in your work.

You shook your head to get rid of this useless train of thoughts. It wasn’t appropriate; and the fact that your instincts told you it wasn’t appropriate just made it even more inappropriate, because seriously. Why was it freaking you out internally that the two of you clicked so much when it should have made you relieved instead? Wasn’t it an amazing thing that he was a nice project partner?

‘Sometimes it feels like Haeri likes me more than how much I like her.’

Your eyes widened in shock before you quickly schooled your facial expression. You didn’t want him to feel judged when you were the last person on Earth who had the right to call him out on his confession. Not that anyone should have been allowed to make comments on other people’s personal business, let alone their relationship with their soulmate.

Trying to disregard just how heavy the atmosphere got, you tilted your head sideways and gave the boy a non-judgemental smile, because that was the best you could do with your lack of experience in comforting people. You hoped your seemingly calm demeanour would distract him long enough, so you could think back of the last time your father had helped you through a rough period in your life.

What had he done when you had gotten rejected by the university you had wanted to attend the most? Ah, he had brought you something sweet, a slice of red velvet cake maybe, and told you his own experience with rejections and how he had gotten his shit together each time he had come face to face with a closed door. 

‘Sometimes I get anxious when it’s just the two of us with Dejun.’

The urge to cover your mouth with both of your hands as soon as the words were out in the open was strong, but you tried your best to fight it and act rather nonchalant: like what you had just admitted didn’t go against everything the society taught you about soulmates. Like it was normal that you felt so on edge around someone who was made especially for you.

You reached out for your own drink and slurped it until the last freaking drop, so you had a convenient excuse to stand up and leave the scene. You didn’t look back as you walked up to the counter and stood in the line, wishing for the barista to work at the speed of a snail. You intended to waste at least five or so minutes on waiting, so your heart could have rested a bit before you had to face Mark again.

Why had you said that? You shouldn’t have said that. Not like that. You should have found a better way to put it. Or you should have just kept your mouth shut and found another way to reassure Mark that there was nothing wrong with him.

You felt so ashamed of yourself suddenly. You simultaneously wished that your pitiful words had never gotten back to Dejun and that somehow he had figured your true feelings out, so you could have been freed from this choking weight on your chest.

Since when were you so goddamn selfish?

Once it was your turn to order - it was too soon, way too soon -, you asked for a matcha latte and two slices of chocolate cake, then paid with your card and reassured the barista that his coworker didn’t have to carry your tray to your table, you were more than happy to wait for it by the counter while he took the next customer’s order. If he wanted to look at you funny because of your strange request, he did his best to conceal his thoughts. He simply informed the female barista behind his back about your instructions and turned to the next customer.

Mark said thanks for the sweet treat when you eventually placed the chocolate cake between his drink and notebook and teasingly promised to buy you something equally high in sugar the next time you two met up as he reached out for the tiny, metal fork. He didn’t bring up the soulmate topic for the rest of your supposed brainstorming session despite how it should have been the main subject of your meeting. Instead, he shared random stories with you about Haechan, and how his weird friend was competing for Renjun’s attention these days with a dude called Yuchan - his own partner for the same project you two were working on.

‘He likes Renjun a lot, doesn’t he?’ You asked, more as a mindless statement to show some interest in the topic than anything else.

The boy simply hummed in response, his knowing smile barely hiding in the corner of his mouth as he turned back to his notebook and jotted down a couple of new lines and potential rhymes while you were busy finishing your dessert.

Your afternoon ended up being pretty productive in the end, and the additional two pages you wrote later that night only added to the satisfaction you felt as you got ready for bed.

You didn’t pay any mind to them initially. In fact, you hardly noticed the slight changes in your own body language and the slowly decreasing distance between your bodies whenever you spend some one on one time with Mark outside of your shared class. However, your obliviousness didn’t change the fact that your meetups were getting longer and longer, or that your conversations became more and more diverse.

The first time you heard people talk about your “dates” with the boy, you were at the popular organic coffee shop on campus with Yuju, who immediately pulled you towards a different table when she realised what was going on.

Rumours. There were rumours about you cheating on Dejun with Mark Lee.

Your hands were shaking the whole time you were waiting for your food and drink, and when you finally got them, you tugged on your best friend’s sleeve to plead with her, so she would ask the barista on your behalf to change your order into take away. You didn’t want to spend your free period in public anymore. On the other hand, you also couldn’t make yourself speak up, too ashamed for inconveniencing the poor worker.

You didn’t go to your last class that day. You didn’t even leave your dorm room until Dejun sent you a text that he was waiting for you in the communal area.

Your messy bed hair and your loose sweatpants and hoodie combo had never resembled your mood more than at that moment you dragged yourself to the lounge, towards the khaki couch your boyfriend was sitting on, patiently waiting.

The major part of your anxiety rooted in your belief that your actions and conscious decisions had finally made Dejun see that you were a horrible soulmate. And while you did have your doubts about the whole system and how compatible these magical bonds truly were, the idea of losing your destined partner so early into your life was terrifying.

You were terrified of failing that one person in the world whose life you were supposed to fill with nothing but happiness.

‘It’s okay, love. Come here,’ was the first thing that left the boy’s mouth, and your eyes got a little teary upon seeing his arms spread wide open for you. Like always, he made sure you knew that you could find peace in his embrace if that was what you needed.

You crushed into Dejun’s body without hesitation, and he scooped you up in his arms, letting you get comfortable on his lap despite those students nearby who were not-so-subtly looking at you. You didn’t even notice them, too occupied by holding onto your boyfriend’s tee and hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

‘I’m so sorry. I… I’m so, so, so sorry,’ you apologised over and over again, until your throat got dry and your voice a little husky.

Meanwhile, Dejun kept petting your hair and stroking your back gently with his other hand that didn’t help with your balance.

‘It’s okay. I know you. I know you would never do anything like that,’ he whispered in your ears, reassuring you that he didn’t believe any of those nasty stories that were circulating on campus about you and Mark Lee, and that he would never give you any ultimatums, either, because you were free to make friends regardless of their gender.

Until Mark treated you with respect and didn’t cross your boundaries, he was okay with the guy. Especially because neither of you had ever given him any reasons to suspect you of cheating. You never failed to inform your boyfriend about your meetings in spite of them being regular occurrences, and that one time he had met Mark in front of your lecture hall, the boy had told him he was okay with the two of you going on an impromptu date instead of your scheduled study session if that had been Dejun’s reason for waiting for you. Mark Lee hadn’t thrown a tantrum, he hadn’t tried to make you choose or outright guilt-trip you into staying with him.

He had simply introduced himself and wished you a good time.

‘But the…’

‘Not buts. These people are just bored out of their mind. I’m telling you it’s okay. So believe me, please, when I say these rumours don’t change anything for me,’ he kept coaxing you out of that dark place your mind had pushed you into, starting to rock you back and forth as much as he could in your less than ideal position on the couch.

You didn’t know how long it took him to make you stop blaming yourself for the current situation, and you had no idea how many people witnessed or recorded this intimate moment between you two, but it didn’t really matter in that soft, fluffy bubble Dejun’s love and care created for you to heal in.

You felt safe and secure in your relationship.

Pulling a little further from his shoulder and looking him in the eyes, you had absolutely no doubt about it that he meant every word: both about his feelings for you and about your friendship with Mark.

‘I…’ you choked on your words, unable to express yourself the way you wanted to due to the sudden guilt that washed over you when you realised you couldn’t tell him you loved him, even though a part of you knew you did. You loved Dejun, but saying it out loud felt wrong, almost like a white lie that could break your relationship over time. And you hated how damn frustrated your own incapabilities made you feel.

Because you loved your boyfriend.

You just weren’t sure your love had the same weight his had for you.

‘I’m so grateful for you. I really am,’ you said at the end, slowly lifting your hands to his cheeks and cupping his face. As you were caressing his skin with your thumbs, you wished your eyes could convey just how honest you were at that moment; you wished he knew you loved him in your own way, you were simply too insecure about your feelings in comparison to his.

He gave you too much.

‘I know,’ Dejun gifted you a brilliant smile, before he mimicked your actions and cupped your face, so that he could pull you closer for an innocent peck on the lips. It was lovely, he was lovely, hence naturally, you couldn’t have helped yourself but mirror his pleased grin, your heart lighter and not at the very same time.

It was confusing, this whole soulmate bond you shared, but you decided to not ponder over the torrent inside you, but be happy that you still had this amazing person in your life.

You stayed in the lounge for a little longer, your face buried in the junction between Dejun’s neck and shoulder, then let yourself be convinced to change into less cosy clothes, because apparently, your boyfriend had hoped to take you out on a date once your situation had been sorted out.

Even though it was a program for only the two of you, you didn’t find the power in yourself to cancel his plans. Tagging along was the least you could do for him after he had proven you his unfaltering support.

You didn’t have huge expectations for how the rest of your afternoon would go. Since you had an inkling that it was Yuju who had informed your boyfriend about how upset you were about the rumours, you were kind of certain he was aware that you had never gotten to eat your late lunch after your European Literature lecture around two. Therefore, you accepted that he would feed you as an act of kindness and genuine care for you, and pushed down the knot in your throat that took away your appetite.

Walking up to an empty table at your favourite hamburger place - which was a comfortable, ten-minute walk from your dormitory -, the last thing you could have imagined to see was Mark Lee being berated in public by a pretty brunette you had only ever seen pictures of. Your slow steps came to an immediate halt and your eyes widened in horror when the furious girl abruptly stood up from her chain and reached out for the milkshake her boyfriend was anxiously playing with.

‘Shut the hell up, I’m not doing that. We’re not doing that, you asshole,’ she screamed in his face, and was clearly about to do something drastic when one of the waiters marched up to their table and grabbed the girl’s wrist.

You could feel Dejun’s fingers being wrapped around your own, too, before he gently pulled you towards an empty table on the other side of the customer area. You barely registered your feet moving, hyper fixated on Mark’s resigned face and overall emotionless demeanour. You had never seen him so unresponsive. It was as though he felt nothing - no anger, frustration or desperation, no fear - while his girlfriend felt everything on behalf of the both of them.

The longer you were watching them, the more uneasy you felt and at one point, you had to force yourself to tear your gaze away when you felt your boyfriend push you down on a chair with your back to the commotion. 

‘If you want to comfort him, send him a text,’ he suggested, his voice gentle. There wasn’t a hint of accusation in it, like he wasn’t talking about the very guy people on campus claimed was fucking you behind his back. Your lips trembled not only because of how ashamed you felt at that moment, but because you really, truly wanted to be there for Mark, and Dejun had realised it sooner than your mind had caught up on it. ‘I just don’t want you anywhere near that girl. Especially right now.’

You pursed your lips together and nodded, understanding where he was coming from while you were simultaneously grateful for the reminder of how bad it could have ended if you had given in to your urge to walk up to the couple. You hated public attention - you couldn’t have been able to handle the negative spotlight.

‘I’m sorry, you’re right. Thank you,’ you said and reached out for the laminated menu card in the middle of the table despite how familiar both of you were with each item on it. It was more of a way of stalling, of putting yourself back together than anything else.

You didn’t want any of the waiters to come up to you and take your order. You didn’t want any attention on you, no matter how miniscule, until Haeri was still in the same building. You were scared of her anger and just how justified it might have felt if she had blamed you for their relationship troubles.

Dejun reached out for your hand tentatively and stroked your sensitive skin between the base of your thumb and index finger in a calming manner before he started to chat your ears off about the hamburger he wanted to try. Apparently, there were three new items on the menu that you hadn’t even noticed, one of them a burger with two patties, tomato and pickle slices, blueberry jam and various spices you would have never thought of mixing together, but hell if it hadn’t sounded intriguing.

Thus you decided to order a similar one with strawberry jam and caramelised onion rings and refused to think about Haeri, Mark Lee and any of the stupid rumours that might have led to their fight.  

You told yourself you had to set your priorities straight.

You told yourself contacting Mark could have waited an hour or so. Because it could. It had to. You had no justifiable reason to put him before your own relationship.

Except, when you eventually got down to message him, Mark left your first text on read and didn’t open any of the following ones. A nasty voice inside of your head told you that he was reading them through his notifications, but you couldn’t have been sure, thus you couldn’t decide whether you should have felt annoyed or worried.

On the first night, tossing and turning in your bed, you settled on the latter. However, when he purposely avoided as much as looking at you during your weekly Creative writing slash Lyrics writing seminar, it took everything in you to not look hurt and irritated. On the one hand, you had seen his fight with Haeri, so you understood that you might have been the last person he wanted to be near. On the other hand, you didn’t want to accept that either of you had done anything wrong just because you had become friends.

If you had let yourself believe that what you two had was hurting your soulmate bonds, you would have started to spiral again despite how much time and effort your boyfriend had put into convincing you that everything was alright.

That your connection wasn’t damaged.

So you shook your head and accepted his decision with dignity - albeit, with a heavy heart. It was a soothing gel to your open wounds that at least you had already agreed on the plot for your story and his song. This way, you really didn’t have to force any conversations with him that would have surely spoiled your precious memories with the boy.

As expected, Mark Lee didn’t join you during the second half of your class for your usual, light-hearted brainstorming session, so you busied yourself with a book that you were reading for a different course. Not a second after the bell signalled the end of the seminar, you were walking towards the wooden double doors like a man on a mission.

Your steps didn’t falter: not when you heard Haechan calling your name, nor when he scolded Mark for something you didn’t quite catch and had no interest in anyway.

You were a horrible liar. And a horrible soulmate.

Because while you were determined to convince yourself that Mark’s cold behaviour didn’t bother you at all - it was his loss, wasn’t this what people always said? -, you couldn’t stop thinking about his blank face throughout the rest of the day.

Did this alone make you the worst soulmate in history? Debatable. However, what definitely earned you that title was the fact that you were currently cuddled up with your boyfriend on his couch, watching a silly Chinese movie about high school sweethearts, and you had no idea what the real story was about. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about Mark Lee and the possible end of your friendship.

You hissed, skin burning around your soulmate mark underneath your hoodie’s sleeve. It was Dejun’s hoodie, to be precise, but he always put it on his bed, neatly folded, when he knew you were coming over, so you wouldn’t have to look through his massive wardrobe in search of your comfort clothes. This was how precious your time was to him.

How precious you were to him.

You swallowed down the panicked lump in your throat and deliberately disregarded the pain. You told yourself that it was nothing, that until your boyfriend showed no sign of discomfort, it was only in your head. After all, if your bond had reached its breaking point because of your shameful thoughts, he would have felt it, too.

It was so itchy, though, as though your mark craved your attention and was determined to get it no matter what it took. It was driving you up the wall, and it also made it even harder to concentrate on the movie you were watching.

So at one point, you gave in and excused yourself, heading straight to the bathroom.

‘Do you want me to stop it?’ You could hear your boyfriend’s worried voice, and you gave it a quick thought on your way, concluding that it would have been suspicious if you had acted any differently from how you usually were on these nights, so you took him up on the offer despite having no interest in the movie.

As soon as the bathroom door was closed behind your back, you rolled up your sleeve like a maniac and came face to face with your biggest fear: your soulmate was single. Which could only mean two things - one more terrifying than the other.

You let your arm fall back by your side with a defeated sigh and sat down on the toilet lid, so your legs couldn’t give out at the most inconvenient time possible. You had to start breathing again. There was no way you could have afforded falling apart at Dejun’s place after you had single-handedly undermined your shared future.

Pulling on your hair out of frustration, you almost let out an unhinged laughter as you were contemplating which one would have been worse: you losing your soulmate because of a new friendship that might not have existed anymore, or you wasting both Dejun’s and your time in a relationship that was built on a false sense of belonging.

Could it have been a cruel joke that your soulmate marks had changed at the same moment, just when you had agreed to be his girlfriend? Seriously, what were the changes? How many other couples could have been out there, oblivious to the fact that they weren’t meant to be? You had gotten lucky with Dejun, his gentle and caring nature always wanting the best for you, but what about those people who were convinced that they were with the right person while being abused by their own partner?

Your head in the gutter, you couldn’t stop thinking about how much more sense this error in the system made when you were recalling stories about domestic violence, cheaters and financial abuse. God, you felt so stupid. You felt so damn angry.

Why was no one talking about the existence of mismatches? Why were they swept under the rug like they weren’t real?

‘Hey, love! Are you okay in there? Do you need me to bring you some painkillers or a cup of your peppermint tea?’ Dejun’s worried voice filtered through the fog in your mind, your lips trembling because of how amazing this guy was. A gem of a man. He didn’t deserve a shitty fake-soulmate like you.

You choked on the first sob that escaped your throat.

‘Jun…’ you cried, drowning in the crazy mixture of your emotions, unsure which ones were appropriate to begin with and which ones you should have focused on in the first place. You didn’t want to lose Dejun: this one thing you were sure about. However, the ugly realisation that it was more because of the stability he gave you than the love you felt for him filled you with instant disgust.

You were shaking as the world around you slowly fell apart.

‘Can I come in?’ You didn’t respond, but you didn’t have to, because the next thing you heard was your boyfriend warning you in a slightly louder voice: ‘I’m coming in!’

Your body tensed up and relaxed simultaneously when Dejun scooped you up and pulled you against his chest, so he could rest your head in the crook of his neck and caress your back like his touch could brush aside all your distress.

‘It’s okay, everything is okay,’ he repeated over and over, holding you a little tighter once you showed a sign that you were there with him despite your silence. ‘Whatever happened, I’m here for you. I’m here for you.’

‘But you won’t be…’ you objected even though you didn’t truly believe that he would pack his things and leave the moment he realised you weren’t the right person for him. He was just too kind to do something so cruel, especially when you were clearly having a breakdown. If anything, you could have bet on it that he would make sure you were in the right state of mind before he cut you out of his life. Yeah, you had little doubt about that: he would have tried to put you back together before he left.

However, at the end of the day, facts remained facts. He wouldn’t be here for you for much longer and not many things were quite okay, either.

‘I will be. I’m not leaving you,’ he kept repeating, every time a bit firmer, which pretty much made it impossible for you to break the news to him. This imaginary, ugly, sticky, hairy lump in your throat just got bigger and bigger.

So you gave yourself a pitiful moment to bask in the warmth of Dejun, the comfort he never failed to provide you, then slowly pulled away from his chest and rolled up your sleeve. You couldn’t take your eyes off the slightly red skin around your new soulmate mark, which was the less painful sight anyway.

The look on Dejun’s face when the realisation hit him? You could barely steal a glance at it while your gaze loitered over his tense body and hasty movements as he checked his own mark, but it already broke your heart.

‘We are…’ your boyfriend - was he still your boyfriend? - tentatively took your arm into his hand, then brushed his thumb over the new letters, shaking. It was clear that he had a hard time putting his feelings into words, and you couldn’t blame him. Out of the two of you, you had always thought it was him who loved you more. Thus, his pain must have been ten times worse than yours and you were already over at least one mental breakdown.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ you repeated like a broken record, because you genuinely didn’t know how else to express the guilt that weighed down on you even though logically speaking it was neither of your fault. You had agreed to become official, your tattoos had changed, it had worked just like in the textbooks.

Why would anyone have questioned the validity of your bond? You had never been taught about the precautions you should have made. Up until this moment, you didn’t even know it was possible to end up with someone who wasn’t your soulmate.

This whole situation made your head hurt and sucked the energy out of your limbs.

The heavier the silence became, the gloomier the atmosphere got, but you were too drained to figure out how to fix it, so you let Dejun process the unbelievable at his own speed, letting him caress your skin as if his strokes could have erased or re-written the black lines under your skin.

They couldn’t. But they did ease some of the tension in your muscles after a while.

You started to wear long-sleeved clothes and nude covers after that tear-filled night to avoid another wave of nasty rumours around campus about you and your relationship with Dejun. The two of you had decided to talk about your future once you calmed down properly and let yourselves think through your options without jumping to conclusions. As far as Dejun knew the two of you worked well together, so it was understandable why he didn’t want to rush the break-up. On the other hand, your rational side and your heart saw the current situation as the perfect opportunity to start an internal war.

Your life was definitely enviable with Dejun, so you could see the appeal of staying with him for a very long time, building a home together and maybe even starting a family, because you had no doubt about it that he would be a wonderful husband and a wonderful father, but… It finally made sense: why a part of you always missed that something special people liked to brag about when they were talking about their significant other.

Fortunately, the deadlines of your semester projects and lengthy assignments slowly arrived, along with your upcoming exam week, so you were too busy to think about any of the drama in your personal life. Mark Lee ghosting you without any heads up? Who could care about that when they had a six-pages-long essay to finish on the political influence of French literacy? Dejun checking on you every morning, lunch break and evening while also refusing to meet you face to face? Nah, the importance of the founding of Hangul with hundreds of Chinese characters to memorise had to be your top priority.

You couldn’t lose both your boyfriend and your scholarship in the same semester. You had to focus on your education. You also needed to finish the first draft of your thesis by the end of the week.

Letting out a tired sigh, you took a sip from your lukewarm coffee latte and shifted your gaze from your notes to the person in front of the professor’s stand. Renjun was talking about the story he and Yuchan had come up with for this class, yet, if anyone had asked you what was their final topic, you couldn’t have answered beyond the very basics: that just like everyone else, they had built their project around the soulmate system.

God, you couldn’t have waited to be done with this shit for good.

‘Thank you, Yuchan, Renjun,’ the two professors clapped their hands modestly after their constructive feedback, then jotted down a few more comments on their papers and called for the next group.

Your duo with Mark Lee.

Since you hadn’t talked with the boy in a while, you weren’t exactly sure what to expect of your presentation; however, you had done your homework and prepared a neat PPT about your concept, so it should have been okay.

Except, when you walked in front of the class, in front of the stand where Mark was already waiting for you with his guitar in his hand, your brain went blank. He looked… different yet so damn familiar, it was messing with your head.

‘Okay, which one of you would like to start?’ The Lyrics writing professor asked, his curious eyes wandering from you to his own student as he leaned back against his seat comfortably.

You gulped and quickly shook yourself out of your stupor, but before you could have raised your hand or blurted out a timid “Me!”, Mark beat you to it and pulled a chair in front of the professor’s stand, so he could play the guitar with more ease.

You stepped a bit further from him to give him space - you also appreciated the invisibility that came with your decisions, the other students’ attention laser focused on the boy -, and linked your arms under your boobs, pressing your notes against your chest. Due to his sudden silent treatment, you hadn’t had the chance to hear any snippets of the melody in advance, but it didn’t surprise you how soft the short intro had come out to be. 

It sounded beautiful, in a very bittersweet, heart-churning way.

It was the perfect OST for your short story.

Towards the second verse, when he was singing about the oblivious victims of a system that should have only brought them happiness, your eyes filled with tears to the brim, but you quickly turned away and wiped them harshly, because it really wasn’t the time. You would need to present your story in detail in less than two minutes. Three, if you were lucky.

You didn’t remember the presentation. You couldn’t process any of the constructive feedback you received from your professors. The only thing you were quite sure about, somewhere in the back of your head, was that Mark Lee had led you back to your seat by your elbow, then taken a seat in front of you.

The latter was still a thing: his messy, brown hair in your line of sight while the next duo was talking about their own perspectives with vivid hand-gestures, almost like they were openly arguing in front of everyone. It was weird. You felt weird.

Your eager fingers picked on the edge of the nude plaster you had put on your soulmate mark that morning. Deep down you knew that if you had taken off the cover, nothing would have changed. However, a part of you still hoped that things could go back to how they had used to be.

Did that make you a relationship addict?

Had you developed an unreasonable fear of ending up all alone?

You let out an exasperated sigh. It wasn’t healthy: your thoughts focusing on one thing so restlessly like you were starting to become obsessed with your relationship status, although Dejun had never broken up with you. He was still choosing you despite the palpable distance, putting your well-being first. So why couldn’t you just let it go?

You furrowed your brows when you felt the light vibration of your phone against the small of your back, and you turned your upper body slightly in order to fish it out of your tote bag as it could have been something important. You deliberately silenced the voice inside your head that told you it could be Dejun reaching out to you. For one, he also had a class in this period. For two, he was a meticulous person. He wouldn’t have rushed himself make a decision as important as your future together.

You shook your head, mentally debating whether it would have been a good or bad thing if you had been wrong about your boyfriend’s stance on this whole mess, when your gaze fell on the notification on your screen. It was a kakao message from Mark, asking you to meet up with him after your class. Just a laconic “pls. same place, same time”.

You were ashamed to admit, but you were staring at the message for quite a while before you sent back a hopefully nonchalant “ok” and shoved your phone back into your bag. You had mixed feelings about his sudden interest in you, but it was the day of your presentation, the end of your project, so you might have as well entertained him a little. As far as you were concerned, he wanted to discuss the feedback with you or give you his two cents on the rather bitter ending of your story.

You told yourself it was a writer thing: that you wanted to hear his opinion.

It wasn’t that you were hopeful, and God forbid did it mean that you were hoping that the two of you could still be friends.

By the time your shared class ended, you were half-convinced, though. And you also had this baseless confidence that despite your nerves, you appeared to be nonchalant. Whether that was true or not, it didn’t really matter. The belief alone gave you enough strength to not walk a step behind Mark Lee while the two of you were heading towards the coffee shop you had used to frequent at.

You were walking side by side as if everything was alright.

As an introvert, you would have never thought that ordering your drink from a trainee barista you had never seen before could be the least stressful part of your meet-up with someone you had once considered your friend, but as soon as you took a seat and Mark did the same across from you, the silence turned unbearable. It made your palms clammy, your heart rate unstable and your stomach upset with the whole situation. At one point, you were genuinely afraid that the new employee had messed up your order and you would shit yourself on campus because of a few sips of fresh milk, like that was even possible.

You weren’t even lactose-intolerant. You simply preferred drinking plant-based milk, like oat and almond milk, when you had that option because of your acne-prone skin.

‘I broke up with Haeri,’ was the first thing that left the boy’s mouth, and it pretty much made it impossible for you to form any coherent sentence.

Mark had broken his bond with his soulmate - and there was a big possibility that he had been pushed to do so because of the rumours your friendship had started. You felt sick to your stomach. You had no idea what to say, whether to comfort him or give him advice. Whether you were even qualified to act as a relationship expert when yours was hanging on by a thin thread.

You refused to take your eyes off your drink, your quiet reaction no more than a soft hum. You wished Mark would have told you what he had expected from this conversation. If he had wanted to reconcile or simply inform you about his break-up before the two of you went on separate ways.

The carrot cake you ordered was way too sweet. You frowned once you swallowed down the first bite.

‘Both of our soulmate marks stayed the same, though…’ he added after a bit of hesitation, like he was carefully looking for the words to explain the situation. ‘Which means our real soulmates are… yeah. Still in relationships.’

Eyes wide like saucers, you looked at Mark in bewilderment. So Dejun and you weren’t the only ones. (Of course, you weren’t the only ones, that part had never been a question!) God, if it hadn’t felt unreal to know someone who was going through the same experience! What were the chances?

‘Dejun is not my soulmate,’ you blurted out without any regard for those who were sitting at the table next to yours or checking if anyone was listening in on your conversation. Maybe, it wasn’t the wisest idea to discuss something so raw and intimate in a public space; however, at that moment these concerns barely crossed your mind.

You accidentally found someone who could fully understand your current fears and struggles without being involved in the situation itself. Someone who had enough insight to support you without the need to shelter his own heart, thus distance himself from you. That was… you were right, and he finally decided to stop ghosting you in the first place.

‘Oh…’ Mark acknowledged your confession with a disappointed little sound, his lips jutting out while he stole a quick glance at the soulmate mark on his wrist.

Your surprise was genuine when you realised that unlike you, he was wearing his unchanged tattoo on his skin with confidence. But you figured, it was different when most people around him still thought he was happy and very much together with Haeri.

He would have had more questions to answer if he had suddenly started to cover up the proof of their love.

‘Do you think the profs liked our take on the topic?’ You asked when the silence became too long, and Mark showed no sign of adding anything more to your discussion. You took a small yet determined bite from your cake. It was still overly sweet, but you would be damned if you had let it go to waste for the money you had spent on it. ‘I kind of… zoned out when they were giving us feedback.’

The corner of Mark’s lips twitched, but he tried his best to swallow back his giggles. He even went as far as reaching out for his drink, so he could occupy himself in a somewhat subtle way.

He was painfully obvious. Still, you appreciated the gesture almost as much - if not more - as his willingness to go along with your lame attempt at changing the topic.

Two hours and a half had never flown by so fast, so easily.

Your life took on a new norm after your final exams.

For once, you moved back to Ansan for the school break (partly) to save some money on savoury fast food and unnecessarily yet aesthetic coffee dates that you liked to take yourself on. It was also less stressful to work on your thesis in the comfort of your childhood home, your dad never the one to skip out on serving you freshly cut, peeled fruit slices to boost your brain. Naturally, the closeness of your family was a real remedy for your troubled soul.

Meanwhile, Mark Lee took it upon himself to keep you updated on the city life and got into a never-ending conversation with you on instagram and kakao, his random questions and lyrics snippers seldom preceded by any hellos or his. Long story short, he took the whole “never making you feel ghosted or left out again” very seriously, even though you had reassured him on multiple occasions that you didn’t have to know everything about his days. Once he had started, there had been no turning back.

He kept your mind constantly occupied - that was your only excuse for forgetting about your relationship troubles with Dejun and not realising just how unhealthy and dependent it was to keep sending your boyfriend the same three messages each and every day: a curt good night, a somewhat more lively good morning and a repeated promise that you were taking good care of yourself despite your tendency to skip meals when they weren’t pre-made.

So imagine your surprise when Mark absent-mindedly asked you during one of your chill video calls whether you were still in a relationship despite your new soulmate mark, and the answer didn’t come to you as naturally as it was supposed to. Sure, Dejun wasn’t your one and only whom the universe had sent especially to you, and it had been over a month since you had seen his face, but he had promised you that… 

You still referred to him as your boyfriend in your head!

Not to mention that he would have told you if he had made up his mind, if he had wanted to put an end to your relationship and stay in your life only as a friend. Because he would have wanted to stay in your life, wouldn’t he? He had said he wasn’t leaving you, he just needed some time to digest the undeniable: that your soulmate was suddenly single, but the two of you had never broken up.

You had never broken up. You still hadn’t broken up.

Right?

‘I think so?’ You semi-asked, semi-claimed while you were picking on your nails, resisting the urge to pick up the fantasy book you had carefully put on your bedside table when Mark had called you. It was difficult to look into your front camera, so you kept your gaze on your hands.

‘You think so?’ The boy asked back, clearly taken aback by your answer.

You huffed, annoyed at him for no reason. 

Hell. Maybe it was yourself you were truly frustrated with. Had you even made the smallest attempt at fixing your relationship with Dejun? You were just waiting on him as though the ball was on his court now when in reality, you had never made the first move.

It was comfortable, way too comfortable, that you didn’t have to deal with the situation head on since Dejun wasn’t around. Because he “needed space”. When had been the last time you had checked on how he was doing? A good girlfriend would have been more worried about his well-being.

You gulped as a sudden wave of guilt washed over you.

‘I didn’t…’ you let out another strained sigh, your cheeks burning due to embarrassment, although you were fairly confident that Mark wouldn’t have judged you for what you were about to say. ‘I haven’t seen him in a while, and I never really asked him how he feels about us or… how he feels.’

‘Oh…’

‘It sounds horrible,’ you murmured under your nose, willing yourself to glance at the screen of your phone, so you could see Mark’s face. You had to look him in the eye to decipher how he felt about your actions, because his silence wasn’t easy to read. Was he disappointed? Did he think you were a bad person?

Somehow, the first option was scarier.

‘I’m not gonna lie, man, it does sound like you’re delaying the inevitable because it’s easy to not be the “bad guy” who breaks his heart, but…’

‘But?’ You interjected a little desperately as you were hoping that there would come a part in which you didn’t sound as selfish as you did in his analysis. Surely, you weren’t keeping your boyfriend in your relationship because it was convenient or because you were a coward who couldn’t put an end to your suffering.

You swallowed back a groan. You were being ridiculous, comparing whatever you two had to real agony. 

‘You’re not a horrible person. I know you, you were talking about yourself and not this whole thing when you said that, so yeah. Don’t think about yourself that way, because it’s not true,’ he confirmed a second time, sending you a tight-lipped smile through the camera before he turned over and made himself more comfortable on his own bed.

You reciprocated the gesture with a smaller albeit grateful smile.

The two of you stayed silent for a while. Mark was humming a song you hadn’t recognized, while you were thinking about how to make things right.

‘Do you think I should meet up with him? Talk things through? Break up with him?’ You asked, but the more you spoke, the clearer it became that these were exactly the things you had to do, so you weren’t actually surprised when instead of giving you a direct answer, Mark gifted you a proud smile and asked you about your thesis.

He was so unsubtle whenever he made an attempt at diverting the topic, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you found it quite adorable.

‘Actually! I might be able to wrap-up my analysis this week. It depends on whether or not my period gets in the way on the weekend,’ you bragged, genuinely proud of your progress that was only possible because you loved the topic you were researching: the differences between the storytelling of theatre plays and movies written for the silver screen.

‘Cool,’ Mark smiled at you, his teeth on full display. ‘Don’t push yourself too hard, though. You still have a lot of time until the deadline,’ he reminded you immediately, which gave you the perfect opportunity to tease him about his over-protectiveness and his own progress.

You didn’t think about Dejun for the rest of your call, but that also served as another reminder that it was time you started to be honest with him and yourself. Your issues hadn’t started with the change of your soulmate mark. They hadn’t even been brought upon you by the rumours that were still circulating around campus.

They had been there from the very beginning, in your heart, in the way you had always felt the need to invite your friend to your dates with Dejun, in your mild anxiety when the two of you were together without someone else keeping your boyfriend’s attention off of you.

You might have loved Dejun, you still did. However, you had never been in love with him, you could see it now clearly: the subtle yet undeniable difference between these two feelings. God, it was time, wasn’t it? That you finally set him free.

You went back to the capital city the next Saturday, because that was the first afternoon when neither did Dejun have an eight-hour-shift prior, nor were you in constant pain that made you feel easily irritable. One would have thought that one of these conditions would make THE TALK that much easier, but nothing could spare you the heartbreak.

In hindsight, you were grateful to the boy for allowing you - and suggesting - to have this conversation at his own place instead of in the uni dorm or at a public coffee shop, because you were shamelessly ugly crying while you were talking about your doubts and insecurities you had never mentioned to him while you two had been together. It was hard, seeing the hurt in his eyes. It was harder, when despite everything, he still tried to comfort you on his couch, but you did feel a little lighter by the time you two said your goodbyes.

Feeling melancholic, you blinked away another stubborn tear while looking up at the ceiling, then muffled a broken sob that threatened to escape your throat. You were in public now, trying to mend your heart with your favourite blueberry milkshake - and a slice of chocolate cake -, so you really couldn’t have afforded to break down again. That would have done no good to anyone involved; you got exhausted from the mere thought of more drama.

‘Here,’ you heard a familiar voice coming from across the table and something heavy being placed on the metal furniture. Confused, you let your head fall forwards and stared at the new glass of untouched blueberry milkshake in front of you. ‘This one is on me,’ Mark Lee said, not showing any signs of willingness to sit with you - nor to leave you be.

You pressed your lips into a thin line.

‘What are you doing here?’ You asked, because it was easier than saying thank you. Still, you made sure Mark knew you wouldn’t have minded if he stayed by not-so-subtly dragging your gaze from his face to the empty chair at your table, repeating the movement as many times as he needed to see it to understand.

Mark scoffed, more amused than anything, then took a seat.

‘You told me you were about to meet Dejun like…’ he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. ‘Four hours ago. Then, you went complete radio silence,’ he explained, making you frown. Had it been really that long since you had gotten off the bus near your ex-boyfriend’s place? ‘I was worried about you.’

It still didn’t explain how he had known where to find you when it wasn’t your usual coffee shop on campus, but you figured, you must have mentioned this particular milkshake shop to him enough times for him to draw the right conclusion. It was touching, that he paid so much attention quietly, and just knew when you needed someone’s silent support.

Albeit still only halfway through your first drink, you reached out for the free milkshake and pulled it closer to yourself with a grateful smile.

‘Thanks,’ you exclaimed with a bit more enthusiasm, although your liveliness soon deflated as you didn’t know how to start a light-hearted conversation. You didn’t necessarily want to talk about your mental breakdown in your ex-boyfriend’s living room, still embarrassed about the fact that you had needed to be comforted by the same person you had been deliberately breaking up with.

‘So…’ Mark broke the silence once you finished your first shake as though he wanted you to enjoy every drop of it before he dropped a bomb on you in public. You weren’t sure if his consideration had made any difference, but it was undoubtedly nice to not choke on your drink, so you decided to be grateful. ‘How did it go? Are you two singles again?’

Your first instinct was to hide your soulmate mark from him, which was stupid and irrational, but you guessed that was how instincts were. Your brain didn’t have much say in the process, overwhelmed by your inner need to protect yourself. Like Mark would have ever hurt you. Like your tattoo would have been affected by your recent break-up when its curves and lines had never had any connection to Dejun.

Slowly, you took your hand off your wrist and shrugged.

‘I guess so. I mean… His soulmate is still in a relationship, but… We both acknowledged verbally that we are no longer together, so somewhere in the world, his person also got a new tattoo and…’ you rambled, going on strong about the terrifying possibility that his soulmate - his real soulmate - might have also just realised that she had been in a fake “we’re meant to be” relationship this whole time.

The butterfly effect had never sounded so real and frightening - like a divine punishment that reached hundreds of thousands of innocent people just because once upon a time, two had made a silly mistake.

Someone took your hand. Mark took your hand, and only then you realised that you were trembling slightly. With anxiety? With frustration? Anger? You weren’t sure. Maybe, with a mixture of all three and more.

‘Take a deep breath,’ he instructed you gently, rubbing tentative circles into your skin, on the back of your hand that actually helped a lot more than you would have thought. ‘I know it feels like that right now, but not every relationship is as messed up as you think. Sure, there are people out there like us, like Dejun and Haeri, but there are others, too, who found their person and are happy,’ he said in a quiet voice, holding onto you the whole time.

You wanted to protest, you wanted to tell him how messed up the world was, but was there anything new you could have said to him? Mark was right, he had gone through something similar with his own ex. He knew.

Yet, he sounded almost hopeful. As though he still believed in his bond with his real love, his real partner for life. In the embodiment of the other half of his soul.

You scoffed and turned your head away, but didn’t take your hand out of his hold.

‘I’d like to show you something,’ he tried to ease you back into the conversation, squeezing your fingers lightly to get your attention, which you gave to him without much coaxing. He gifted you a brilliant smile in return.

Mark let go of your hand soon after, so that he could roll up his hoodie’s sleeve and show you his inked wrist.

Single.

His soulmate was single.

‘It changed not long after your last message. Maybe an hour, an hour and a half into your meet-up,’ he confessed, simultaneously shocking and rendering your brain. Was he trying to tell you that he was…

You yanked your hand out of his and stood up abruptly.

‘I’m sorry but… I really can’t do this now. I’m sorry,’ you apologised while you gathered all of your stuff and bolted out of the milkshake place as fast as an olympic athlete.

You weren’t dense. And despite those mistakes you had undoubtedly made during your first relationship, the insecurities and uncertainty each and every one of them had brought into your life, you could see the logic behind Mark’s reasoning. You could see the potential of the two of you becoming more than friends in the future regardless of your differences, because at the end of the day, he made you feel balance and peace.

However, your first-hand experience with misleading hints and mistaken bonds held you back from accepting his theory with open arms. For one, there could have been dozens of other people out there who had gotten single in that time frame he had mentioned. It didn’t matter to your brain that your tattoo had also changed after his fight with Haeri, which should have been suspicious. For two, you weren’t in love with Mark. Sure, you liked the guy, you might have gone as far as to say you felt connected to him on your good days, but was that enough to risk being tricked by destiny for a second time?

Your heart was still tender, and you told this much to Mark who reassured you that he hadn’t intended to come off that strong. He liked you as a person, and more than wanting to be your boyfriend, he wanted to be someone you felt comfortable around, so he was fine staying just your friend. A close friend, but a friend nevertheless.

His words gave you a reason to resist your urge to shut him out. Naturally, you needed a few days to respond to his triple texts and worried voice notes, but once you convinced yourself that meeting him face to face wouldn’t end up in a disaster, your friendship healed itself on its own.

So it didn’t feel rushed when after the new semester began, you started to spend more time in each other’s company than you had done so during your project regardless whether you were working on your schoolwork or enjoying your scarce free time. You justified your decision to meet-up with the boy regularly during your free periods by claiming that Mark brought the best study snacks to your study sessions out of everyone you had ever worked with. He was also a perfectionist, so he understood your need to finish your tasks in advance and never disturbed you when you were writing your assignments. He was… just right, in every sense of the word.

He fitted in your life so seamlessly, without taking you away from your family, Yuju or your other, less present friends, it was insane. Yet, whenever your heart tried to tear down the wall that you had deliberately built between the two of you, your mind hesitated.

It was too early. It was too soon.

And then, it was already time for the annual New Year’s party in your dorm. Time was such a weird, human-made construct.

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ You could hear Yuju’s concerned voice when you reached out for one of the shot glasses in the middle of the communal kitchen table, the amateurly mixed brandy-soda-coke combo promising nothing good after your second can of cheap beer. Most of the time, you weren’t a big drinker. Not to mention that you hadn’t been to any social gatherings since the semester kick off party way back in February, long before most students had learned your name around campus. However, this time, you had an acceptable reason to put your limits to the test.

After all, it hadn’t been ten minutes since your best friend had asked for your blessing as apparently, she and Dejun had gotten closer after your break-up in August and started to develop feelings for each other along the way. Obviously, Yuju had made sure you knew she would have turned down the guy if any possibility of them working out despite the odds had hurt you, but should your opinion have mattered that much?

Dejun and you had already been history. And while you appreciated Yuju’s thoughtfulness, it made you feel a tad troubled: that a part of her might have seriously considered it as an option that you wouldn’t have been able to put her happiness first.

That aside, you obviously weren’t unaffected by the revelation. You couldn’t put your finger on how they were so ready to give a try to a future together when their real soulmates were out there somewhere, completely unaware of their decision to settle down with someone else. With a person who shouldn’t have felt perfect, right or a complementary part of their life. How could Dejun - of ALL people - be so unafraid when you were terrified to let Mark in?

As another wave of realisation hit you in the face, and you once again learned something new about yourself and your feelings, you sent a bittersweet yet reassuring smile in your friend’s way and lifted your drink a little higher.

‘It’s the last day of the year. If I’m about to make mistakes, there’s no better time for it,’ you reasoned, finding it absolutely hilarious how uncharacteristic you sounded even to your own ears. ‘It’s not because of you guys, I promise, it’s not,’ you added, though, almost as an afterthought, because the concern in Yuju’s eyes didn’t seem to fade, and you didn’t want her to give up on a happy relationship due to something you had to deal with on your own.

It took Yuju an eye-killing staring contest to not question your sincerity, but she did give you a semi-convinced nod after she had lost, so you were able to join the group shot. You could even have a second round before she pointed at something behind your back and informed you that Mark Lee was clearly elbowing his way through the crowd to get to you.

Just the person you wanted to see! How did he even know on which floor you were when the dorm had six floors, each one of them filled with students partying for a different genre of music?

Your heart skipped a silly beat when your fuzzy mind came up with the idea that Mark Lee was going through floor after floor just to find you. Then, it sped up again as you imagined him knowing you well enough to be aware of where you would be hiding from him. (If you had been really hiding from him, which you obviously didn’t do and would have never admitted doing so, anyway.)

‘So it’s the 2000s’ Disney classics now, hah?’ He greeted you with a cheeky smile, his brown orbs twinkling with amusement and a pinch of mischief - two things you tried to shut out as much as possible. Dealing with his stupid grin was already challenging enough, you didn’t need more.

‘Everyone loves High School Musical,’ you retorted, although you both knew these kinds of songs weren’t high on your preference list. In fact, you could have been found listening to drama and anime OSTs sooner than any of these western classics.

Luckily, Mark was wise enough to not call you out on your bullshit for the second time under one minute.

‘Hey, Mark! Can you make sure she doesn’t drink too much, at least, not unsupervised? The second floor has, apparently, a few legendary ballads in their karaoke machine, and I want to get there before Dejun is up,’ Yuju explained before she turned towards you and cupped your cheeks with her hands. Your pout was genuine and sulky, not because she was about to check on her soon-to-be-boyfriend or because said boyfriend-to-be was your ex, but because she was about to ditch you and consequently leave you alone with your supposed-to-be soulmate. You whined as you held onto her sleeve. ‘I’ll be back in an hour. Be good,’ she reassured you right before she peeled your fingers off her clothes and left.

Your lips trembled in distress as your head fell forwards and your shoulders sagged.

You barely flinched when Mark’s palm tentatively touched your blade bone. In fact, the warm breath that accompanied his worried ‘Are you okay?’ had a lot more impact on you when he leaned closer to make sure you could hear him clearly.

As you slowly turned around to face him, you were wondering how it would have felt to just let yourself be and seek comfort in Mark’s closeness. Would he have found it weird if you had buried your face in the crook of his neck? Should you have gone for his chest instead, using it as a pillow and a safe haven?

Why were you still hesitating when you knew he was convinced the two of you were meant to be? Why couldn’t you admit that none of these questions were about him? They were all about you. It was you who couldn’t decide whether hugging him more intimately would have made you feel creeped out. It was you who had a hard time accepting that the only thing you had to do was giving it a try and you could have been more.

So, so much more.

‘Man, do you need some water? Are you about to throw up?’

You had no idea what kind of face you were making, but you must have looked horrible or in pain. Otherwise, Mark wouldn’t have been thinking in such extremes, wouldn’t he?

You pressed your lips together and shook your head. Yet, he gently led you to the sink in the communal kitchen and got you a glass of cool, filtered water just to be sure.

The two of you stood in front of the sink in silence for God knew how long. The songs came and went, some more upbeat than others, some blending into the conversations around you. You kept your gaze on the half-empty glass in your hand, unsure and a tad insecure about too many things to keep count of.

‘Yuju and Dejun like each other,’ you blurted out at the most random moment, without any sign or warning in advance. If anyone had asked - if Mark had asked -, you would have put the blame on those shots you had drunk not that long ago, and a part of you actually believed there was some truth to your excuse. Being tipsy weakened your filters, so the words came out more easily.

Your thoughts were out in the open.

‘I think they will be official soon. Boyfriend and girlfriend,’ you added when your rambling was met with no verbal reaction, then took a forced gulp from your water because it started to feel a little embarrassing: the lack of response, the one-sided conversation.

‘Does it bother you?’ Mark asked eventually, slowly taking the empty glass out of your hand, so he could refill it for you.

‘No… Yes… No, but…’ You were struggling to find the correct words, maybe because your head was a mess, and you were trying to explain everything all at once when it wasn’t that simple. Your thoughts on the situation were complicated since this piece of information was still new to you. You had barely had time to comprehend, let alone accept the drastic change in your best friend and your ex’s relationship.

Mark’s fingers were cold and wet when they sneaked around your wrist and pulled your hand closer. The movement, sharp but gentle, pulled you back to the present.

‘If you still—’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

You didn’t let him finish, cutting him off a bit too loudly, which gained a couple of students’ attention for a brisk moment. Cheeks hot and scarlet red, you felt relieved when you realised that your sudden silence and the overall upbeat atmosphere of the ongoing party made them move on from the awkward situation quite quickly.

You willed your lungs to take in some of the suffocating air while you simultaneously mustered up your courage to place your palm on Mark’s chest to keep him still physically as well. You needed him to listen to everything you wanted to say, otherwise, there was a chance he might have misunderstood the mess in your head that you yourself also had to detangle real time, during your all-over-the-place monologue.

‘Yes, their relationship bothers me, but…’ you started, digging your fingers into Mark’s chest a bit firmer. You bit into your right cheek from the inside quite harshly as you were fighting against your growing frustration. ‘The fact that they are happy together? I know that I can get over that.’

Maybe, it would take a few days. Maybe, it would feel weird to see them together the first couple of times, especially if they held hands or cuddled in front of you, but you were pretty confident this development wouldn’t have hurt your relationship with either of them. And Mark seemed to believe you if his encouraging, almost proud smile was anything to go by.

You nodded to yourself, satisfied with where this conversation was going.

You could do it. In that moment, with alcohol coursing through your veins and Mark Lee smiling down at you like you were invincible, you truly believed that you could accomplish anything.

‘Their relationship bothers me because… Because!’ You were almost there, you could feel the words on the tip of your tongue. ‘They see a future together despite knowing they weren’t meant for each other and… And…’ You gulped, desperate eyes boring deep into Mark’s. ‘And I’m too afraid to be with you and see our tattoos remain the same.’

There it was. 

It hadn’t been that hard, had it?

(It had been.)

You didn’t realise how much energy it had taken you to confess until you were over it and the lack of stress left you with nothing. For a second, you felt numb. Then, your shoulders fell forwards and all you could feel was the tiredness in your bones.

It was a long night - despite the clock still one and a half hours away from midnight - with a lot of interactions you weren’t quite used to. Your social battery could only do so much after dealing with Yuju and now… even with your own feelings for your possible other half.

‘It’s okay. We don’t have to put a label on us until you like me enough to not care even if our marks remain the same,’ Mark reassured you, petting your head like you were some child, although you had to admit that it did feel nice. So you closed your eyes to be able to enjoy it more - with one sense being shut down, the others like touch were bound to get heightened, you supposed -, the goofy smile on your face a clear indication that you were more than just tipsy at that point. ‘Do you wanna go back to your room? I can get Haechan to buy us some ice cream or something,’ the boy offered, making you giggle for no goddamn reason. Still, it was funny, picturing him begging his friend to get you something sweet from 7-eleven when he must have been also partying somewhere in the building.

‘I have potato chips under the bed,’ you announced, willingly tailing Mark after he took your words as an okay sign and started to pull you towards the hallway.

Much to your surprise, the music remained just as overpowering until you reached the third or fourth room, however, Yuju and you lived at the end of the corridor, near the communal shower area, so it was all dandy. Once you were behind closed doors, the party turned into literal background noise.

‘So…’ Mark started, and on any other day, you might have been able to sense his uncertainty about how to act nonchalant in a room where it was only the two of you, but at that moment, all you could concentrate on was how good it felt: the relative silence after people screaming around you for hours while pretending to be singing.

You sat down on the edge of your bed and laid back with a relieved sigh. The mattress was so damn comfortable, you knew it wouldn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

And you might have just blacked out for a second after that thought had hit you, because the next thing you were aware of was a pair of calloused fingertips grazing along your temple. A feather-light weight on your entire body. Someone apologising for the jeans you would need to sleep in and then…

Then, a pair of pillowy lips, chapped and unexpectedly soft, touched the top of your head.

Albeit shocked, you didn’t find the power in you to re-open your eyes.

The next day, you woke up with a massive headache and a sore body that you wholeheartedly blamed on those jeans you were still wearing as though you hadn’t been completely yourself when you had gotten ready for bed.

You couldn’t recall much after Yuju had left you alone with Mark. At least, not until you fell back on your sheets and the phantom caress of two firm, hardworking fingers punched you in the guts.

Shit! You had fallen asleep while Mark had been still in your room. It had been his first time in your safe space and you had blacked out before you could have given him a tour or… Had he tried to talk to you? Had you managed to completely ignore his existence? Ahgrr. He must have felt so uncomfortable.

A mild panic attack started to brew in the pits of your stomach. Consequently, your carnal need to check up on the boy and confirm that nothing had changed between the two of you pushed the symptoms of your hangover in the back of your mind. Like you had never been in physical pain.

You jumped out of bed as quickly as if someone had set the whole furniture on fire. Your eyes were loitering over your interior rapidly, searching for your phone since you honest to God couldn’t have told where you had put it the previous night. Knowing yourself, it could have been anywhere from the back pocket of your jeans to the dusty floor under your desk, hence you proceeded with an open mind.

Just to find it on the pillow you hadn’t even used, plugged into your charger. The thoughtful sight dressed your cheeks in a light shade of coral pink.

Tentatively, you laid back on the sheets and took the slightly warm device in your hands. You used your fingerprint to unlock the phone, then opened your kakao app, because reading only the notifications would have been useless with the amount of unread messages you had.

Your thumb was hovering over the latest text you had received, Mark’s full name greeting you with a guitar and a nerd emoji next to it, but then your gaze fell on your chat with your best friend, and you decided to be more reasonable. Sure, the fact that she clearly wasn’t in your shared room despite her inability to reach you must have meant that she knew you were okay, but still… It was only fair you put her first.

It didn’t matter that you were more curious about those five messages Mark had apparently sent you. 

It also didn’t matter that the sole reason you hadn’t fallen back asleep was your eagerness to clear up any possible misunderstandings with the boy: like him interpreting your behaviour last night as if you couldn’t have cared less about him.

You cared so much about him.

(Too much, maybe. You just sucked at expressing it and were a coward who couldn’t admit these kinds of things even to herself.)

Your smile was brilliant when you skimmed through Yuju’s messages and noticed the visible change in her tone once she had gotten to know that albeit wasted, you were well taken care of. She said Mark had called her as soon as he had tucked you in - his words, not hers -, then reminded you of the first aid kit in her lowest drawer where you could find painkillers in case you were struggling. She also lectured you about drinking too much alcohol, but it was hard to take her words to heart when she wished you a happy new year and promised you to bring home some chicken trio pizza for dinner on her way home.

You sent her a selfie with your thumb up and reassured her that she didn’t have to rush. You could take care of yourself just fine - and you didn’t have any groundbreaking plans for the first day of the year anyway. To be honest, you doubted you would even leave the safety of your room for more than occasional toilet breaks.

Your lazy plans immediately got cancelled, though, when you opened Mark’s messages and saw that he had invited you out for a brunch slash lunch, depending on when you woke up or which one you were more up to.

You didn’t realise how ravenous you were until your eyes fell on the photo he had sent you of the sunny side ups that he had made for breakfast, offering to cook something simple for you in the communal kitchen in case you didn’t feel like going out. (And while you appreciated the thought and were genuinely tempted to spend the whole day on your bed with him, you couldn’t have helped but remember his friends’ teasing, which heavily indicated that he was a horrible cook.)

You asked for an hour to put yourself together and let him decide where you would eat until the restaurant wouldn’t be too crowded and the food wouldn’t be too heavy on your sensitive stomach. Your hangover was no joke. Just thinking of your favourite pizza, you already felt like throwing up again.

Had you even thrown up the previous night? For the life of you, you couldn’t tell.

But it didn’t really matter. Because the moment you stepped outside of your room, you came face to face with Mark Lee, and he gave you that look: the look that said he was happy to see you and might have even thought you were pretty despite the oversized hoodie and leggings combo you were wearing, hair in a messy bun on the top of your head. There was no way he felt grossed out by the sight of you even though he had been the last person who had seen you last night.

You gave him a small, almost bashful smile.

The diner Mark chose was a noodle soup shop near campus that you had never tried before, but you trusted his taste and did not get disappointed when the middle aged ahjumma placed two steaming bowls on your table in the back. The smell was rich, but not overpowering. The taste… The taste was heavenly.

‘Last night was pretty wild, hah? I usually don’t drink that much, by the way. You can take my words on that,’ you stirred up a conversation as soon as the boy’s eyes on each and every movement of yours started to get a tad overwhelming. Not in a bad way, of course. You rarely felt any negative emotions when you were with him; you considered thinking about the boy when he wasn’t around a completely different thing. And even then it was more about your insecurities and fears, never about something he did intentionally.

Gosh, here you were again, casually overthinking like it was your hobby.

‘Were you drinking because of me?’

You froze with your hand in mid-air, noodles slipping through your chopsticks as your grip got weaker due to your shock. The broth splashed on your face the moment they hit the soup, the hot liquid burning your skin a little, though that wasn’t the real reason your cheeks put on a light, pinkish shade.

You hadn’t seen it coming: the almost confrontational turn your conversation had just taken when it was Mark sitting in front of you. It would have been different if it had been Yuju or Mark’s talkative (and lowkey annoying nosy) friend, but… It was Mark!

You were lucky, you hadn’t choked on your meal.

‘I…’ You cleared your throat, unintentionally making the atmosphere heavier. You couldn’t look Mark in the eyes. ‘Maybe?’ You half-admitted as you placed the chopsticks on the edge of your bowl and dropped your hands in your lap with a helpless sigh. You didn’t want to lie. You also didn’t want to talk about your feelings without proper preparation, but clearly, your life wasn’t a wish-granting factory. ‘I also took some shots to celebrate the New Year.’

Mark’s amused giggle was yet another unexpected slap in the face. However, you welcomed it like a caress as it encouraged you to meet his eyes. His happiness didn’t help much with your confusion, but it warmed your heart, so you let it be.

‘Cute,’ he complimented you as soon as he calmed down, his gaze shifting from your scarlet cheeks to your abandoned, wooden cutlery. You knew he wanted to encourage you to pick the chopsticks up again, but you weren’t so sure whether that would have been a good idea. You weren’t in the clear just yet.

In fact, your conversation might have been just about to get tougher if his mischievous eyes were anything to go by.

‘I’m not sure how much you remember from last night, but I understand your feelings. It’s scary for me, too,’ he said with enough nonchalance to make you wonder whether he was panicking under the collected facade. The Mark you knew would have rather let his friends bully him (affectionately) than engage in a fight. He had never been this confrontational, and you weren’t sure how you felt about this development.

Unsure whether he was finished or there was still stuff he wanted to bring up, you remained silent and mentally scolded yourself for even thinking about picking on the skin around the base of your nails.

‘I want, more than anything, to test if you’re it for me, but that’s not why I wanted to meet up with you,’ he eventually blurted out before he took a big mouthful of his noodles, probably to steal a bit more time. You waited, patiently. ‘Please don’t push me away. You don’t have to like me like that. You don’t have to agree to become my girlfriend like ever, man. But please, don’t avoid me.’

His pleading broke something in you, not because of how desperately he was talking or how he felt the need to have this request, but because this had been what you had tried to do the night before, when Yuju had pointed him out in the crowd.

He knew you. He knew your instincts were working against you two, and he was begging you to stay.

To choose him, in whichever way your heart was able to handle your relationship.

‘I’m not gonna do any of those, I promise,’ you mumbled, hoping that you could keep your promise to him, because he was being so tolerant, so patient with you, it was the least you could do.

Just like Dejun, Mark deserved so much better.

But unlike your ex-boyfriend, his presence in your life felt so effortless, so good, a part of you could almost believe that the two of you were…

You bit into your lower lip and shook your head. This wasn’t right. You shouldn’t have given him a chance because of a system that had already screwed you over. Because a sick part of your brain rationalised that the universe knew you better than you knew yourself.

‘I want to give us a try,’ you admitted slowly, choosing your words with utmost care as if one wrongly chosen synonym could have broken your friendship. Like you were still working on one of your most draining assignments for a professor that took points from you for using the same word in two consecutive sentences. ‘But I have one condition.’

Mark didn’t take his eyes off you. He wasn’t blinking, and you weren’t sure he was breathing properly, either, but his complexion looked convincing enough for you to keep going instead of stalling and checking up on him.

‘I don’t want to be your girlfriend.’ The pained look in Mark’s eyes squeezed your organs, and if you had felt a bit more poetic, you would have said, it twisted the knife in your heart, too. So you willed yourself to push through. ‘What I mean is that… I want what Dejun and Yuju have. And since we don’t know whether we are meant to be like how they already know they aren’t… I…’ you were clearly struggling at that point, but you were almost there.

You almost detangled the mess in your own head.

You almost managed to communicate your concerns.

You only needed a little bit more.

‘You want to be with me regardless?’ Mark asked, sounding hopeful and something else, too, something akin to melted butter on your toast.

You nodded, embarrassingly eager to get to the end of this topic and finally be on the same page as the boy.

‘If we don’t agree on being boyfriend-girlfriend, our tattoos won’t change. They’re not gonna spoil it,’ you argued, feeling significantly lighter after the last word fell from your lips, your smile bright and a lot wider than it had been at any moment in the past few days.

And the best part?

Mark Lee was shining like the damned Sun and all the stars in the sky upon hearing your confession. 

‘I can do that! Let’s do that! I want that, to have a chance with you, be with you. Because it does feel right. You. Us. You make me feel all gooey and boom boom inside. You make me feel like all those cringey love songs that secretly everyone likes,’ he rambled, awakening half a dozen long-dead butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

You wondered if this was how falling in love should have felt in the first place. Weren’t you only giving him a chance to see where this would lead the two of you? Were you really, truly, genuinely falling for him already?

Were you in love?

As good as you were with words in most cases, Mark’s rambling quite literally rendered you speechless. You didn’t know what more you were supposed to say without revealing your inner turmoil. After all, you had already admitted that you wanted to give it a try.

If you had been one of your characters, you would have described what you were about to do as cowardly, but at that moment it sounded rather logical (and definitely convenient) to just pick up your chopsticks and dive into your noodle soup. So that was what you did, keeping your eyes on your food while blaming your flaming cheeks on your hot lunch.

You didn’t entertain the topic more than it was strictly necessary, and you didn’t bring it up again when Mark took pity on you and decided to ask about something completely different yet maybe just as important: your plans for after your graduation ceremony next week.

Sadly, you were still struggling with finding a full-time job, but your parents were happy to have you back at home, so at least, you didn’t have to worry about housing or wasting money. You would be fed three times a day for free and have all the time in the world to find out how desperate you were to find a job in your field a.k.a. how much longer you could go without giving in and just taking the first offer that came your way.

‘I don’t want to lower my standards just yet. Maybe… after a month or two,’ you pondered aloud, then took a bigger slurp of your soup just before you asked for Mark’s opinion.

You didn’t call your lunch a date, nor did Mark ask you out on one when he suggested you watched a movie in the cinema on Saturday, but he did walk you all the way back to your door once he paid for the food and held onto your clammy hand during the second half of the elevator ride.

Hence, you assumed you were official. In your own, cautious albeit determined way.

the end.

[fluffyk97]

Sonic 3 spoiler rambling about Sonic and Shadow under cut !

Y'know something that I feel might go lil under-appreciated is how well they made Sonic and Shadow mirror each other in the movie.

Like something that always can easily irk me are people boasting one of the two over the other because from the very beginning of his introduction to the series, Shadow's character is meant to reflect Sonic. They're meant to be equals that are so similar and complete opposites at the same time.

With the movie, I honestly wasn't expecting it that much. Sonic actually has a backstory that is just like Shadow's: powerful little hedgehog that is wanted for his power, so the one he's known his whole small life that he loves sacrifices herself to save him.

I fr fully expected Sonic to learn about Maria and be like "I lost Longclaw, I know you're pain, but-" blah blah blah- BUT they don't do that??

Of course, we have Commander Walters first telling Sonic that Shadow's story is a lot like his but wasn't able to find family and friends, and Sonic does find Shadow had a family from finding a picture of him and Maria together. He never gets told what happened exactly though, although it wouldn't make too much of a difference with the fact they did change up Shadow losing Maria just a little bit.

Since they didn't live up in space, Maria didn't have a capsule to send Shadow off with sacrificing herself and instead they made it an accident. WHICH- can be understandable if people don't like that, however personally I don't mind it that much because honestly the intent to shoot Maria was there, but she ended up being lost from an accident caused by Walters.

Which, ties in to Shadow hurting Tom...

Walters in trying to help save Maria's, Shadow's and Gerald's lives unfortunately led to Maria's death and watching Shadow be put in stasis for 50 years where all he thinks about is that painful memory burned fresh in his head. So of course when Shadow sees Tom disguised as Walters, he takes his anger out on him by hurting him while also stealing the key for the ARK. Leading to unfortunately another scenario of where the intent of harm is there, but someone still got hurt from an accident because Shadow never really meant to hurt Tom. But he does anyway..

Which of course in turn, makes Sonic mad just like Shadow was 50 years ago. Only difference is Sonic doesn't get immediately captured by GUN and forced into stasis. Letting him able to go straight to Shadow afterwards for hurting his family.

We have Shadow take note of all of that himself, telling Sonic he's feeling exactly the pain he felt and Sonic being the one to say "I'm nothing like you!". Just like how I thought Sonic would tell Shadow about Longclaw in hopes of redeeming him, but reversed and both sides full of anger and grief.

One awesome super fight later though, we come to the talk on the moon. Probably my favorite part in the whole movie. outside of the super fights and Live and Learn playing lol

After mentioning Tom and getting uppercutted straight to the moon by Sonic, Shadow loses his super form, leaving him vulnerable, easy for Sonic to take his revenge on him. Only for all of that to be stopped because of Shadow pointing at his own chest which reminds Sonic what Tom told him at the beginning of the movie and calm down.

"You didn't let pain change who you are."

This completely baffles Shadow, with him actually wanting Sonic to finish it, but of course Sonic just refuses saying "No one wins with revenge". It just leaves silence between them, finally giving Shadow his own moment of remembering Maria outside of her death by looking at the stars he used to gaze upon with her.

He mentions it to Sonic how all he knew and felt was just the pain, and now finally- FINALLY, Sonic mentions how he shares that feeling of loss from Longclaw. Not in a moment of trying to just redeem Shadow without the full weight of it, but in a moment of understanding.

A strong moment of these two looking at each other in a mirror, eye to eye. Sonic, who was allowed to grieve all those years ago after losing Longclaw, telling Shadow the pain of loss will never go away, but the love will always remain.

"The light shines, even though the star is gone."

And through that shared pain and loss, now coupled with empathy and understanding one another through it. They truly connect.

Sonic and Shadow's dynamic was just done SO WELL in the movie and I couldn't be happier with it...

[gojonanami]

IT'S A NEED - CHOSO KAMO

✴︎ summary: after you take an attack meant for him, choso can't seem to understand why -- so you show him just how important he is to you. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, angst then smut, choso is confused about human emotions, he doesn't know if he deserves love, making out, groping, sex (p in v), handjob (f! + m! receiving), semi-public sex (sort of), pet names (love, pretty, lovely) ✴︎ wc: 1,965

“Why did you take that hit for me?” his words come out in a hiss, a rush of breath that he forces out between gritted teeth, as if he was both afraid to ask and afraid not to, “it was foolish, it was unnecessary—” 

You blow out a sigh between your pursed lips, as you rest against a damp sheet against cold concrete of a corner of Shibuya that currently wasn’t under attack — the not too distant groans of other injured not too far, but far enough for your privacy, “You know why I did it, so why are you asking that, when you mean to ask something else?” 

And you knew him — knew him a little too well for someone who only had known him a few weeks now? Is that how long it had been since he had joined up with sorcerers? Switched sides to protect his little brother — and somehow, he ended up here — sitting next to you instead of him. Yuji could handle himself — he had faith in his brother — and he knew you could too. A skilled sorcerer — he saw your skill firsthand from a distance during the fights in shibuya, and then up close when you nearly caved his head in when you found out how he almost killed Yuji. 

Is that when he first started to like you? 

He didn’t know. 

Could he even have such emotions? He had never known any sort of love, except for that of his brothers. But that was natural? To care for his family, to watch after them, to protect them, to avenge them. And anything that helped him achieve that goal, was worth it was it not? Even if it came at the cost of a different life, right? His eyes slid to you again, so why did it huqrt so much when he saw you crumpled on the ground, blood pooling on the cement around your abdomen, the same blood he didn’t think twice about when it spilled from other humans or sorcerers alike. Now, it was different. 

He was different — maybe you were, to him. 

 “What question am I asking then?” he finally asks, as you only sigh again, eyes fluttering open to look at him with that same gaze that felt as if you were looking right through him. 

“You’re asking me why I thought you were worthy of being saved in the first place?” and his mouth parts — words ringing in his ear. 

It was true — he was a cursed womb — a mixture of curse and human blood that never was supposed to exist in the first place, a thing that has no other purpose in this world, aside from his brothers. And especially after the things he’s done, the people he’s killed, the harm he’s caused, and even the body he walks in now isn’t his own, but a person killed for his gain — how was he worthy of saving? How was he worthy of the risk of your life? 

“And what’s your answer?” he asks, his voice growing raw, as he can’t bear to look at you, his gaze fixed on his lap, and he doesn’t see you push yourself up, sitting, as you stare at him, lips curling in a small smile, as you leaned over, fingers brushing against his cheek, that finally pull his gaze back to you. 

“Because you’re Choso, because you deserve to be saved, you deserve the same kindness you’ve given to us,” your fingers are so gentle against him, had he ever been touched so gently before? His eyes almost feel the urge to shut, and just indulge in the feeling of your skin against his, “you didn’t ask to be here, you were manipulated, you were controlled, and you were forced to be a pawn,” 

“But that doesn’t change—” 

“It doesn’t change the hurt you caused, no, but that’s not who you are now,” you force him to meet your gaze, lips curled in a smile, “and who are now is definitely worth saving,” 

“But why?” he still doesn’t understand, he still doesn’t see his worth, and you give your third sigh, before your other hand finds his shoulder, pulling him closer, a breath away. 

“Do I have to spell it out for you, Choso?” your words warm his lips, and send warmth to the tips of his fingers, warmth he hadn’t known since he had been forced to come back. And all he can feel is your hands against him, all he can see are your eyes gazing at him the way he thought anyone would, and all he can think about is when your lips are finally going to touch his, “because I think I can only show you now,” and your thumb finds his lips, dragging down the bottom one, “would you want that?” 

And his eyes flutter, a sharp intake of breath when your finger touches his lips, “I don’t think I’d like anything more,” he whispers, his eyes falling to your lips, as you lean forward. 

Your lips brush his, featherlight, as if you worry he’d recoil, he’d run, he’d leave, but he does none of those things. Your lips part from his and he’s staring, as you do, before his lips seek yours again. And this time, he’s sure. 

His lips surge against yours, as you melt into his touch, as gentle as can be — those same hands used to slaughter, now grazing your sides as if you’d break apart in his hands. And he didn’t care if the world was falling apart — and it was all around you both — if he could have this moment with you, maybe it’d be worth it. 

“What is this hold you have over me?” He murmurs, and you’re pulling him closer to your tattered blanket against the concrete, fingers running through his hair making him shiver, “you touch me and I can’t think straight, I can’t—“ 

“Then don’t,” you murmur, your lips pressing butterfly kisses to his jaw, “give in, let me love you,” 

And he does, relinquishing his thoughts and worries in exchange for your touch, and his hands find your waist, as you move slowly, climbing into his lap, making him grunt, before concern flickers across his features. 

“Your injuries—“ he starts, but your lips brush against his ear, lips curved against the soft flesh. 

“Are not as serious as how much I want you right now,” your words send a shiver down his spine, as your lips find his again, and you swallow his groan with pleasure. Your tongue parts his lips, as you taste him, fingers carding through his jet-black locks, fingers pulling at the ties in his hair, pulling them around your wrists, “I’ll keep them safe,” you tease, you tug teasingly at his hair making him gasp. 

You’re pulling moans and whines from his lips, as you part from him for a moment, breaths coming as pants, as you press your forehead to his, taking in his now kiss ruined lips and violet irises glazed with lust, “so pretty,” you coo, “too pretty, Choso, how am I supposed to resist?” 

And your fingers find their way to his belt, pausing, “is this okay?” Your hand cups his cheek, thumb brushing the length, and he’s nodding wordlessly, as his fingers find yours, undoing his belt and letting his robe fall open. 

Your breath catches as you see him, your fingers dragging over his bare chest and abs, your eyes finding your way to his cock — it was so pretty, long and thick with a pretty pearl of precum. And your gaze is hot, hypnotized, “all this f’me?” You murmur, making him swallow, and then gasp as your fingers trace the vein running up the side. Your lips curl, “oh we’re just getting started, baby,” 

Your fingers curl around his cock, your thumb rubbing against his slit, making him hiss, “I—“ his hips stutter against you, bumping against your damp shorts, making you groan. And he was so good in your hand, how good would he feel inside?

No, not yet, you wanted to make him feel good first. 

“It’s okay, just breath,” your fingers tease his head, smiling as his head lolls back, and your hand begins to stroke him, spreading the precum along his length, “I got you, let me make you feel good,” 

And your hand squeezes at the base, and he’s groaning your name, like a curse, as your other hand teases his balls, before you’re slipping off his lap, pressing his tip against your lips, painting them with his precum.

“You taste so good, Choso,” you lick your lips clean of him, tasting his salty precum. 

“Please, love,” he’s murmuring, a whine in his throat, his fingers pulling at your clothes, “I want you—I want you to feel good too,” 

And you smile, guiding his hands to your shorts, “Are you sure?” You murmur, kissing his neck, “we don’t-“ 

He’s pulling your shorts off, as he’s lowering you onto the sheet gently, tugging them off, his calloused palms parting your soft thighs. And his gaze darkens, half lidded with lust, “You’re lovely,” his fingers brush against your soaked folds, thumb pressing against your puffy clit, making you gasp, “you like that?” He hums. 

And he’s leaning down, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, “Choso, please—“ and his breath warms your cunt, pressing a kiss to your dripping pussy, drawing a gasp from your lips, “I need you—“ 

“What do you need, pretty?” His velvet words are thick and slow like molasses, settling warm heat over your skin, as his hands draw up your thighs around his waist, “do you want my hands? My lips?” 

And your hips roll against him, his tip bumping against your cunt, “what do you think?” And he’s hissing, before he’s grasping as his dick, teasing you with his head, “fuuuck, Choso,” 

“Not so loud,” he murmurs, “someone could hear us, see you all spread out for me, and this view is just for me, lovely,” and his cock is parting your folds, both moaning in synchrony, your walls fluttering around him, “so tight, pretty, so fucking wet,” 

You think he’s even prettier, brow furrowed and forehead slick with sweat, kiss bitten lips parted in a pant, and his violet eyes fluttering. And he’s bottoming out in you, his hips pressed against you, “so good, so perfect,” he’s murmuring, and he’s pulling out only to thrust back in. His strokes are languid at first, before he’s fucking you in earnest, hips snapping against yours, “. 

“Choso, fuck, please, I’m close—“ your back is arching against him, and his lips find yours again in a searing kiss, as his fingers reach down between the two of you, and press against your clit, just as his hips piston into you just right with deep long strokes, until your walls are clamping down. He doesn’t last much longer, his hips stuttering against you, until he’s moaning, his hot load painting your walls white, as he fucks his cum into you. 

And he’s panting above you, as you pull him into a sloppy kiss, pulling him beside you, as he slips out of you, making you whine at the emptiness.

“Don’t think that was part of Shoko’s instructions for recovery,” you murmur against his lips, as you grin, “but it was definitely needed,” 

His lips curl, as he’s pressing kisses along your jaw, “So you need me, huh?” and the question fills him with warmth, just as you have, a sort of purpose he had never had, aside from his family — a want for him that he had never thought he’d be lucky enough to have. 

And you only smile, pulling him into another kiss, “Why else do you think I took that hit for you?” 

✴︎ a/n: new episode did something to me. i have a longer fic planned for choso, but this will have to do for today :). yes i'm posting this in the middle of the night, sue me.

✴︎ tag list: @kakashineedstotouchgrass, @kemitoi, @thecooldino, @moonnime, @bontensbabygirl, @wretchedinfinity, @lemonpoppy-seed, @ichikanu, @snowscaping, @kamikokii, @fwankieero, @ssaraexposs, @astridyoo15, @cascading-escapist, @sniffsnoffsniff, @raddiplomatshepherdhero, @nverwashere, @n00v4, @unohanaswetdream, @staygoldsquatchling02, @anime9ja,

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Blood singer, part 5

Summary: Alice makes it clear what the next steps should be, while Jasper and Paul fight their inner demons.

Warnings (be mindful of your triggers): injury, blood and death, angst, fluff, grief, swearing, sexual content, mentions of mental health struggles, alcohol, detailed descriptions including physical harm

Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader (blood singer), Paul Lahote x human!reader

Word count: 8.1k

Blood singer - Series Masterlist

Jasper’s pleading gaze is difficult to ignore, but Alice stands her ground, her voice soft but unyielding.

“No one’s going to be erasing any memories,” she says firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Jasper stiffens, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone would crack if he was just a human. His eyes, burning with anguish, remain fixed on the unconscious girl in his arms. His hands tighten instinctively around her delicate frame, as if he could shield her from every cruel twist of fate just by holding her closer.

“You can’t possibly be saying she’s safer with us,” he croaks out, broken.

Alice steps forward, voice calm and somewhat gentler now. “If her memories are erased today, she will never be within your reach again. Your story would end right here, Jasper. She would return to New York, marry that shitty ex of hers, and die young.” She frowns, her gaze heavy with the burden of truth he can’t possibly understand, but she must make him understand. “I see two possible ways she would die there: one by her husband’s hand, and the other...” Alice hesitates. “Something she'll tell you herself, if you make the right choice.”

Jasper’s entire body stills while his mind reels, caught between despair and desperate hope, between his instinct to run from the pain and his aching need to stay by her side.

“It’s not my place to say more,” Alice finishes quietly. “But it’s inevitable.”

Clearing her throat, she pushes on, keeping her voice steady. “If your memories are erased instead... she dies by your hand. Or the same way I just mentioned. Those are the only outcomes I see. She needs you, Jasper. More than she knows…And you need her more than you know. You’re meant to be together, if you can get your head out of your ass long enough to remember it.”

The words hit him like bullets. Jasper’s throat is painful as he tries to swallow, his mouth dry. He clutches Y/N closer to his chest, as if someone might rip her away at any second.

“You’re saying... she dies if she’s not with me?” His voice is ragged, almost boyish in its disbelief.

Alice’s gaze softens. “Her death is inevitable,” she repeats, slower this time. “The difference is, if she stays with you... she lives long enough to become one of us. Long enough to have a real future.”

Jasper goes perfectly still like a statue, the weight of her words sinking into his bones. “You’re telling me she dies no matter what we do?”

“That’s kind of fucked up,” Emmett mutters under his breath, crossing his arms tightly. “You didn’t tell us that part before.”

“I said we needed to keep her alive,” Alice snaps. “I didn’t say she was going to grow old.”

He doesn’t need to breath, the need has long been erased from his body, but Jasper is trembling. Just a whiff of her is enough to bring him to his knees, the pain it inflicts is by far the worst pain he’s ever had, yet in a way in comforts him. And he needs comfort, almost as much as he needs answers. Swallowing thickly, Jasper dares to draw a breath, inhaling her deeply, the scent of her hitting him like a sucker punch; soft, sweet, heartbreakingly mortal. His throat burns in protest, but his heart, or whatever is left of it, feels infinitely worse. “She doesn’t smell sick. I don’t sense anything wrong.”

Alice places a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Trust me. The goal is to keep her alive long enough, to let her adjust… To give her a choice.” She glances toward the backyard, her face tightening. “Ideally, we would have shown her what we are on your terms, not Paul's.” Her lips press together. “But it’s done. We’ll work with it.”

For a moment, Jasper sways slightly, like a man struggling to find his footing on a crumbling ledge. His eyes never leave Y/N’s face. Every fiber of his being screams to protect her, to know her, to cherish her, to earn her love and the thought of losing her before he even gets the chance guts him.

Rosalie clears her throat, drawing his attention. “Take her to your room,” she says gently. “Emmett can move the bed from Edward’s old room. You stay with her. Wait for her to wake up. Explain everything. Step by step.”

Jasper nods numbly, the plan anchoring him. Giving him purpose. She enjoyed his presence last night. He’ll soothe her nerves and open up, entirely this time.

“Since when are you willing to help?” Alice raises a brow at Rosalie, suspicion clear in her voice.

“Since I realized her story doesn’t have a happy ending without Jasper,” Rosalie mutters. Her gaze flickers to Paul, who is still in wolf form, snarling and straining against Jacob, Embry, and Seth. “Go. Before Paul loses it completely.”

Jasper doesn’t waste another second. With infinite care, he lifts Y/N fully into his arms. He cradles her against his chest with a tenderness that seems almost impossible for someone built of marble with control issues, but he’s holding her close as if she’s the most precious thing he’s ever held, and she is. His hands are impossibly gentle, arms forming a protective cocoon around her unconscious body. Every move he makes is slow, as if she’s made of glass and a single wrong step might shatter her completely.

His boots barely make a sound against the floor as he carries her inside, crossing the threshold of the Cullen home with reverence usually reserved for sacred places. His face, so often a rigid mask is open now, raw with emotion. Fear, guilt, and a fierce, aching need now battle for dominance in his darkened eyes, the gold suppressed entirely.

When he reaches the room prepared for them, he hesitates for a moment, simply holding her close, as if letting go might make this fragile moment slip away forever. Then, gently, Jasper lowers her onto the bed. His hands never leave her until the very last second, smoothing the hair away from her face, brushing against her cheek as if anchoring himself to the living proof that she is still here. Still breathing. Still his, for now.

He ceases breathing again, forcing the instinct out of his body like an exorcism once more, desperate to keep her safe, to keep himself in control. The pressure around his heart seems to tighten, and he draws back slightly, as if distance alone could erase the bloodlust clawing under his skin. Yet despite every rational thought, despite every disciplined instinct he had sharpened over decades, he can't help himself.

Leaning down, Jasper presses his lips against her forehead. The kiss is feather light, his body is trembling with emotions he can’t hold back any longer. Her skin is warm beneath his frozen lips, and the contrast shatters something inside him, forming a cut too deep to ever fully mend. It feels like she will never forgive him and it’s forgiveness he doesn't deserve.

I’ll protect you. A silent promise he has no right to make. He lingers there for a heartbeat longer than he should, imprinting the sensation into memory, before he finally pulls away.

Hovering near the bed, he murmurs to her softly, the words barely audible to anyone but her.

“I’m scared, darlin’. All of it terrifies me.” His voice cracks at the edges. “You aren’t the only one.”

His thumb traces along her wrist, feeling the steady, fragile flutter of her pulse. Proof of life. Proof that she’s not beyond saving yet.

“I’ve seen more death than a man ought to," he says, voice low and rough with feeling. "Fought for things I didn't believe in. Killed for those who never deserved loyalty. Spent a century wishin' for peace I never thought I'd find." He bows his head, his blond curls shadowing his haunted expression. "Then you showed up."

He exhales shakily, even though he’s not breathing in the traditional sense, and drapes the blanket over her body with care. His fingers brush her arms where she shivers, tucking the warmth around her like a shield. As if it might protect her from nightmares. From him.

Jasper lingers, unwilling to move even though every moment he stays close tempts fate.

Eventually, he forces himself to step away, muscles rigid with the effort it takes. He moves to the window, resting one hand against the frame as he stares out into the endless forest. His reflection in the glass looks hollow. A ghost of the man he once was and the man he aches to become for her.

His mind spins relentlessly.

What death is inevitable for her if I leave? What fate is written in stone, no matter how hard I fight? Am I truly her salvation... or just another reason she dies?

The questions carve into him with surgical precision, slicing through hope and fear alike. He presses his forehead against the cool glass, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I would give you my life a thousand times over if it meant you'd live,” he whispers to her sleeping form. “But God help me, I’m selfish. I want to stay. I want to know you... love you... and be loved by you.”

The sunlight casts a bright glow across the room, bathing Y/N’s unmoving body in golden light. Jasper watches her chest rise and fall, every breath a tiny miracle he refuses to take for granted. He doesn’t know how the future will unfold. He doesn’t know how much pain waits around the corner. But he knows one thing with absolute certainty.

He won’t let her die alone. She will know everything and make her own choice. If she chooses her mortality by his side, he will respect her choice. He will be there with her until the end. If she chooses a life with him, Jasper will ensure he holds her hand through it all. And if she doesn’t choose him at all, he will protect her from the man who might kill her, allow her to go in whatever way Alice saw.

But he sure as hell won’t let her go without a fight.

--

Paul paces in front of the Cullen house, claws digging into the softened earth with each heavy step. His massive paws ache with the repeated motion, joints burning under the strain. It’s a common misconception that they’re invincible, mythical, untouchable beasts, but the truth is far more sobering. They tire. They feel. And right now, Paul is in pain, not just physically, but down to the marrow of his soul.

He’s stuck in his wolf form, unable, or unwilling to phase back. Not when Jasper has her in his arms. Not when the only thing keeping Paul from tearing the bloodsucker’s throat out is his pack, and the Alpha’s order.

The ache in his limbs is nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

Every tick of the clock feels like a blade against his skin. She hasn’t woken up. Y/N’s eyes haven’t opened. She hasn’t spoken. And it’s his fault. Of course it is. He told himself he could control his temper, that he wouldn’t scare her, but he failed. Miserably.

He’d promised himself, after Rachel, that he’d be better. Be more. And then he meets Y/N…this magnetic, radiant, complicated woman who pulled him in without even trying, and what does he do? He shifts right in front of her, shatters her world without a second thought, and watches her collapse into another man’s arms.

A fucking vampire’s arms.

Paul lets out a low, guttural growl, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. His massive frame quivers with suppressed rage and despair he cannot contain for much longer. His fur bristles along his spine, shoulders hunched, tail stiff, breath heaving as his lungs are threatening to explode.

Inside, the wolf screams with fury. But the man underneath? He’s breaking. Because part of him always knew, deep down, that he’d find a way to hurt her. It was inevitable. No matter how good his intentions were, no matter how hard he tried to hold it together... he fucked up.

But God, if she only knew how fucking sorry he is. He’d do anything to fix this. Anything to go back in time and show her what he really is, not just a shifter with a hair trigger temper, but a man who wanted to protect her from this madness, who wanted to ease her into his world with tenderness, not terror.

He’ll try harder from now on. He’ll do anything she wants him to.

Now that the truth is out, he could finally explain. Finally tell her the mess from the other night wasn’t what she thought. He’ll tell her just how miserable he is being tethered to his imprint and how he wishes it was her instead. That he wasn’t hooking up with Rachel, that he hates being tethered to someone who isn’t her. That imprinting isn’t love, but a cage, a cruel joke. Because when he saw Y/N, he felt it. Something real. Undeniable. It’s what he expected to feel when he imprinted, and he understands now. He never believed in love at first sight, but with her? Hell, he probably fell for her in the most cliché way possible, and he couldn’t fight it. Paul knew it from the first moment she smirked at him like she wasn’t afraid of anything, not even him. He knew it would be more than a one night stand and he wished to God she felt the same way.

Finding out she was his morning meeting was proof their night together wasn’t a mistake and she was meant to be his. She seemed to believe he was unhappy she would join him on the trip back home when the truth is, Paul was afraid. It would have been easier to maintain some semblance of a relationship long distance at first, so she falls in love with his heart before he introduces her to all his problems. Being a shifter, having an imprint, his temper issues…all of that made him less than a suitable candidate for a woman as rare as Y/N. She’s meant to be wooed and adored, to find herself adorned with crown jewels and expensive champagne. Paul can’t afford much of that, but he can show her his heart and hope she accepts him as he is.

And now it’s too late.

Jasper fucking Cullen has her. The pale, perfect vampire with his southern charm and bottomless pockets. He can give her everything Paul can’t; diamonds, mansions, safety behind glass walls. But can he touch her? Can he kiss her properly without losing control? Can he love her without hurting her?

Paul doubts it.

He can offer her warmth, a real home, a future with laughter and babies and skin against skin. He can show her passion. He already has. Her body betrayed her so sweetly that night, melting under his touch, and God, he reveled in it. She may not have said the words, but her body knew him. Craved him.

And still… she looked at Jasper like she could fall in love with him.

Paul’s growl grows louder, deeper. It shakes his entire frame. The wolves near him tense, Jacob and Embry glancing warily his way. His rage is no longer silent. It’s feral, burning just beneath the surface like magma in the cracks of his ribs. He throws his head back and snarls, his lips curling over bared fangs, claws gouging deep ruts into the soil. His body vibrates with the need to attack, to reclaim, to fix everything that went wrong.

But there’s no fight that can undo this. Because if Jasper’s hooks are already in her, Paul knows exactly what comes next. He’ll lose her. Just like Jacob lost Bella.

And the terrifying thing is, he might not even deserve to keep her. Still, he stays. Pacing. Watching the window of the room she’s asleep in. Every time Jasper passes in front of it, Paul’s heart splinters a little more.

She was supposed to be his fresh start. His peace. She was supposed to be his. Now all he can do is wait, and pray that fate hasn’t already made up it’s mind.

“You need to calm down,” Jared hisses under his breath, his voice low but urgent as he approaches. His usual easygoing demeanor is replaced by caution, wariness evident in his dark eyes as he nears his best friend. “You’re making them, and us, nervous. Everyone’s already shifted back.”

Paul doesn’t respond. He just paces. Back and forth, back and forth, the muscles in his massive wolf body twitching with every movement. His paws dig deeper into the ground with each frustrated step. Dirt clings to his fur, and flecks of dried blood from fresh scrapes mark his legs. His tail lashes once, sharply, betraying just how close to the edge he is.

When he finally stops, it’s because something pulls his gaze upward, an invisible tether that yanks his head toward the second story window. There, behind the glass, stands Jasper, pale and still like a ghost guarding Y/N. It’s like he’s teasing him, making a show out of it just to provoke him to violence and Paul wishes it didn’t work, but it does.

His breath is caught in his throat, a rumble deep in his chest trembling to life again. His ears pin back. His stance tightens. The sight of that bloodsucker hovering near her, so close makes Paul’s vision blur with rage.

Jared follows his line of sight, then exhales slowly and shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure he’s not gonna kill her, okay?” he says softly, trying to placate. “But if you want a fighting chance with her, you need to shift back before she wakes up. You still have paws instead of hands, man.”

Paul slumps down, letting his body hit the earth with a thud. His massive body trembles slightly, though whether from exhaustion or restrained fury is anyone’s guess. His brown eyes lock onto Jared, sharp and unblinking.

If it were that easy, he would have shifted already.

If it were up to him, Paul would shed this side of himself and never look back. He’d peel off the beast like an old skin, cast it into the woods, and go to her as a man, someone worthy of her love and attention. But it’s never that simple. It never has been. His temper rules him, consumes him, rises like a wildfire without warning. And though he wants to blame the wolf, deep down, he knows better. He was this way long before the gene activated. Long before the transformation. Long before the supernatural cracked his world wide open.

He’s been angry since he was seven years old, when his parents split and tore his childhood apart. He remembers the screaming, the slammed doors, the nights he punched walls because he didn’t know what else to do. The rage has always lived inside him like a second soul.

And now? That second soul might cost him the only good thing he’s ever had. He doesn’t want to lose Y/N. Not after everything. Not now.

“He crossed to our land!” A familiar voice echoes.

A sigh cuts through the tension. Jared closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, already hearing the beginnings of an argument behind the house. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing toward the backyard. “Embry’s starting.”

Paul’s ears twitch. He turns his head toward the sound, unwilling to move but alert.

“If he didn’t, she’d be dead!” Rosalie’s voice slices through the air. Paul’s head snaps toward her direction, surprise flaring behind his eyes. He expected Emmett to speak up, not the Ice Queen herself.

He remembers the last time he went toe to toe with Emmett. It was stupid and messy and a blur with broken trees. He’d knocked the vampire clean into the river without hesitation, high on adrenaline and righteous fury. No one had appreciated his lack of diplomacy, but Paul didn’t care. Someone had to draw the damn line.

Someone always has to.

But now, it seems like even the enemies are shifting. The blonde leech is defending her family and the bloodsucker in the window. What the hell is going on? Rosalie hated Bella when it was her time to join the family. Paul fully expected her to take his side and let him take Y/N home with him.

“Jasper saved her life!” Rosalie argues, fierce and unyielding. “He protected her when you couldn’t!”

The words hit Paul like a slap across the face. His growl falters, caught in his throat. When he couldn’t.

Alice speaks next, her voice calmer but no less firm. “There was a reason for his transgression. It wasn’t on a whim.”

And how many times has he imagined sinking his teeth into her? Paul’s thoughts are venomous, wild, spiraling. The image alone, Jasper losing control, blood staining Y/N’s skin, is enough to make Paul’s claws gouge trenches into the earth again. He snarls low in his throat, the sound bubbling up like lava.

He doesn’t trust Jasper. He doesn’t trust any of them. But worst of all? He doesn’t trust himself.

And every minute that ticks by with Y/N unconscious and far from his reach is one more second he thinks about what he could lose. And if he loses her, if she wakes up and looks at him with fear instead of care….He doesn’t know if he’ll come back from that. Not as a wolf. Not as a man. Not at all.

He blames himself for all of it and the guilt is razor sharp, but he can’t let it tear him apart. Not now. He has to stay grounded. Focused. Controlled.

If only he had listened to her that night. She told him, begged him, that she didn’t want space. That she hated being left alone. But he let his own stupidity get the better of him the very next night. He told himself space would be good, that it would help her think, help her cool off after everything that went down before seeing him. Instead, she wandered toward the beach, alone, and that’s when Jasper made his move.

The image sears into his mind again: her small body leaning into Jasper’s, trusting him, following him. That one simple act of faith she showed the vampire feels like a knife to Paul’s chest.

Was that the start of it?

He’s heard the stories. The allure of vampires. The inexplicable way humans gravitate toward them. And now she’s been close to Jasper, felt his presence, heard his voice. Her infatuation might already be blooming. Paul knows what that looks like. Hell, he’s seen it. And it guts him to admit that the fear worming through his chest isn’t just about her safety anymore.

It’s about losing her.

He gambled with her trust, and he lost. It’s no wonder she didn’t want to speak to him. No wonder she followed the first person who made her feel safe again. He can’t bring himself to blame her. Not when he knows it’s his mistake that pushed her into someone else’s arms.

But Jasper? He blames him.

If that leech had any good intentions, he would’ve saved her and left. Nothing more. Nothing less. But instead, he brought her into his home and into his world, determined to keep her there. Paul doesn’t know what happened inside that house, but the uncertainty gnaws at him. Maybe they didn’t share a bed, but even the possibility curls bile into the back of his throat.

She told him she’s not a one night stand kind of girl. That night with Paul, their night, meant something to her. He has to believe that. But belief doesn’t erase jealousy. And it doesn’t erase doubt. He doesn’t trust Jasper. Not even a little.

“Does it matter when she’s unharmed?” Edward’s voice cuts sharply through the tension, clearly responding to Paul’s spiraling thoughts. The vampire’s tone is too calm, too composed, and it sets Paul’s fur on edge.

Bella frowns, glancing between them. “Why does he even care?” she asks, confusion slipping into her tone. “He has an imprint.”

Paul’s body stiffens. The word lands like a slap.

Jacob runs a hand through his hair and mutters under his breath, “Yeah, uhhh… that didn’t quite work out.”

Bella’s brows lift. “How? Aren’t they soulmates or something?”

A deep, guttural growl rips from Paul’s chest, vibrating through his ribcage and into the air. He turns his head sharply away from them, jaw clenched tight enough to splinter bone if he weren’t in his wolf form. He hates talking about Rachel.

“Not always,” Jacob says quickly, trying to defuse the rising tension. “Imprints aren’t necessarily romantic. Like Quill and Claire, remember?”

Bella frowns, unconvinced. Her eyes flicker to Paul again, curious, unsure, maybe even a little sympathetic as he stands there breathing like he’s trying not to explode.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, “but he was romantically involved with Rachel. That’s not the same.”

Jacob shrugs. “I suppose. But she’s not interested in a relationship right now, so Paul’s free to… y’know… make his own choices.”

“To an extent,” Edward interjects, his voice low but pointed. His golden eyes shift to Paul. “I’ve heard everyone’s thoughts. The emotions are mixed, sure, but it all goes back to the same moment.”

Everyone stills. The silence that follows is heavy, dense.

“The moment Rachel had Paul leave with her,” Edward finishes, eyes narrowing slightly. “And Y/N saw.”

Paul shuts his eyes. It’s true.

That was the moment everything fell apart. The moment she slipped away from him. He wants to scream, to shift back and demand the chance to explain, to beg her to understand. That night wasn’t what she thought. He wasn’t running toward Rachel. He was trying to get away. But Y/N wouldn’t have known that. All she saw was him choosing someone else.

And now Jasper has her.

“Oh,” Bella murmurs, her frown deepening into something conflicted. Her gaze flickers toward Paul, who remains unmoving but visibly tense, the weight of a thousand unspoken things radiating off his still form like heat from sunbaked stone. “If she doesn’t want to be with him… why would she abuse the imprint bond like that?”

There’s a moment of silence, filled with unasked questions and unsaid names.

Jacob sighs heavily and shrugs, the weight of being both brother and spectator dragging down his shoulders. “My sister loves drama,” he mutters, bitterness creeping into his voice. “Always has. And I’m guessing she was jealous. The news that Paul brought a rich girl home from New York? That spread like wildfire through the pack. Rachel probably saw red.”

Bella’s mouth falls slightly open in surprise. Her gaze flits toward Edward before she lowers her shield, unspoken questions pressing at her lips like rising water. “Does Jasper know about her and Paul?” she asks, voice barely a whisper.

Edward’s jaw tightens ever so slightly, the line between his brows deepening. “Some of it,” he replies just as softly. “He’s not entirely clueless. He’s felt the tension. Sensed the emotions. But I don’t think he knows the full extent of their involvement…” He pauses, glancing down as if searching the floor for restraint. “Although it’s easy enough to guess.”

Bella lifts an eyebrow, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Did they… kiss?”

She tilts her head toward Paul’s direction, brows lifting suggestively.

Edward doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he gives a slow, nearly imperceptible nod. The kind that says Yes…yes, and it was more than just that.

“And more,” he adds in a whisper that feels like a blade unsheathed.

Bella draws in a sharp breath. “Wow. That has to hurt,” she says, eyes darting toward the house, toward the second-floor window where Jasper’s silhouette remains shadowed behind glass. “Poor Jasper.”

Edward’s expression softens, but his voice holds quiet conviction. “He’s handling it better than I would.”

Bella smiles faintly, teasing despite the tension around them. “You wanted to kill Mike just for thinking about me.”

Edward smirks at the memory, the edge of his mouth curling. “Ah, yes. The good old days of homicidal jealousy.”

She chuckles, leaning into him with familiarity that feels normal now, almost surreal compared to the storm raging around Paul. Her gaze moves toward Paul, still in wolf form, muscles tight, breath low and even but clearly measured. His massive shoulders are tense, his body is ready to inflict damage, barely suppressing the impulse to run or rip something apart.

He heard everythingthey spoke of, the reminders of what he had and what he’s losing.

His ears twitch once. Just once. But it’s enough.

Bella swallows hard, suddenly aware of the sheer weight of grief and rage simmering beneath that thick fur coat. And in Paul’s stillness, there’s something more dangerous than movement. He’s silent not because he’s calm, but because his fury has nowhere to go. He’s locked inside it. And she realizes then that wolves don’t have to snarl to be terrifying.

Some just stand perfectly still and burn.

When Paul is triggered, control becomes a myth, something distant and unreachable, like trying to grab smoke with bare hands. His actions are his own, yes, but it never feels like it. It’s like the gas pedal gets jammed to the floor, his body thrown forward into motion he can’t stop, and the steering wheel locks up right when he needs to turn the most. There’s no thought, no pause. Just fight or flight, and with Paul, it’s almost always fight. The rush of adrenaline is too loud, too hot. It’s so bitterly primitive, so deeply wired into his bones that overriding it feels impossible. Not without help. Not without someone…a friend, a brother, a tether to guide him back and bleed off the pressure building inside until he can breathe again.

Without someone to love, without someone who loves him, Paul unravels. He loses himself. And in that chaos, there is no peace. Just the roaring wolf beneath his skin, tearing through every good intention he ever had.

But Y/N… She was different.

In those few stolen moments, when he held her in his arms, it was like the storm stilled. Her body nestled against his felt like gravity, for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t floating off the edge. She grounded him. She calmed him. She felt like safety and promise and a kind of peace he thought someone like him could never deserve. She was a sliver of control, that one thing his soul could cling to when everything else slipped through his fingers.

And in that fragile hope, Paul begins to believe there might finally be a way out. A way to silence the wolf. Maybe, with her, he could stop shifting. Maybe he could grow old with his friends instead of watching them age from the sidelines. Maybe he could have dinner with his mom again without worrying if his pulse would spike and he’d phase mid conversation. Maybe… just maybe, he could live a normal life.

But losing her before he even has the right to say she was his to hold? That destroys something in him.

It’s worse than when Rachel pulled away. So much worse. Because with Rachel, the imprinting was never love. It was duty. It was confusion. With Y/N, it’s a want. It’s longing and instinct and emotion that doesn’t make sense but feels so painfully real.

And now… now she’s slipping through his fingers, just like everything else he’s ever cared about. And Paul has never been more afraid.

Jasper stands at the window, his hands folded behind his back, his posture stiff with tension. His gaze is fixed on the wolf below, pacing the ground like a caged storm. Paul is a mess of fury and guilt, each emotion crashing into the other, neither softening. Jasper watches him quietly, the weight of the moment settling in his chest like a stone. There’s no comfort he can offer, no words that would matter. Some pain has to be carried to be understood. Maybe, in time, Paul will grow from it. Maybe he won’t. But the pain is his to feel.

Jasper doesn't envy him, but he understands.

There’s a storm inside Jasper too, but it churns differently. Where Paul is fire, Jasper is ice, still on the outside, but trembling underneath. His fear is quiet, hollowing him out slowly, piece by piece. Not for himself. Never for himself.

It’s her.

He’s terrified of what loving Y/N means. What keeping her close means. There’s a version of this where she walks away from him, alive, whole and untouched by his world. That version tears him apart. She’d be safe, yes, but far from him, where he can never touch her again. And yet… maybe that’s what she deserves. Someone human. Someone without the hunger crawling beneath the surface. Without a family built on restraint and blood and rules too easy to break. He’d make sure she’s safe from whoever Alice saw become her husband, and he’d have to stomach her dying from whatever force that’s meant to take her and he could live knowing it wasn’t him who cut her life short.

But then there’s the other future, the one where she stays. Where she lets him love her, where she accepts the way his world shifts and bends around her. That’s the one he longs for… and the one he dreads most. Because danger clings to his family like shadows. One misstep. One wrong moment. It wouldn’t take much. A sharp inhale. A cracked façade. The sound of her heartbeat in the quiet. And she would be gone. Just like that.

He’d turn her into his equal if she wished, but if he loses control before that…His own death doesn’t scare him. Not even a little. But hers? The thought of her body limp, her light gone, her smile a memory? It’s unbearable. That kind of fear never leaves.

He turns from the window, back toward her. His eyes soften as they land on her sleeping form. She looks fragile, tucked beneath the blankets, her breathing even but faint. Bruised, exhausted, yet still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Something in his chest tightens. He didn’t know it could still ache like this, so deeply, so desperately.

Last night was the longest night of his existence. The most terrifying, the most meaningful. He’s lived through wars, seen horror in its rawest form, but nothing compares to being near her. And still, he wouldn’t trade it. Not the fear. Not the struggle. That night gave him something he’s never had: hope.

He saw her mind. Her fears, her thoughts, her heart. And he touched it, not physically, but truly. She let him in. Even if only for a moment. That moment is enough to change him forever.

He steps closer, watching her chest rise and fall.

It starts subtly, like a tremor beneath his skin. A shift in the air, a scent so familiar now it haunts his every breath. The moment Y/N exhales, the moment her heartbeat stirs just a little faster in her sleep, he feels all of it.

Her blood calls to him.

Not just as prey. Not anymore. It's something deeper now. Something layered in love and madness. It’s the most exquisite form of agony he’s ever known, every pulse from her veins is a song, and he’s both the audience and the monster who shouldn’t be listening. The scent isn’t just sweet. It’s hellish. Intoxicating. Like she was crafted specifically for him to crave. It curls in his nose and tightens his throat, like breathing in fire while dying of thirst.

His mouth goes dry instantly. Venom floods his tongue, the familiar sting of it almost comforting in its predictability, yet cruel in its timing. His jaw clenches. His fists do too. He doesn’t need to feed, he knows that. He’s fed recently. He’s strong enough.

But it doesn’t matter. Logic doesn’t reach him here.

When her blood sings to him, something monstrous stirs. Something monstrous and beautiful, shaped by evolution and hunger and centuries of silence. His senses sharpen. The world falls away until it’s only her. Every heartbeat is thunder in his ears. Every breath she takes is poetry and temptation wrapped in one. There’s no greater thrill than proximity to her life force, and no greater torture than knowing it could be his with the flick of a wrist.

And then comes the guilt. The shame of it. Because while one part of him is cataloging every vulnerable inch of her, her neck, her pulse, the curve of her wrist where her veins flutter, the rest of him is screaming to stop. Screaming that he’s not a predator. Not anymore.

He closes his eyes, focusing on it. On the way her lips parted slightly as she dreamed. On the way she reached for him, without fear, when she was too weak to stand. On the softness in her voice when she whispered his name. These memories anchor him, humanize him, quiet the screaming instinct long enough to remind him: She is not his to take. She is his to protect.

Still, the craving lingers. It always will. But alongside it now… is something just as powerful.

Devotion.

And that is what saves her. That is what saves him.

He doesn’t know how long he can do this, resist the call of her blood, the whisper of temptation in every breath she takes. But he will. For her. Every second he’s near her is a second of pain, but she’s worth it. She’s worth the fire in his throat, the ache in his limbs and the war in his soul.

He will suffer for her. Gladly. Because being with her is the only thing that feels right.

There are as many kinds of beauty as there are leaves scattered across a blazing autumn forest, but none strike Jasper like hers. Not even now, as pain etches itself into the delicate curve of her brow and the trembling line of her mouth. Her lips are pressed together, her jaw taut with something unspoken, but it’s her eyes that undo him.

Her eyes burn. Fierce, with unrelenting passion. Pure and soul deep. The kind of passion that refuses to fade, refuses to kneel. The kind that fights tooth and nail for life, for dignity, for herself. And whenever Jasper meets her gaze, he realizes something with harrowing clarity, the beauty of galaxies, the music of stars, the art of centuries, none of it holds a candle to that defiant flame in her eyes. That passion makes her her, and he craves it.

She’s confidence carved in flesh, sensual and bold, but Jasper sees beyond it; he sees the fractures beneath the polished surface, the shadow of doubt behind her smirk, the sharp edges of her guarded heart. And somehow, she has brought him to a full stop in a world that never slows. For once, time stands still even for a vampire… because of her.

The door creaks, reminding him he is strong and he will not hurt her, ever.

Jacob leans on the frame, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Paul’s agreed to keep his cool,” he says, his voice flat but eyes sharp as they land on Jasper. “As long as she’s not missing a single hair from her head.”

Jasper doesn’t hesitate. “She’ll never come to harm by my hand, Jacob.” His tone is low, solemn. A vow born not of pride but of something much heavier…love. “I’d rather be ripped apart by Paul himself than hurt her.”

The quiet doesn’t last.

“You can’t swear by that,” Paul growls from behind Jacob, his voice dark, edged like a blade dragged across bone. “If she bleeds, you’ll lose control.”

Jasper turns his head slowly, eyes narrowing. “Not when it’s her,” he says, steady as stone, the truth rooted deep in his chest. “She means everything.”

Paul’s snarls. “You don’t even know her.” His voice is rising now, hot with rage and wounded pride. He steps forward, shoving Jacob aside, slamming his palm against his own chest. “I do. I’ve held her. I’ve felt her skin beneath my hands. I’ve kissed every inch of her and she,” he smirks, teeth bared, “She melted for me. You think you’re something? You’re just a phase she’ll snap out of. So you can hop off whatever fantasy you have about being with her, because she is mine.”

Jasper's jaw tightens. The words dig under his skin like barbs, each syllable twisting something inside him. Paul speaks of her like a possession, like a toy or a prize. Like she doesn’t have a mind or a will or a soul of her own. Jasper’s fingers twitch, his whole body strung tight like a pulled wire, fury boiling beneath the surface. But he doesn’t explode.

He steps forward, slowly, gaze locked on Paul’s.

“Do tell her that,” Jasper says coolly, though his voice vibrates with tension. “Tell her she belongs to you. Say it to her face. And let me watch what she does to you.”

A grin cuts across his face, not mocking, not cruel. Challenging. Then, he lowers his voice to a whisper. “She’s not yours. She’s not mine. She is her own person. And if you think you can cage her, bend her, claim her like she’s some trophy… then you’ve already lost.”

Paul growls again, shaking as if he will shift again, but Jasper doesn’t flinch.

“I don’t need to cage her,” Paul shoots back, turning to her. “She’ll choose me. I’ll show her why she should.”

Jasper doesn’t look away from him as he fires back, “She may be important to you. But she’s my mate. That trumps whatever misogynistic fantasy you’re stuck in.”

The tension between them grows, reaching critical levels even Jacob worried about. But then…

A gasp.

Jasper’s head whips around. She’s awake. Y/N. The silence shatters with the frantic rhythm of her heart. Loud. Unmistakable. Thunderous. Everyone hears it.

Y/N’s heart is hammering inside her chest like it’s trying to claw its way out, a terrified drumbeat echoing through the room. All eyes snap toward her. Her breathing is shallow, uneven. Panic flickers in her gaze, exposed and fragile in the space between sleep and waking.

Her lashes flutter as she forces her eyes open. Disoriented. Disbelieving. Her limbs feel foreign, her skin too tight over trembling muscles. What she just heard, what she witnessed, still rings in her ears. Paul. Jasper. Possession. Mates. Every word, every tone, soaked in tension, laced with declarations that were never meant for her to hear.

She sucks in a ragged breath, blinking rapidly as the chaos around her sharpens. Her eyes scan the room, finding unfamiliar surroundings and a few familiar faces. She can’t breathe.

Slowly, her hands press against the mattress, pushing herself upright. Her palms are clammy. Her arms shake beneath her own weight as she slides her back against the headboard, the cold wood biting into her spine. Her knees draw up instinctively, a shield. Her mouth parts slightly, but no sound escapes. Only the wild rise and fall of her chest betrays the panic within.

She feels violated, watched. Like a spectacle.

Jacob is the first to move.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, stepping forward with both hands up, palms out in a gesture of surrender. His voice is calm, measured, but she doesn’t miss the tension just beneath the surface. He’s worried. For her. Because of her. But it’s not enough.

In the backyard, Rosalie smirks. “The show’s starting,” she drawls, folding one leg over the other as if she’s watching a soap opera instead of a hearing a woman unraveling.

“That’s not okay,” Seth interjects sharply, his tone cutting through the room. His eyes narrow at Rosalie with barely veiled disgust before looking to Carlisle, searching for support.

Carlisle, ever the calm center, nods. “Seth is right. Either support Jasper or don’t say anything at all.”

Seth beams at the backing, smug satisfaction tugging at the corners of his mouth. Rosalie shoots him a glare that could sear skin.

“I’m actually rooting for them,” Emmett offers with a lopsided grin, attempting to lighten the air.

Bella huffs a small laugh. “You always had a weak spot for humans.”

“Just the cool ones,” Emmett winks, reaching over to high five her. The two share a look and, without another word, slip upstairs, an unspoken agreement to help tensions settle without further sparks.

Y/N stares at the door wishing she could run. Her skin itches with the weight of their gazes, and her head pounds with the pressure of knowledge she never asked for. What are they? What does Jasper mean by mates? It’s too much. Too real.

Jacob crouches at the side of her bed, gentle now, voice low. “We won’t harm you,” he promises, reaching for her hand with the careful slowness of someone who knows fear up close. But the moment his fingers brush her skin, she recoils like she’s been burned.

“No,” she whispers, breath catching in her throat. She pulls her hand to her chest, cradling it like a wounded bird. Her eyes are wide, glassy, locked onto him, pleading, but also warning.

Don’t touch me. Not yet.

The sting in Jacob’s expression is instant, but he swallows it down. Doesn’t push. He simply nods and steps back, giving her space even as it clearly hurts him.

She grips the blanket tighter around herself, knuckles white. Her voice finally breaks through, quiet, raw. “I heard everything.”

The room stills. Even the air holds its breath.

And in that fragile silence, Y/N sits in the eye of the storm, heart racing, mind spiraling, and soul trembling under the weight of two impossible truths.

Two men. Two worlds. One impossible choice. And she’s not ready.

Pure terror floods her veins, liquid ice, sharp as shattered glass and just as unforgiving. It’s not like fear in the ocean, that desperate panic that clings to you like saltwater in your lungs. This is worse. This feels like being dragged under, held beneath the surface by invisible hands. Her chest tightens, throat closing, and there's no air, no escape. Just pressure. Cold, crushing pressure. And she can’t help the horrible thought that maybe it would be easier if she just... let it take her. If she stopped fighting, maybe the panic would stop too. Maybe drowning would feel like peace compared to this.

Because this, whatever this nightmare is…it’s real.

And the people around her? They’re not really people at all. Creatures of myth now breathing, blinking, speaking around her. They’re too still. Too quiet. Too aware of her. It's like being caged in a den of wolves and lions that remember how human she is, how fragile. Every instinct screams run.

“It’s going to be alright,” Jasper says, his voice the one warm thread in a sea of cold unraveling around her.

She looks to him, holding her breath. His lips move slowly, purposefully, becoming an anchor in the storm. She doesn’t know what it is about them, the soft curve of his mouth or the quiet reassurance of the words he crafts with them. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither. Maybe it’s just him, Jasper. He makes her feel like she’s not about to shatter.

But that fragile calm cracks the moment Paul growls, low and full of fury, like thunder rolling through the mountains.

“Don’t fucking control her!” Paul’s eyes burn, focused on Jasper with lethal intent, barely restrained, like he’s seconds away from shifting. From snapping.

Jacob’s body slides between them in a flash, arms raised, but not before a space opens, an unguarded path.

Y/N sees it.

Instinct takes over.

She bolts.

Her body launches forward before she even thinks, before fear can catch up to her again. The door is there, right there, and freedom with it. Her shoulder brushes past Emmett at the door, solid like a wall of stone and she hears Bella’s gasp as she narrowly misses them both.

“Umm… is she supposed to be running away?” Bella asks, eyebrows raised in confusion as she watches Y/N disappear through the doorway, hair flying behind her like the tail of a comet.

All three, Jasper, Paul, and Jacob turn in unison, expressions stunned, eyes wide with dawning horror.

Behind them, Emmett erupts with laughter. Loud. Delighted. Like this is the best entertainment he’s had in decades. He grins, folding his arms like he's proud.

“I knew I liked her for a reason.”

-----------------------------------

Tags: @moonmark98 @formulas-bitch @ronniesreverie @anongirl007 @foxycrafterofgreenwood @lamelover @sl4t4darkling @megaprincesscakes @aj3684 @xnarixkimx

A/N: If you want to be tagged for future parts, leave a comment and make sure your blog's visibility is on (in settings) otherwise Tumblr won't allow me to tag you.

[christopher-bangnaldoskzz]

Paring : Chan x female reader

Genre: Drama

Word count : 700

Warnings: my contain moments of anger and yelling, hints of depression and a tone of self loathing.



“Damn right, I’m angry!” Chan exclaimed, his voice cutting sharply through the small, dimly lit room. The air felt thick with tension, almost palpable, as he forcefully swung the door shut, the echo of the slam reverberating against the bare walls and amplifying his visible frustration. You could feel the atmosphere change, thickening with unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. He advanced further into the cramped space, each heavy footstep on the worn wooden floor echoing his inner turmoil, while a storm brewed behind his clenched fists.

Spinning on your heel with a fiery conviction, you shot back, “It’s my choice, Chris!” Your voice, fueled by a blend of determination and defiance, surged through the air like a jolt of static electricity, creating an almost electric tension between you. You felt the weight of your words and the stubbornness behind them, eager to assert your independence despite the tumult surrounding you.

“I spent my whole life healing from trauma I should have been protected from,” he said, his tone shifting from anger to a profound plea, his eyes glistening with concern. “I’ll be damned if I'm going to let this happen to you.” His words hung in the air—a mixture of desperation and protective fervor, revealing the depth of his emotions and the scars from his past. It was a moment suspended in time, both of you caught in the collision of fear, love, and an unyielding desire to shield one another from the pains of life.

“You can't save me,” you whisper, your voice softening as you reach out and gently grasp his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers.

“You're not doing this... that's final,” he replies, his tone unwavering and resolute. He stands tall, shoulders squared, as if his very presence can ward off your intention. “I've sacrificed my childhood to be here,” he continues, his voice low and intense, “and don’t even suggest that I could be someone different without all the struggles I’ve faced.” His words come out with a growl, a raw edge that hints at the pain buried deep within him.

As you watch him, you see the flicker of emotions in his eyes—shimmering with regret, as if he’s reliving moments he wishes he could erase. “I was just a kid,” his heart aching as you take in the depth of his turmoil.

“What happened to me was something that no amount of healing could ever truly change. I understand that… I really do. But it infuriates me to think that you’re so determined to follow me into this tumultuous life, y/n,” he said, his tone a mix of frustration and concern. His hand gently cupped your face, his fingers brushing against your skin as if he could somehow shield you from the darkness that surrounded him. “You have no idea how dangerous it can be, and yet here you are, wanting to share in it all.”

Leaning into his gentle touch, you felt the warmth radiating from his fingertips, sending shivers down your spine. “I would follow you anywhere,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with an intensity that reflected the depths of your feelings. “Even if it meant burning alongside you, feeling the searing heat of the flames. Even if it means enduring pain because of your choices… I would gladly lay down my own comfort and safety if it meant protecting you from harm.” The weight of your words hung in the air, a declaration of unwavering devotion and sacrifice, as you gazed into his eyes, hoping he could see the truth of your heart.

With a soft breath, you lean in closer, your lips just inches from his, feeling the warmth radiating between you. “We do this together,” you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur, charged with emotion. You hold his gaze, searching for the trust that you hope to see reflected back. “Let me do what those in your childhood could never accomplish,” you continue, your heart racing as you feel the weight of those unspoken memories in the air between you. “Let me protect you,” you add, your voice trembling slightly, revealing the depth of your sincerity. His hands find their place on your hips, steadying you, his touch both reassuring and grounding. In that moment, everything else fades away as you both stand on the precipice of something profound.

Taglist: @daceydeath @krishastumblernow @bakedlilgoonie @armystay89 @cakeracha

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TRIGGER WARNING: detailed description of: violence, scars. mentions of: domestic violence, overdose, infant death, family death. a man's way of thinking.

[Please read while listening to this.]

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

Once, a horrible man, with breath tainted by the acrid stench of tobacco mixed with the remnants of a newly drained liquor bottle, said to Simon. Bloody ‘ell, the amount of shit that came out of that bastard’s mouth, acting like he was some kind of philosopher instead of a wife-beating alcoholic who made his sons’ lives a living hell.

Young Simon didn't understand what it meant; he couldn't think much other than that his father was telling him to burn himself alive. Something he would do, something he would find temporary pleasure in until he stole the next alcohol money his wife earned during her 12-hour nursing shift.

Entering his teenage years, he didn’t think much of those words anymore, thinking of them as just another addition to the incredible amount of shite that came outta that bastard’s mouth.

But it returned when he joined the military. He thought that's it—that “burn” his father spoke of was the passion to serve, to protect. To combat the injustices that had lingered since the dawn of time. He wanted to be the one to make at least one change, a difference. To be the best. It served him well, that fire, all through his rookie training.

Or was it fury?

That white-hot rage that burned his gut, driving him forward as the soil crumbled and leaked through the planks of his coffin. It was that very rage that kept him alive, even when he was condemned to suffocate in his own grave. The spark coursing through his red blood cells, filling his fingertips as he dug with someone else’s jawbone for thirteen hours.

It was his unbridled fury that had stayed steadfast by him when he pledged his vengeance for the blood of his family. It was fury that had carried him out of Roba's burning mansion—another one to add to his record of outwitting the Grim Reaper.

Simon went on with his life thinking that that was it—he needed to stay angry to survive in this world. Nothing else matters but getting out, getting vengeance for every cut, every drop of crimson on the dirty tile beneath his combat boots. He had nothing left to fight for—no family, no home to protect anymore. So, fury had to be the answer. Simon just had to stay an angry man.

And he grew rotten. A stray dog always baring his canines. Ill-suited for domestic life, dropping in only when he needed sustenance—something, anything to hold between his teeth to chew and tear.

Those fingers were corrosive—fluoroantimonic acid in human form, but he did his job even better than he had when he was Simon Riley. Perhaps it was his identity that held him back. Now that he was just an old soul in miraculously intact flesh, there was nothing chaining his feet.

Simon is given three primary roles: hunter, judge, executioner.

Meeting his towering figure means never going home again—any poor bastard who has crossed paths with him is presumed dead. For he has grown rotten; sometimes more corrosive than fluoroantimonic acid, even. He gets the job done, quick and clean.

Simon Riley walks through this world in fury. He is fully conscious, with a dying heart that still beats, filled with deep, deep envy for those who don't have to be angry all the time. Because as much as he needs to keep burning, this is not something he does willingly. It leaves more harm than good. But men like him never have a choice.

Because the pain reminded him that he was alive.

With every blow of the gunstock to the back of his head, he was reminded again and again. As his fist swung at the other guy and the knuckles beneath his gloves connected with a jaw, he was reminded again and again that he was alive.

Simon still hadn’t decided whether he was the luckiest or unluckiest bastard alive.

To be tortured, only to realize that he had survived worse—that he would survive this one and would have to live through the aftermath. And so on until it created a never-ending loop of hell that felt like some twisted form of divine retribution.

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

It was just one of the many bollocks his father spouted. The old man probably wanted to leave some grand, motivational words—to leave a mark. But the truth is, he didn’t need to do that. He’d left enough on him. Like all the times Simon stood in front of the mirror, shaving cream around his jaw—almost scared the shit out of his own mum, thinking he was his father.

And he despised that—the fact that he would be reminded of that pathetic excuse for a father for the rest of his life. That even after years since his father left home to lie in the hospital, counting his days from that bloody cancer, his mother still had the same fear every time she saw his father in him.

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

He needs to burn.

He needs to…

Burn.

The burning ember at the end of the cigar flares up as Price takes a deep drag of it, holding it in the cave of his mouth before exhaling the remaining smoke and mixing it with the alcoholic aroma of a London pub they visited to “celebrate” another successful mission.

As if this was anything close to a celebration. Though Gaz and Soap were indeed deep in their pints and laughing like a pair of drunken fools, the way the Captain and Kate Laswell bend close together tells him that they have already begun discussing some hints about the next op.

Simon massaged the bridge of his nose, feeling the unfamiliar emptiness where his hard-plate mask would usually dig, but instead he found wire beneath the polypropylene. He tapped his fingers boredly on the aged wood, feeling the itch to hold a cold glass in his grasp but having decided not to order anything—there was no point; he wasn’t really planning on staying for too long anyway.

Instead, he tried to find a distraction by doing what he did best – people watching. He watched the bartender serve some fancy cocktail to two birds at the end of the bar, probably those fruity, overpriced drinks that made his throat sore.

Turning his gaze to the far corner, he saw a couple sitting in awkward silence. Looks like some first date gone wrong—judging from the bloke's fidgeting and the lass staring down at her drink, not saying a word. Bloody painful to watch.

Simon glances out the window, watching the steady stream of more people passing by. London is always busy, no matter the time of the day. A city of millions, with each person having their own life, their own stories—the things they wake up to and go to sleep to.

Often, he compares it to old, half-dead Manchester for familiarities, something that might help him blend in with this city. But it’s always the same ending—the differences far outweigh anything he recognizes. The bright lights, the bustling streets, the life—all of it foreign. Seems like the gritty, depressing streets of his youth still suit him after all.

For an hour, he sat there before feeling himself growing more and more restless. Finally, he pushed himself up, ready to make his escape. Soap and Gaz protested, which he ignored before he gave a nod to Price and Laswell, who didn't question him further, already knowing him well enough by now whenever he wasn't in the mood for socializing.

Simon made his way towards the door, stepping out into the soaked streets of London. The rain is coming down hard, and judging from the dark clouds hanging low, it's only going to get worse and more gloomy. Finally, something that reminded him of Manchester.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked beneath the raging sky, trying his best to stay under the awnings and overhangs whenever he could. Droplets of water began to wet his leather jacket, but he kept walking, deliberately letting the rain soak him to the bone.

Self-preservation kicked in as he turned the corner onto another block; Simon was about to try to flag down a cab. However, his eyes landed on a lone figure, almost blending into the shadows, standing under the awning of some shop, trying to stay dry.

Simon knows he wasn't a good man, sure as hell not a gentleman. So is this sudden surge of concern some sort of sympathy, or is it because of all the times he's played the hero—saving countries from missiles, taking down terrorists, all that stuff—that now he can’t turn it off? He walks, long strides stretched out without hesitation even when he knows he’s more likely to do her harm than good—as evidenced by the growing fear in her eyes, her whole body tensing up like a frightened rabbit.

“Nasty night.” He said, being first for the sake of a conversation. That's new.

“Uh, y-yes, quite a storm,” she stammers out, those big doe eyes of hers flickering up to meet his for just a moment before darting away again.

And bloody hell, if that doesn't just about do him in. The way she tried so hard to act innocent, as if she hadn’t just snuck a glance at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Sweet little thing. It’s enough to set his blood on fire.

“Subway, yeah?”

“Yes, the subway. Though it may be closed by now with the weather.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, taking one out and lighting it. The familiar burn and taste of nicotine soothed his nerves, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why he was so bloody on edge in the first place. He had planned to avoid any socializing tonight—that’s why he left the lads so quickly, trying to get back to his blessed silence.

And yet, here he was, in the middle of a storm, talking to a strange bird he didn't even know.

It wasn’t like he was looking for a quick fuck or anything like that—he really wasn’t in the mood for any of that tonight. So why? He took a long, slow drag of his cigarette. Do you enjoy playing savior, Simon? To make sure she gets home safe and sound before a bad man comes?

And who’s to say he’s not the bad man in question?

“Subway's closed, like you said. No sense waiting in the wet.” He threw his cigarette butt into the gutter. “Come on then. Pub's the best place for now.”

The woman shook her head, managing a small smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'll be right here. Best not to trouble you further on such a night.”

Smart girl, he admitted. Turning down offers from a sketchy-looking man like himself—she has a good head on her shoulders. But as he watched the rain pouring down and the wind howling louder, he couldn't help but wonder if her self-preservation only applied to men and not to the bloody storm and the fever she's definitely going to get if she keeps on insisting on staying here.

“Really, I’ll be fine,” she said, trying to force a laugh. “The rain can’t last forever.”

And he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at her refusal. But there was a crack in her answer—the way she wasn’t entirely sure, the uncertainty clear as day. He knew the kind like her, the ones who needed someone to turn their back on them and walk away to make them think they’d made the wrong choice.

It’s just how some humans operate, and he’s eager to test that theory.

“Suit yourself, love,” he said, watching her eyes widen slightly. "But you'll catch your death waiting in the rain."

Simon started to take a few steps away, counting the seconds in his head. One, two, three…

“Wait!”

When he heard it, he felt a victorious feeling swell up inside. Pausing like some considerate, concerned bloke, he turned to face her, waiting for her to speak.

And when she does, shame leaks from her voice. “I'm coming with you.”

On that stormy night, Simon ends up sitting opposite the skittish bird in a pub, her eyes sweeping around the room with a mixture of curiosity and unease. She looks like she doesn't belong here, probably the first time she's ever set foot in a place like this, judging from the way she keeps glancing at the shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar.

The stranger ordered “something light,” and while he gives in and orders bourbon, his drink of choice for as long as he can remember—a therapist he once saw told him it’s some sort of control thing, the need to stick to the familiar, not the kind that appreciates changes.

As he took a sip of his bourbon, the woman started making small talk. She gave a name. Sweet girl asked about his job and apologized before getting an answer, saying she didn't mean to pry, that she was just making conversation.

Too sweet, he thought. Worrying about small things like that.. How do you manage to get any sleep at night?

Simon says he’s in the military, leaving out details about which part of the military he’s in. She feels obligated, then tells him she’s a ballerina—and he wonders if she sees the differences between them. The stark contrast between her delicate, graceful world and the dark, violent one he’s used to.

It's a shame that you have to cross paths with the likes of him – a man like Simon Riley, who's no better than a stray dog ​​with the need to hold something between his teeth.

Worse still, he's a sweet tooth, too.

And so, Simon managed to fuck you on the second meeting.

Fucking hell… His tongue flicked against your swollen clit, bringing you to climax, tasting your juices against his taste buds. But nothing could compare to when he was finally inside you—the tightest cunt he’d ever had the pleasure of defiling. A virgin – the thought of being the first to breach that delicate, untouched flesh—the faint crimson around his condom like lipstick stains—set his blood on fire.

Tears in her eyes as her nails dug   on his naked back. Pretty girl tried to play tough, trying to hide the searing pain as the head of his cock continues to press into you, walls fluttering in surprise at the unexpected intrusion. Lips parted in a cry that turned into a moan. Then, his name is uttered in the most vulgar way.

“Ah! O-oh, Simon! Simon!”

Something snapped inside his mind—but Simon didn’t have time to care, not when he was buried deep in your warm flesh, watching himself slide in and out of that wet hole like cinematography. Your smaller form flushed and glowing, hair spread in a halo above your head. He held back another growl as you pulsed around him, only to follow with a climax that burned through his entire body.

When it was over, he shouldn't even think about coming back. That's not how he operates; after all, he's the type to jump from one body to the next, never looking back, never a second time.

But the second time happens anyway.

Straight to London after deployment, driving his truck like he has an absolute purpose, like he doesn’t hate the city. He parks in front of a grand Neoclassical building and leans against the door, pulling out a cigarette from his leather jacket pocket. He lights it up and waits. He doesn’t know your exact schedule, doesn’t know if you’re coming to work today, and doesn’t know anything about your life outside those two nights. But still, he waits.

As the minutes ticked by, his cigarette began to shorten, the smoke swirling around it. Something wet touched the back of his palm.

“Fuck.” He looked up at the sky, realizing it was starting to drizzle.

Then, out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a rushing shadow. Simon turned around just in time to see you emerging from the building, coat wrapped tight around you as you sneezed. He saw you walking, so rushed, like you got somewhere to be. What's got you so worked up, sweetheart?

You walk fast, as if on a single-minded purpose, eyes ahead but mind elsewhere. And that’s when he sees it—a car barreling towards you at an alarming speed, and you still don’t realize it until the blinding headlights catch the corners of your eyes.

Without a second thought, Simon rushed forward, pulling you out of the road before the red image in the back of his head became a reality. The car blares its horn, and the driver shouts a string of curses before speeding off again. He felt the cold air seep into his airways too quickly, painting him dry inside yet his body wet with a mixture of sweat and rainwater.

“Christ, pay attention will ya?”

At the sound of his voice, you finally look up, snapping out of whatever nearly cost you your life. Simon watches your eyes widen like you’ve just seen a ghost—some sort of apparition that’s just materialized out of thin air.

Someone who shouldn’t be here, and he can’t help but think the same way.

In the second instance, Simon has you pressed up against the kitchen counter, his hands nomadic on your skin, feeling every rise and dip of your body. He groans as your warm, raw walls clamp down on his cock longingly. Once you’re both sated, he slings a wet towel around your inner thighs, and you return his gentleness with a bottle of bourbon you pour into two glasses.

Simon heads out in the morning, but not without letting you help him find his missing device. The damn thing was hiding in the cushions of your couch. He shoves it into the pocket of his jeans, and that nagging, controlling voice (the one that despises changes and relies on familiarity) keeps reminding him to leave no trace, just like he had done with every previous one-night stand.

Against the itch in his brain, he didn't even bother deleting his number from your log afterward. Instead, he let you save it in your contact list.

(The wandering stray dog ​​froze when the door of a house opened.)

“Will you at least call? Or text, if you can. You have my number now.” You say.

(Warm light seeps out from within, bathing his brown eyes in a goldish hue. That stray dog of his has stopped its roaming, has stopped its restless pacing. It loosens its jaw, saliva dripping down its chin. The tension in its body starts to mellow. Something delicious inside. He should have known better than to get carried away—the last time he did, someone kicked him in the shins and hung him by the ribs.

The last time he did, his house was transformed into a gruesome showcase of all he held dear, ending in a bloodbath. His olfactory receptors still remember the scent of iron. Little Joseph’s socks soaked in crimson.

You're just a rotten mongrel, Simon.

But-

That sweet, intoxicating scent spreads like pollen carried by anemo. And before he could stop himself, his legs moved towards that warmth—)

Simon ended promising a text, then disappeared behind your door.

(—like a moth to a flame.)

The pretty girl takes him to a family event—your cousin’s wedding in the picturesque countryside of England. He finds himself surrounded by happy people—people who don’t need to be angry to live. They simply love and are loved, their smiles, laughter, and kisses genuine, fueled by the bonds of affection and not by selfish pursuits.

You introduce him to your cousin—the bride—named Sabrina, then to your aunt, Joyce. For people you call a family, you look pretty wound up tight, sweetheart.

And then, just as he thinks that, your mother comes strolling into the conversation, all smiles and pleasantries. But, he doesn’t miss how the tension in your body skyrockets, your smile turning into something more forced.

Simon knew that. Because he’d been there himself, growing up with a father who was more interested in the bottom of a bottle than he was in his family; the father who taught him to laugh at a dead prostitute because he thought she deserved it—“She’s jus’ some dumb whore, a drug addict. She was hell-bent on a bad end.” Nothing good in that man, and nothing good in your mother either when you throw up everything you’ve eaten after a conversation with her.

Funny how he used to react the same way. Until something changed, that is. The fear and the shame morphed into something else. Fury. Rage.

“Ye need to burn to survive in this world,” and maybe for once in his detrimental, too-long life, the bastard was right. And as much as Simon despised staying angry, he stayed angry because it saved him.

When the big day arrived, Simon stood in front of the mirror and stared at a reflection he didn’t recognize. Dressed in that damn suit he hadn’t worn since God knows when, the jacket clinging to him like a skin that just didn’t fit right. He fidgeted with the cuffs, trying to loosen them a little.

It's like Tommy and Beth's wedding all over again, back when he was his brother's best man. Everything smells just as sweet and flowery as it did then, and it's making him sick to his stomach.

“All set then?”

Simon turns his head at your voice, watching you walk out of the bathroom, your hair styled and your makeup done in a dark and smoky way that suits you so well. Christ, the way it makes him feel.

You spot his tie on the bed, then pick it up and approach him, closing the distance between the two of you. As you stand in front of him, so near that he can feel your breath on his skin, something begins to creep up his chest. It settles beneath his ribs, burning, spreading like a wildfire. But, it's unlike the fury and rage he's familiar with. This one leaves a warmth, a pull towards you that makes him ache to touch you, to hold you.

Simon couldn't take his eyes off you, watching the way your fingers worked in and out to tighten the knot. The way you bit your lip in concentration.

When you ask him to lean down a little so you can reach the back of his neck, he’s made even more intoxicated—the mix of shampoo and soap you’re devoted to, the delicate yet familiar fragrance of your favorite perfume that always trails after you. Sweet, but the kind of sweet that leaves him wanting more, like a wild animal who's just discovered a gourmet feast.

It’s a hunger, a need, to plant kisses on the pillar of your neck and feel the thrumming pulse that lives beneath your soft and supple skin. The ache to hold you, to keep you within his orbit. Something grips his heart—and before Simon can register, he’s leaning in, brushing his lips against yours in a fervent, greedy kiss. He guides you towards the bed, his bulky frame poised to envelop your smaller form.

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

Made to cry, his pretty girl, by the woman who brought her into the world.

In this world, there are many kinds of mothers. The ones like his, all smiles and kindness, baking good pies and forgiving, perhaps too forgiving. And then, there are the ones like yours—all faux smiles, pretending to be an angel of a mother when he knows full well she’s the reason you turned out the way you did.

Dependent, easy to manipulate, always trying to please everyone. You thought you could maintain a distance from others, but all it takes is a single act of kindness to dismantle them completely—the seemingly impenetrable walls were actually brittle.

A kitten masquerading as a lion, only to purr and melt at the slightest touch.

It annoyed him sometimes, because he knew you deserved better. But it’s also the reason he stayed, he thought. Because he loved playing the hero, especially to a woman who didn’t know any better.

(Something, anything to hold between his teeth for him to chew and tear.)

As you wait in the car, he hurriedly gathers the last of his things, shoving them carelessly into his duffel bag. The embers of anger still simmer within him, but Simon chooses to be the wiser—getting you out of here as soon as possible is a priority.

“I know men like you,” the devil behind him spits. “You think you’re protecting her—you think you’re saving her, but all you want is a girl to use and toss aside once you’ve grown bored.”

And Simon stops. It strikes a chord within him, punches him right in the gut.

Though, he doesn’t say anything. He wants to lash out, to defend himself and his intentions, but doesn’t. What’s the point? He thinks it would be a waste of time, and you’ve been waiting for him in the car for too long. It would just be a waste of breath.

Yet, another part of him knows the real reason.

That she might be right. That she might be right, and he did not like that.

It was always easy to turn away from reality. He pretended to be the wiser man, leaving pointless conversation for good reasons. But the voice in his tainted head always reminded him of what he was made of, what was left of him. He was a rotten man, selfish. Full of desire without the consistency to commit—

Pretending to stay when he knows he is nothing more than a stray dog who loves to wander.

Simon slashes, rips, and kills men as sport; feasting on the raw hearts of women like his own personal dinner, collecting their teardrops like diamonds on his crown. And yet, he has the bloody nerve to think he can keep something as soft as you in his calloused hands without laying a wound.

(A predator wearing the skin of a man.)

A voice in the back of his head began to whisper, telling him to let you go, to walk away before his teeth sank in too deep and caused you even more pain. Before he became too ensnared, too intertwined.

But he couldn't. He just couldn't.

Not when you're sensually rolling your hips on top of him, your jaw slack as those pretty, plump lips make sounds that cause his cock to twitch in his boxers. The sight of your puffy eyes, the soft curve of your lashes, and the furrowed brows. He groans as you grip his thighs, anchoring yourself to him.

The moans you let out—oh, love, what is this? Why does it feel holy when they're sinning? Like some kind of ablution. He is reborn. He is being sent to heaven, and it is between the plush of your thighs—the divine liquid dripping down your folds.

You drag your fingers across the raised tissue of his skin, and he is blessed. He observes as your eyes glide over every part of his body, recognizing the differences between the scars he bears—guessing how they were created. Fire, knives, hooks.

And fuck, angel.

That sickening clench clutches his chest again as he gazes upon your tear-streaked face. This perfect creature is mourning his scarred flesh, once burned and healed, textured. Your lips quivering as you sob.

What are you grieving for, pretty?

Probably thought he was some sort of good guy who didn't deserve this. So consumed by her turmoil, she forgot that every cut and burn meant he survived; he won and survived. Can't say the same about the other guy, though. Not that Simon would—no.

He's too selfish to share your attention.

Because what if mentioning others who died in his hands makes you pity them instead? Something a sweet thing like you would do.

“Why... why would anyone want to hurt you?” You ask, and Simon answers in his mind: Why wouldn’t they? “Is… is this from your time in the military too?”

“Yeah,”

“What happened?”

“Got meself ‘anged by the ribs once,”

Simon was given three primary roles: hunter, judge, and executioner, but you didn’t know this. Nor did you know that the bastards who had caused these scars had long since died in the slowest and most gruesome way possible. That house fire he told you about didn’t spare them like it spared him.

All of this was evidence that he had hurt and killed—a mortal sin, darlin'. But you let another fat tear slip, thin red roots spreading across your sclera.

Oh.

There was always the other side of the moon that Simon never realized until now, until you did. His God—you—are all-forgiving and shed tears because the other side of the story is that he has been hurt and almost killed. So far, Simon has only seen himself in three main roles: hunter, judge, and executioner. Never the other way around: prey, defendant, and victim.

And oh—oh.

The “God” on his pelvis rocked her hips, taking him to many pleasant places—places a sinner would never have the luxury of visiting. The burn inside him twisted into something different—something warm that pulsed in the chambers of his heart and spread and crawled across his chest.

This wasn't the old fury. So, Simon convinced himself this was lust.

The conclusion must have been made in a hurry, or more like in desperation to see past the truth. He tried to bury it in the depths of his mind where he wouldn't have to acknowledge it. But Simon knew lust shouldn't last this long, nor should it leave him feeling invigorated simply because you had smiled at him.

This was—

“Gonna watch a ballet, LT.?”

Simon snaps out of his thoughts, blinking back to reality. Between his bare thumb and index finger is the special pass you gave him a week ago—the same piece of paper Soap was questioning just now. He turns in his chair to face his sergeant, greeted with that infuriating grin of his.

“Didn’t know you were the artsy type.” Soap added.

“You should’ve knocked, Sergeant.”

Soap laughed. “Aye, I did. But you were too busy starin’ at that ticket to notice.”

The lieutenant didn’t respond, just shoved the pass into his drawer, shutting it with a snap. Soap raised an eyebrow, a sign that he was still curious, but had no intention of voicing his questions, at least for now anyway.

“What’s this about?”

Soap's grin faded. “Ah right. The Captain’s askin’ for ye.”

Johnny watched those brown eyes flicker to the flip phone and then to the skull glove on the table as Simon considered something. Unfortunately for him, that was all—the damn balaclava prevented him from seeing the slightest glimpse of expression that might have been hidden behind it.

“I’ll be there,” Simon said, dismissing Soap with a wave of his hand.

The sergeant narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips in that way he always did when he was trying to figure him out. Then, he walked toward the door, twisting the doorknob. Just when Simon thought he was finally gone, Soap stopped, pausing for a moment.

“Yer obsession is gettin’ worse, sir,” he commented.

At first, Simon didn't understand what he was referring to until he followed Soap’s gaze, and his own brown eyes landed on his duffel bag. Where the skeleton charm you bought him was hanging.

Simon didn't say anything. The door closed with a click.

The voice of his old therapist echoed in the back of his head, saying how he had this need to always be in control, that he hated feeling like he was losing it, like there was something out there that he couldn’t predict or manage. That’s why he clung to what he knew and hated changes.

But as he sat in his office, surrounded by the same four walls, the same desk, the same chair, the same bloody routine he had followed for years, he felt something twisted itself inside him, grafting itself into the tissue of his scars.

It triggered an itch in his skull.

Simon stood up from his chair, jaw clenched, as he strode over to where his duffel bag sat. That voice was louder, the words he had heard playing back like they were on a cassette tape—“there’s gonna be things in life that are out of your control. An’ that’s okay. You don’t have to be in charge of everythin’.”

“An’ when that happens, you just have to let it happen. You can’t avoid it forever, Lieutenant. Avoidin’ it doesn’t mean you’ve solved it—”

Clenching his fists, he tried to deafen himself, only to end up inviting another sickening voice. “Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world,” at that time, he didn’t understand what the hell his old man meant by that, searched the whole world for answers.

Now, after all this time—after mistaking it for passion, for fury, for lust—the answer stared back at him, daring him to face it. He let out a scoff, thinking how that was the most uncharacteristic word to ever come out of that man's mouth. Fuck.

“—it just means you’re signing yourself up for more pain—”

Simon yank the skeleton charm off his bag, the metal clinking against the zipper as he tears it free. He exhales, his chest empty after he’s done what he’s best known for.

“—an’ self-destruction.” The voice finishes.

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[ruewrote]

𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

PAIRING: evan buckley x fem!reader WARNINGS: worries of future of relationship, no use of y/n GENRE: angst to fluff SONG INSPIRATION: based off of tightrope by michelle williams WORD COUNT: 1.5k REQUESTED: yes

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you always knew loving buck wasn’t going to be simple. he was magnetic in a way that pulled you in, but with that same intensity meant there was always something just outside of your reach. a sense of unpredictability. 

from the moment you met him, there was a charge that made everything with him feel alive. the late night conversations, the lazy mornings, the spontaneous laughter. it was all beautiful, but it was never easy. not with his job, not with the constant risks he took every single day.

and yet, here you were.

tonight, that all too familiar feeling crept back in, that gnawing unease you’d been trying to push down. buck wasn’t home yet. you sat on the couch, staring at the clock as it ticked away the minutes, trying to ignore the worst case scenarios playing on repeat in your mind. it was past midnight, and your phone was quiet. too quiet.

this wasn’t the first time you’d sat in the dark, wondering if he was okay, wondering if tonight would be the night he didn’t come home. that was the reality of loving someone like buck. someone who ran toward the danger, who put himself in harm’s way for others. you admired that about him, the way he cared so deeply, but sometimes it left you hopeless.

a sigh escaped your lips as you ran a hand through your hair, the tension building in your chest. you hated this feeling, hated waiting like this. most of the time, you could manage it, push it to the back of your mind. but tonight? tonight felt different. maybe because of how late it was or the heavy silence in the apartment, but something inside you twisted painfully as the seconds dragged on.

just as you were about to grab your phone and text him again, the sound of keys in the lock jolted you out of your thoughts. the door opened slowly and buck stepped inside, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. relief flooded through you at the sight of him, he was okay. he was safe. but the knot in your chest didn’t unravel right away.

“hey,” he said softly, closing the door behind him and tossing his keys on the entryway table. he looked worn out, his face smudged with soot, his hair a mess. “i’m sorry i’m late.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “you didn’t text,” you said, sharper than you meant to. it wasn’t anger, more like the fear spilling out before you could control it.

buck’s brow furrowed as he walked toward you. “i know. i’m sorry. we had a crazy call, and i didn’t have a chance to check my phone. i should’ve texted as soon as i could. i didn’t mean to make you worry.”

the apology should have been enough, but the words didn’t soothe the ache you’d been carrying. you stood up from the couch, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked at him. “i know you can’t always text me, buck. i get that. but…you don’t understand what it’s like sitting here, not knowing if something’s happened to you. not knowing if you’re okay.”

his expression softened, and he reached for your hand, but you pulled away, stepping back. the space between you suddenly felt wider, like there was something unspoken lingering there, something neither of you had addressed yet.

“i can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “every time you walk out that door, i wonder if it’s going to be the last time and tonight… tonight i couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened.”

buck’s face fell, and he looked down at the floor, guilt flashing in his eyes. “i’m sorry,” he repeated, quieter this time. he took a deep breath, his voice thick with regret. “i didn’t mean to scare you. i didn’t–”

“it’s not just tonight,” you cut in, shaking your head. the frustration in your chest bubbled up before you could stop it. “it’s every night. every time you go on a call. i’m terrified, buck. terrified that one day you won’t come home. and i don’t know how much longer i can handle it.”

there. you’d said it. the words hung heavy in the air between you, and the silence that followed felt deafening.

buck looked up at you then, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite read. guilt? pain? he took a step closer, his hands reaching out for you again, but this time, you didn’t pull away. his fingers wrapped around yours, warm and familiar, grounding you in the moment.

“i know,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “i know it’s hard. i know i don’t always make it easy for you.” he paused, searching for the right words. “but i love what i do and i love you. i don’t know how to make you feel better about this, about any of it, but i promise you, i’m always going to do everything i can to come back to you.”

you blinked back the tears threatening to spill over, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. “but what if one day you can’t?” you asked, your voice cracking. “what if one day something happens and you don’t come back?”

his grip on your hand tightened, and he pulled you closer, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. “i can’t promise you that nothing will ever happen,” he said softly, his thumb brushing across your skin in a gentle, comforting motion. “i wish i could, but you know i can’t. but what i can promise is that i’ll always fight to come back. no matter what.”

you felt a tear slip down your cheek, and buck wiped it away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours. there was so much emotion there, so much love, fear, and vulnerability and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“i don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“you won’t,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle. “i’m right here. i’m always going to be right here.”

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, and you let yourself sink into him. his warmth, his strength. it was all so familiar, so comforting, and for a moment, the fear melted away. you could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, and it grounded you, tethered you to this moment.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, but eventually, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. his hands slid down to rest on your waist, his fingers tracing small, absentminded circles on your skin.

“i hate that i’m so scared all the time,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “but i love you, buck. so much. and that’s why it’s so hard.”

he nodded, his eyes softening as he leaned down to press his forehead against yours. “i know,” he said quietly. “and i’m sorry i’ve made it harder. i don’t always think about what it’s like for you, waiting here, wondering. but i swear, i’ll try to be better. i’ll do whatever i can to make this easier for you.”

you closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. it was a promise, one you knew buck would keep. he was reckless at times, but he was also loyal to a fault. if he said he’d try, you believed him.

“i just need you to talk to me,” you said softly. “let me in when you’re scared or when something’s bothering you. don’t just keep it to yourself.”

buck smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he nodded. “deal. but only if you promise me the same thing.”

you let out a soft laugh, your chest feeling a little lighter now. “okay. deal.”

he leaned down and kissed you then, slow and sweet, like he was savoring the moment. when he pulled back, there was a quiet intensity in his gaze that made your heart skip a beat.

“i love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “and i’m not going anywhere. you’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

you smiled, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you. “i like it,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “i love you, too.”

later that night, you lay in bed with buck beside you, his arm draped over your waist, holding you close. the soft rise and fall of his chest was soothing, a quiet reminder that he was here, safe and sound. you pressed yourself closer to him, letting the warmth of his body chase away the lingering fear that had settled in your bones earlier.

buck shifted beside you, his fingers brushing against your arm as he spoke, his voice low and sleepy. “i know it’s hard,” he murmured. “but we’ll figure it out. together.”

you nodded, your heart full as you closed your eyes. “yeah,” you whispered. “together.”

and for now, that was enough.

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© ruewrote 2024.

[yan-lorkai]

Could I request a Yandere! General Lilia x Male! Reader, platonic of course.

It’s a bit long, but basically, back during the war between Fae and humans, Reader was a soldier on the human side and stood along the frontlines against the Fae, but he didn’t necessarily hate them. His feelings were more neutral towards them, and this entire bloodbath. He didn’t have a reason to anyway as they were only trying to protect their home, something he could completely understand, so even though he was fighting against them, he refused to have any fake blood on his hands. With that being said, he never did kill anyone on the battlefield, more like he’d quickly shoo them away behind his superiors back, challenging the risk of being seen as a traitor and also helping the side of the "enemy." It’s when he’s doing this that he gets caught not by his human superiors but by the Fae general himself, aka Lilia, but like before, he can even say anything, the reader basically shoves an injured Fae soldier in his arms and tells him to play dead for like 5 seconds before someone catches him in the act.

The battlefield was a chaotic blur of clashing steel, shouts, and the acrid scent of smoke. The skies had darkened, as if the heavens themselves mourned the violence taking place below. Soldiers in armor, both human and Fae, clashed viciously, their cries echoing across the plains. The war between Fae and humans had raged on for what felt like an eternity, leaving behind a trail of destruction and despair.

Yet, despite the madness, there you stood — not entirely committed to the bloodshed, your gaze sweeping over the chaos with a strange sense of detachment.

You weren’t here out of hatred. For you, this was just a duty, a responsibility forced upon you by circumstance. The Fae weren’t monsters to you. They were just... different, but humans hated everything that was different. They hated themselves for the color of their skin, their religion, their culture.

Maybe the real monsters are humans.

And even though you were meant to see them as enemies, you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate them. They were defending their home, just as much as the humans were fighting to protect their own. It was a war born out of fear and misunderstanding, and the thought of adding to the bloodshed turned your stomach.

That’s why, even though you were a soldier, you had never taken a life on the battlefield. You found other ways to contribute — distracting your superiors, sabotaging strategies that would cause unnecessary harm, and, most controversially, secretly helping the Fae escape whenever you could, so far you had saved 10 faes.

It was risky, and you knew if you were caught, it could mean being branded a traitor. But as long as you could help even one person avoid this senseless bloodshed, it was worth the risk.

And today was no different. You knelt beside an injured Fae soldier, his breathing labored, blood staining the ground beneath him. His wings, once majestic, were tattered and caked with dirt. He looked up at you with a mixture of confusion and pain, clearly not expecting a human to approach without raising a weapon.

“Shh,” you whispered, glancing around to make sure none of your fellow soldiers were watching. “I’m going to help you, but you have to be quiet.”

The Fae soldier’s eyes widened, but he nodded, biting back a groan of pain. You quickly tore a strip of fabric from your own cloak and began bandaging his wounds, your hands moving with a practiced efficiency. “I know this isn’t much,” you muttered, “but it’ll stop the bleeding long enough for you to get out of here.”

The sound of footsteps approaching made your heart leap into your throat. You turned your head sharply, spotting the shadowy figure of a man approaching, his armor unmistakable even in the chaos.

It was the Fae general, Lilia Vanrouge, Princess Meleanor's Right Hand man. His presence was like a dark specter on the battlefield, moving with a grace and ease that made it seem as though the war could not touch him. His crimson eyes glowed, sharp and alert, and you knew there was no way he hadn’t noticed what you were doing.

For a moment, panic gripped you. If he saw you helping one of his own, what would he do? Would he see you as an ally or as just another human with a hidden agenda? But before you could even think about how to explain yourself, your instincts took over. You grabbed the injured Fae soldier by the shoulders and, with a firm yet gentle push, shoved him into Lilia’s arms.

“He’s hurt,” you said quickly, your voice low but urgent. “Make him play dead for five seconds before someone else sees, I don't know. I did everything I could but I'm human, I don't even know if your medicine is different from ours.”

Lilia blinked, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. For a moment, he just stood there, the injured Fae slumped against him, confusion evident on his face. This wasn’t a scenario he had expected — a human soldier, handing over an injured Fae as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He glanced down at the soldier, then back up at you, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Well,” he said, his voice soft and melodic, “this is certainly a twist.”

“Please,” you continued, your tone still urgent. “Just… do it.”

The general’s smile widened, and he inclined his head slightly as if indulging you. “Very well.” With a deftness that spoke to his years of experience, he adjusted his hold on the injured soldier, positioning him so that he looked lifeless, his head lolling to the side.

To anyone passing by, it would seem like Lilia had simply found another fallen comrade.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, your shoulders relaxing slightly. But before you could turn away, Lilia’s voice stopped you.

"Why are you doing this?"

You made yourself this question many times. That specific question made you turn around on your bed, yet there was never a satisfying answer. You looked at him.

"Because I don't like this bloodshed. It doesn't even make sense." You looked at his pointy ears and armor. "We hate you because you're different or because we're greedy and want your land? Either way, I will not partake in this war."

A hushed sound caught your attention - it sounded like voices. Human voices. The sword on your hands was a cursed, heavy piece of steel. You looked at Lilia a last time. He was still staring at you, red eyes glowing as he watched your uneasy.

"Perhaps in another life, we wouldn't have to fight." You said softly, like a farewell. "You seem cool enough for a fae. Goodbye, general," You joked.

Making clear that Lilia wasn'tgoing to secretly follow you, you changed courses, walking through a muddy path to meet up with your superiors.

A knot was tied to your neck with the thought of having to spend time with them, hearing how they desecrated the fae.

Perhaps, in another life, things wouldn't be that way... Well, you hope.