#‘they make you feel like you don’t deserve it. it breaks the fantasy because you know that’s never gonna happen.—

[5starluvr]

You’re Going Out Like That?

Link to the request

Pairing: Poly!Stray Kids x Reader (OT8)

Genre:Fluff,Suggestive

Warnings:pretty suggestive

300 follower event

You step out of the bedroom in a fitted outfit that hugs your body like sin itself and ask casually:

“How do I look?”

The room goes silent.

Comically silent.

Eight pairs of eyes turn to you. Freeze. And stay stuck like a corrupted system reboot.

Felix is the first to break. “Holy…” he breathes, eyes wide. “You’re not seriously going out like that, are you?”

You smirk, slowly turning around to show off. “Why not?”

Hyunjin chokes. “Why not?” he repeats, tone an octave higher. “Because you look like you just walked off a catwalk and into my fantasies.”

Han is clinging to the back of the couch like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “Oh no,” he mutters. “They’ve weaponized the fit.”

“I’m not gonna survive this,” Seungmin says flatly, though his eyes never leave you. “You turned the hallway into a thirst trap.”

Changbin squints like he’s in physical pain. “Is it hot in here? Or is that just my soul leaving my body?”

“You’re going out looking like that and we’re supposed to just… let you?” Jeongin whines. “You’re gonna break hearts out there. Ours included.”

Minho’s already on his feet, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “I’m not saying you look illegal,” he says slowly, “but if I see even one person glance at you the wrong way, I’m going to commit a minor felony.”

And then there’s Chan.

Dead silent. Just blinking at you like he’s buffering. You shoot him a playful look.

“Cat got your tongue, Channie?”

He finally speaks, voice low and a little dangerous. “You look so good it’s disrespectful. I feel disrespected.”

You can’t help but laugh — which only makes things worse.

Seungmin points. “And they laugh like that? Yeah. No. You’re not going anywhere.”

Felix walks up, tugging gently at the hem of your top. “This is too pretty to share. Can we keep you home? Like… forever?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just going out with friends.”

Hyunjin pouts, dramatic as ever. “But do your friends deserve to see this? Do they know how lucky they are?”

Han nods. “Because if not, I’d like to submit a formal complaint.”

“Do you even remember how to breathe properly around people when you look like that?” Jeongin asks, genuinely concerned.

“Seriously,” Changbin adds, “I’m sweating and I’m not even the one going.”

“Okay, enough,” you say, picking up your phone. “I’m going to be late.”

“Nope,” Minho says, stepping in front of the door like a final boss. “Denied.”

“Babe, move,” you laugh.

“Convince me.”

Chan finally walks up behind you, close enough to feel the heat from his body. “We’re just saying,” he murmurs near your ear, “you look too good. And you know it. Don’t act innocent.”

You turn to face him. “And what if I do?”

There’s a pause.

Then Felix blurts, “We’re gonna need ten more minutes with you before you leave.”

“Ten?” Seungmin scoffs. “Try twenty.”

Hyunjin leans in, voice honey-slick. “Or we could make you so late you have no choice but to cancel.”

You raise a brow. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise,” Han says immediately.

Minho clicks his tongue. “We’ve been patient. Respectful.”

“Barely,” Changbin mutters.

Chan chuckles. “You step out here looking like that and expect us to not lose our minds?”

“You’re acting like I wore this for you.”

“You did,” they all say at once.

You pause. Then grin. “…Maybe I did.”

Jeongin groans and flops face-first into a pillow. “They’re gonna be the death of me.”

Hyunjin gently takes your wrist, eyes smoldering. “Last chance. Stay home. We’ll make it worth it.”

You look around at eight gorgeous, flustered, absolutely whipped men.

All staring at you like you hung the moon in stilettos.

You check your phone. Your friends are texting.

But your heart — and eight very tempting reasons — are pulling you back toward the bedroom.

“…Ten minutes,” you say slowly.

Felix smirks. “Ten each?”

You roll your eyes, already being pulled toward the hall.

Minho’s hand is on your waist. Chan’s on your lower back. Han kisses your shoulder on the way past.

The door shuts softly behind you.

Your phone buzzes again from the counter.

You don’t answer though .

[yasministration]

marlene knows - marlene mckinnon

cw: smut

Marlene knows you don’t like women. You’re just her best friend. Her best friend who gets in and out of relationships with disappointing boys who lack in emotional maturity. And she understands why it makes you act this way. This way, as in seeking her comfort every once in a while. In the privacy of your dorm, cuddling into her side, a smile on your face as you nuzzle your face into the crook of her neck. Marlene glances towards you, eyes dipping to look at your lips, and you often lean in closer, pressing your lips against hers. She puts a hand up to cup your cheek, keeping your face close to hers as you chase her lips with yours. She knows you don’t like girls, even as she encourages you onto her lap, her hands offering a comforting grip on your hips. Even as you slide your tongue into her mouth, moaning softly as you sling your arms over her shoulders, gyrating your hips on her lap.

Marlene knows you don’t like women. Especially when you pull away from her kiss and dig your face into the crook of her neck, complaining about how awful your current boyfriend is, but you won’t break up with him because you don’t want to hurt his feelings. She truly thinks you deserve better, so she runs a soft hand underneath the fabric of your shirt, caressing your soft skin.

Marlene knows you don’t like women, even when you ditch your boyfriend to dance with her at parties, body moving against hers, singing the lyrics of a popular song to her. She knows you’re straight, even when her fingertips trail up your sides and you giggle, lacing your fingers into her hair and scraping your nails against her scalp, causing her to moan quietly in your ear. She knows what the two of you look like to your boyfriend — who’s standing in a corner with his friends, licking his lips. A sex dream. She can almost hear the comments he’ll make when you’re alone with him, whispering in your ear filthily how he’d love to see his girl on girl fantasy delivered in real life, watching you moan at the hands of another woman. But somehow, it doesn’t scare Marlene away, it creates something primal in her.

Marlene knows you don’t like women, even when you push some buttons, and cross a couple of boundaries. Your eyes glance towards your boyfriend’s gaze, even as Marlene’s hands grope your ass, pushing your body closer to hers. You have a mischievous glint in your eyes, and you kiss her, lips just pressing against hers for a short moment before you pull away again, lips still brushing, but far enough for you to continue singing along to the music and smile cheekily. She risks a glance at your boyfriend across the room, who shifts in his spot. She smirks, then moves a hand to the back of your head, pushing you closer to hers. She doesn’t kiss you softly this time, biting on your bottom lip and sliding her tongue into your mouth when your lips part with a quiet whimper. 

Marlene begins to doubt the fact that you don’t like women when your boyfriend approaches the two of you, placing a large hand on your lower back and you jerk away from her, mild annoyance clear in your eyes. But you smile nonetheless, giggling softly when he presses his front against your back, letting you feel how hard he is. He leans down, and your lips part to meet his in a passionate open mouthed kiss, giving Marlene a perfect view of your tongues gliding against each other. She sees how your boyfriend’s hand slips into the front of your denim shorts, and your fingers curl around his wrist, halting his movements. You whisper his name like a prayer, and he leans down to mumble something in your ear. 

Marlene begins to doubt the fact that you don’t like women when you laugh joyously and turn to look at Marlene again, leaning in close to her and saying “He wants to see you go down on me.” Your boyfriend’s eyes are filled with lust when Marlene glances at him, and he licks his lips hungrily. Marlene smirks wide, and she nods at you, sharing a look with you like you know a secret he doesn’t. And then he puts both hands on your waist, guiding you off the dance floor and nodding at Marlene to follow you up the stairs to his dorm. 

Marlene doubts the fact that you don’t like women when the door shuts behind your boyfriend and you throw yourself onto his bed. Marlene grins when he takes a seat in the corner of the room, and he nods towards you, signalling for her to make a move. When she turns to look at you again, you’ve already taken off your small denim shorts, and god, your panties are soaked, which Marlene can so obviously see by the way you spread your legs for her. Marlene dives in to kiss you, and you moan loudly against her lips.

Marlene doubts the fact that you don’t like women when she slides her fingers into your panties and you immediately whimper, bucking your hips up into her touch. “Fuck, get your mouth on her pussy. Play with her tits or something.” Your boyfriend orders, and Marlene meets your gaze, rolling her eyes at you mockingly. But she takes your top off anyway, then unclasps your bra with one hand. Her hand returns between your legs to toy with your clit and she ducks her head down to wrap her lips around your nipple, suckling on it before scraping her teeth across the sensitive skin. You moan her name then, and your boyfriend groans, pressing a palm down onto his erection. 

Marlene thinks you like women when she shuffles down the bed, looking up at you under hooded eyes and your mouth drops open with a little gasp, watching your best friend get between your legs for the very first time. When she puts her mouth on you, Marlene swears she almost cums on the spot from the sound you make and the way you taste, crying out her name. She sloppily makes out with your cunt, one hand caressing your thigh, the other trailing down your pussy with a feather-like touch, until she sinks two long fingers into your entrance. You grasp her wrist as she begins pumping her fingers inside you, and Marlene tuts at you, pushing your hand away. 

Marlene thinks you like women when you cum so hard your back arches off the bed, harshly tugging at her blonde locks. You only see white, and cry your best friend’s name out, completely forgetting about your boyfriend sitting in the corner of the room with a tent in his trousers, balls tight with his oncoming orgasm. She watches as you pull your clothes back on, and your boyfriend calls out “Keep your shirt off, baby.” You oblige, making your way over to him and sitting on his lap, unbuttoning his trousers. Marlene shifts from foot to foot, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as you wrap a hand around your boyfriend’s leaking cock. He groans loudly, bringing a hand up to fondle your breasts as you jerk him off, slow movements making him spurt out ropes of cum in less than two minutes.

Marlene thinks you like women when you kiss your boyfriend goodbye and walk back to your shared dorm hand in hand, then climb into bed with her instead of climbing onto your own mattress. She has to force you to take your makeup off and guides you into an oversized t-shirt so you can comfortably sleep. But you let her do it. And the next morning, when you wake her up with a shake of the arm, mumbling “Marls, I need you so bad. ‘M so horny”, she guides you between her legs, back to her chest so she can rub circles on your clit and play with your sensitive nipples until you cum all over her hand.

Marlene knows you like women, because the next day, you come back to the dorm and tell her that you broke up with your boyfriend so you can have shameless sex without a man watching you. All it takes is for Marlene to finally ask you on a date for you to finally admit it.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-f017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @why-am-i-like-this18, @theoraekenslover, @animalcrossingshameless, @azure-drag0ness, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @cakiebleh, @slytherin-princess-x, @daydreamandforget, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @5sospenguinqueen, @aouoo, @spider–girl, @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @selenewowww, @paytonluvxx, @sharkers00, @joonbread, @rhettsluvr, @iluvhrj

[seeminglyseph]

How many of my OC choices are my weird imbalance of “caretaker desires meet unmet desires to be taken care of” mixed in a blender and then put into weirdly shaped moulds to see what comes out?

[honeyblackberries]

In the back seat (18+)

caleb x fem reader/mc smut

minors dni | inspired by diet pepsi by addison rae | cross-posted to ao3

word count: 1466

cw: simp caleb, soft dom caleb, he also likes to bite, pantie freak caleb, reader enables him, praise, oral (fem receiving), p in v, responsible car sex <333 (don't get freaky in a rental car irl), irresponsible intercourse (caleb doesn’t wrap it before he taps it), porn with feelings, porn no plot because idk how to write plot but i also can’t really write porn so maybe this is a secret third thing, no set pov.

names used: pips (pipsqueak but cuter), good girl, pretty girl, my girl

If Caleb is being honest with himself this moment is something straight out of his teenage fantasies. Driving along the coast with you in the passenger's seat, listening as you sing along to a song that’s been on repeat for the past half hour. Hair softly blowing in the wind as the late afternoon sun glows behind you like a halo.

You’re an angel he thinks, how else could you bless him with such a gift on one of his rare days off. The keys to his dream car—with the disclaimer that it was only a rental during his visit to Linkon—and that short sundress… His gaze unconsciously drifts from the road and onto you.

Maybe wet dreams are a better description for this. The way the hem of your dress rides up your thighs while you shift to find a more comfortable position, cotton panties peeking out underneath it.

Your eyes meet his and Caleb feels his pants tighten.

Today was supposed to be a well deserved break from all the demands that come with being the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel. Something relaxing. Yet he can’t help but feel inclined to the complete opposite. Back ramrod straight and hand, previously loose and confident on the wheel, now gripping it so tight that his knuckles strain.

“I'm happy you’re here,” you say sweetly and he has to stop himself from acting like a horny dog. “Is there anything you wanna do before we head home?”

“Eat you out,” he thinks dreamily.

“..What?”

Shit. Shit. How could he say that out loud!? He’s an idiot, a depraved fool—

“Well, okay.”

He almost crashes the car.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—I mean—I didn’t mean to say it out loud,” you laugh at him and he isn’t sure whether to be mortified or turned on.

“Pull over.” He does.

Caleb doesn’t realise it but despite the less than innocent circumstances his silly reaction makes you smile. Happy at the expression that settles on his handsome face. How his eyes light up in a way you never really see anymore, giddy and unrestrained.

‘Cute,’ you want to tease, but he’s already rolling the tinted windows up. Undoing his seatbelt and moving into the back seat. Oh how could you keep him waiting when he’s just so eager? You undo your own seatbelt and amusedly follow along. Moving to get on top of him.

“Don’t hover pips,” he instructs—in that know-it-all voice he’s used since you were kids—and you don’t get the chance to consider it. Not when his hands trail under your skirt to grab your thighs and impatiently bring you down onto his face.

“Fuck you smell so good,” his nose presses right against your clothed heat. He inhales deeply. “I could get off just from smelling you, just from smelling these,” his lips part to let teeth graze the thin fabric of your panties.

“I can keep 'em when we're done, yeah?” His hot breath makes a shiver run through you in anticipation. His tongue licks down the centre where a wet patch starts to form. “I’ll cook dinner in return.”

You want to argue that he always cooks dinner. But you want what he’s currently offering more.

Your small hum of agreement is all he needs.

Safe to say, Caleb does mouth at you like a dog. Desperate, hungry, tongue heavy and slobbering. You have to push yourself against his chest to keep steady. The toned muscles there flexing as he eats like he’s been starved.

“Good girl, sittin’ so pretty for me,” his praise is barely understandable. Voice muffled and lower than a moment ago.

One of his hands leaves your thighs, his fingers moving to the fabric separating you. He teasingly pulls it back and lets go, a light snap against your skin. You flinch and he chuckles in response. He then pushes it to the side to expose you bare to him. Continuing to lick, this time with the addition of his thumb rubbing directly against your sensitive bud.

“Delicious,” he moans at the taste and sucks at your clit for more.

You’re not sure how long you last before everything crashes down all at once. Your orgasm racking your body and leaving you trembling. Dripping right into his open mouth.

The way your breath hitches and small whines you make when you cum always remind him how he could spend the rest of his life between your thighs. Forever wanting you pliant in his hold like this.

As you start to feel yourself coming down from the high, Caleb lightly bites at your tender flesh, making you yelp. He places a soft kiss in apology, even though you both know he isn’t sorry in the slightest.

In an act of revenge you start to reach for where he needs it. Fingertips barely brushing the large tent in his pants before he grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Next time pips, I’ll go crazy if I’m not inside you soon.” At that you’re suddenly flipped around, back pressed against the leather seat. Wedged in the cramped space afforded to you between the car and his large body.

Caleb looks down at you with a wide grin. The lower half of his face damp with your arousal and his own saliva.

“Let me put it in?”

Even when he’s like this the words come out as a question. He’ll only do it if you let him, only if you want it half as much as he does. His silver necklace dangles in front of you and reflected in it is your lips, curled up into an affirmative.

Caleb wastes no time. Hurriedly undoing his pants and freeing his hard leaking cock. Leaning over you with one hand beside your head as the other grasps his reddened tip and nudges you panties to the side with it. Lining himself up he sinks into you slowly.

“You’re heaven,” he yaps, already pussy drunk. "You feel like heaven, ugh—like you were made for me. Weren’t you?”

He shakes his head at his own words, as if a better explanation came to him. Then he resolutely bottoms out inside you.

“No, I was the one made for you.”

“Caleb—” you whine at the feeling of being so full. Arms moving to wrap around his torso, not sure if to hold him closer or push him away.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to fight off the orgasm that would have had him cumming from the way you say his name. Testingly, he pulls out slightly just to push back in. Repeating shallow thrusts to get you comfortable.

“More,” you beg.

“Of course,” he kisses you and you can taste yourself on him. “I aim to please.” His pace quickens, becoming rough. You can’t help but clench at the immediate change.

“Oh shit—loosen up pretty girl.” You try to.

Over and over you feel his cock try to make your cunt give in to him, and when he feels the grip of your walls ease up slightly he angles his hips to hit deeper.

You claw at his back, the fabric of his shirt catching under your fingers. The feeling of him too much.

“You like that huh?”

The car windows are fogging at the spike in body heat, neither of you letting up until you both get your fill. The sounds of shallow breathing and skin against skin the only thing that can be heard.

Caleb bites your lip when he kisses you in between thrusts. Like he wants to devour you in every way possible.

“I’m—close,” you bury your face into his neck, trying to ground yourself.

He nearly slips entirely out of you. Hips starting to lose their rhythm, a sign that he is too.

“I know—fuck—cum with me.”

Your release comes first, and he doesn’t last long after.

“That's my girl.”

His movements slow as he spills into you. A white ring forming around the base of him as a mix of both your cum tries to leak out. He grinds a few times to make sure it stays then collapses on top of you.

The two of you remain like that for a few minutes, relishing in the feeling of your chests pressed together as you cool down. Caleb’s cock slowly going limp inside you.

His hands move to cradle your face, gently stroking your cheeks as he kisses all over with cherishing lightness.

“I love you.”

“Love you too Caleb.”

Then he has to go and ruin the moment.

“Panties please,” he holds out his hand. Asking for a treat.

You sigh, the post-nut clarity kicking in. “I’ll give it to you after I wash it.”

“Don’t wash it.”

“...”

a/n: rip need everyone to know this was initially supposed to be a sylus fic. also what do we think do we like me actually trying to make the layout nice/not write in all lowercase??

[psformybss]

Can you do one where the public reacts badly towards Drew’s secret?fiancée? I know you have done a good one but can you do a bad one?

When the World Knew

series masterlist

warnings: internet hate, secret relationship reveal, angst, emotional distress, comfort, death threats (mentioned), protective!Drew, hurt/comfort

an: fun fact i originally wanted to make the reveal angsty, actually wrote a few different versions of it and this one is one of them except more angsty than it originally was

The day they got caught was golden.

Not metaphorically—actually golden.

The light, the laughter, the way the ocean curled around their ankles as they kissed. Teddy chased a gull down the shoreline. Drew held her hand like it was second nature, like no one was watching. Because they thought—hoped—no one was.

For a few sacred hours, it was just them and the surf. A soft kind of joy.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the picture hit the internet like a match to dry brush.

By morning, it was a fire.

By evening, it was an inferno.

And by the next day, it was war.

She hadn’t meant to check her phone.

She shouldn’t have.

But the moment she saw her face plastered across fan accounts, tagged in screenshots of that photo, the dread sank into her like a stone in water.

They had found her.

Not just her name—her Instagram. Her photos. Her old high school posts. Her graduation selfie with Drew’s arm around her waist. The blurry prom pic she forgot even existed.

And they ripped her apart.

Her DMs were flooded.

“You’ll never be enough for him.”

“He deserves better.”

“You’re ruining his career.”

“He could have any woman he wants, and he chose you?”

Then it got worse.

“Die.”

“Go kill yourself.”

“He’ll leave you. They always do.”

She locked her phone and sat in the silence of their bedroom, blinds drawn, heart thudding behind her ribs like a warning bell. Her skin itched. Her throat burned. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to scream or throw up.

Teddy barked from the living room. She didn’t move.

Her hands were shaking.

Drew found out during a scene break on set.

His phone vibrated nonstop—texts from his sister, his publicist, old high school friends, “Check Instagram now.”

He pulled up Instagram.

Saw the photos.

Saw the screenshots.

Saw the hate.

Saw her name trending.

He didn’t even tell the director he was leaving.

She didn’t hear him come in.

She was still sitting on the floor of the bathroom, back against the tub, eyes blank. Her phone was on the counter with the screen turned face-down.

He said her name once—softly.

She didn’t answer.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, cupping her face with trembling hands. “Hey. Baby. Look at me.”

Her eyes flicked to his. Shiny. Empty.

“They found me,” she said, voice hollow. “They found everything.”

Drew’s stomach twisted.

“They’re sending death threats.”

She blinked, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

“They said I should kill myself so you can be free.”

“Jesus,” he breathed, pulling her into him. She didn’t fight it. Just collapsed against his chest like she had nothing left holding her up.

“I thought I could handle it,” she whispered. “But I didn’t think it would be this.”

His jaw clenched. He stroked her hair like it could ground her. Like maybe if he held her close enough, none of it would stick.

“They don’t know you,” he said, his voice raw. “They don’t get to touch you like this.”

“I feel disgusting,” she choked. “Like I ruined everything. Like I’m the villain in their fantasy.”

“No. No,” he said, pulling back to meet her eyes. “This is not your fault. You didn’t ask for this.”

“We waited, Drew. We waited. We wanted it to be ours. Safe. Now they’ve taken even that.”

He saw it then—the heartbreak buried beneath the fear. Not just the backlash. But the grief of losing something sacred.

“I should’ve protected you,” he said quietly.

She shook her head, voice trembling. “You did. You always have.”

That night, Drew didn’t sleep.

She lay in bed beside him, silent tears soaking into his hoodie. He stayed awake, watching the curve of her cheek against the pillow, the slight hitch of her breath. Every time her phone buzzed on the nightstand, he had to force himself not to throw it across the room.

By dawn, he’d had enough.

He opened Instagram. Sat on the edge of their bed. Hit record.

No lights. No filters. Just a man and his fury.

“If you’re my fan,” he said, “you don’t get to send death threats to the woman I love.”

His voice was low, but it shook.

“She’s been part of my life since we were kids. Before the shows. Before the cameras. She has never once asked for attention or clout or anything from me but love.”

He swallowed hard.

“And now, because someone snapped a picture, she’s being harassed, threatened—told to die. All because she wears a ring I gave her.”

A pause. His eyes narrowed.

“I’m done being quiet. This isn’t just internet drama. This is real. This is the woman I’m going to marry, and you’re hurting her.”

His hand tightened around the phone.

“If you say you care about me—really care—then stop. Right now. Because I won’t stand by and watch you destroy the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He posted it without rewatching.

Then he turned off his phone.

And climbed back into bed.

The internet fractured.

Some fans doubled down—called him whipped, dramatic, claimed he was “blaming his supporters.”

But others fought back harder.

“This woman has done nothing wrong. Leave her alone.”

“Imagine being with your high school sweetheart and people think you’re the villain?”

“I can’t believe how disgusting people are being. Drew’s right to be furious.”

“Love like this doesn’t happen often. Protect it.”

Slowly, the tide shifted.

Not fully. But enough.

She could breathe again.

Not because the hate was gone.

But because he didn’t let her drown in it alone.

They stayed inside for a few days.

Ordered takeout. Watched comfort movies. Played music too loud just to block out the world.

Drew held her through the panic. Sat with her through the silence.

He kissed her like he meant it. Like he was building a new shield around her every time.

And eventually, she started to come back to herself.

She started answering texts again. Opened her camera roll and smiled at pictures of Teddy chasing his tail. Sat on their back porch with her knees pulled to her chest and said, “Maybe one day we’ll laugh about this.”

Drew kissed her temple.

“Maybe,” he agreed.

[lilianne-tarot]

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Pile I

CARDS: 10 of Pentacles, the Fool reversed, 9 of Wands and 10 of Swords reversed.

let’s be real, you’ve been through it recently. Like, emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually, just all of it. The cards are screaming resilience and overcoming, but they’re also side-eyeing you a little, like, “Are you actually letting yourself heal, or are you just surviving on autopilot?” Be honest.

10 of Swords reversed + 9 of Wands? darling, that’s the energy of someone who has been dragged through the trenches but still refuses to back down. You’ve been knocked down, betrayed, or just downright exhausted by life, yet here you are, pushing forward like the fighter you are. But the thing is… when was the last time you actually allowed yourself to breathe? Because this “I have to keep going no matter what” mentality is valid, but also, who said you can’t take a break? You don’t have to prove your strength by constantly being in survival mode. It’s okay to admit you’re tired. With The Fool reversed sitting here next to all this, I have to ask, are you resisting a new beginning? Are you clinging to the past because at least it’s predictable, even if it kinda sucks? Something is knocking at your door, asking you to take a leap of faith, but you’re hesitating. Maybe it’s a new opportunity, a new mindset, or even a whole new era for you (cue Taylor Swift ). Whatever it is, you’re holding back, and the question is why? Is it actual logic stopping you, or just fear of uncertainty? Because bestie, if fear is the only thing between you and a fresh start, that’s your sign to GO FOR IT.

Now, let’s talk about that 10 of Pentacles. This card is basically the “you’re meant for success, stability, and everything good” card, but here’s the catch: you have to believe you deserve it. Right now, there’s an energy of you working so hard but maybe not truly believing the rewards will come. Or maybe you think if you let your guard down, everything will fall apart again. Nah, babes, that’s the past talking. You’re being reminded that long-term happiness is possible without constantly being on edge. Trust that all the effort you’ve put in is leading somewhere. Stability is not a myth; it’s just something you have to be open to receiving.

Stop fighting battles that are already over. You don’t have to keep reliving past pain just because you’re used to it. Let it go. Rest isn’t laziness; it’s necessary. You’re not weak for taking a break. In fact, recharging will make you even stronger. Opportunities are knocking, answer the door. Even if it feels scary, don’t let fear make decisions for you. You’re closer to your dreams than you think. But you have to believe in the life you want. It’s not just for other people; it’s for you too.

The universe is basically giving you the “stop playing small” speech. You’ve done the hard work. You’ve survived. Now it’s time to live. The future you’ve been working toward? It’s not some distant fantasy. It’s happening, but you have to meet it halfway. You got this, bestie. 💖

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Pile II

Cards: The Moon, 8 of Pentacles Reversed, King of Cups Reversed, 4 of Pentacles

First off, bestie, are you feeling lost? Confused? Like you’re walking through life with a blindfold on, second-guessing yourself at every turn? Because this card is giving me me big "I have no clue what’s real and what’s just my overthinking brain" energy. Maybe you’ve been feeling unsure about your future, your relationships, or even yourself. It’s like you’re in this fog, and no matter how hard you try to see clearly, everything still feels murky. But here’s the thing, The Moon isn’t just about confusion; it’s also about intuition. So trust those gut feelings, even when your logical brain is like, "Nah, that’s crazy." Your intuition is on point, even if you don’t fully believe it yet. Now, whew, I feel called out just looking at this. These cards are all about burnout and feeling like no matter how hard you work, nothing is paying off. Have you been grinding non-stop but feeling like you’re getting nowhere? Maybe you’ve been questioning if all the effort you’re putting into something, your job, school, a passion project, is even worth it anymore. This card is saying, "Hey, take a step back and breathe for a second." You are doing so much, and while it’s great to be ambitious, you can’t pour from an empty cup. So if you’ve been feeling like you’re running on fumes, this is your permission to rest. You don’t have to be productive 24/7 to be worthy. You are enough just as you are, even when you’re resting.

Uh… what’s going on emotionally, bestie? This card is giving me major "I’m feeling everything but pretending I’m fine" vibes, idk but major olivia rodrigo vibes, from her betrayal songs. You might be feeling emotionally overwhelmed, but instead of dealing with it, you’re either bottling it up or letting it explode at the worst times. Maybe you’ve been dealing with someone who is emotionally unavailable, manipulative, or just straight-up confusing. OR (and hear me out) you might be struggling with setting boundaries, especially with people who drain you emotionally. If you've been feeling extra sensitive lately, or like you’re constantly on the verge of snapping, this is your sign to check in with yourself. Your feelings are valid, and you don’t have to pretend to be okay when you’re not. Be gentle with yourself, okay? What are you holding onto so tightly that it’s keeping you stuck? Is it fear? A toxic situation? A scarcity mindset that’s making you afraid to take risks? The universe is asking you to loosen your grip a little. You can’t welcome new blessings if your hands are full of things you’re afraid to let go of. This could be about money, love, or even old beliefs that no longer serve you. Whatever it is, I promise you, letting go won’t ruin you, it will set you free.

You’re not crazy; you’re just in a phase of uncertainty. Trust your intuition, even if things feel unclear right now. You need a break. Burnout isn’t a badge of honor. Rest is productive, too. Stop bottling up your emotions. Cry if you need to. Talk it out. Scream into a pillow. Just don’t let it fester inside. Loosen your grip. Whether it’s fear, control, or a situation that’s keeping you stuck, it’s okay to release it.

I know things might feel heavy right now, but listen, you are doing so much better than you think. You are growing, even when you feel stuck. You are worthy, even when you’re not at your best. And most importantly, you are not alone. Keep going, bestie. I believe in you.

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Pile III

Cards: The Hermit, Wheel of Fortune, The Fool, Nine of Swords Reversed.

Bestie, we need to have a real talk because this spread is giving "deep self-reflection mixed with anxiety and a sprinkle of self-sabotage." You’ve been in your introspective bag lately, haven’t you? The Hermit is showing up loud and clear, which means you’ve been spending a lot of time in your head, analyzing everything from your past mistakes to your future moves. It’s giving "I need answers, and I need them now!" vibes. But here’s the thing, sometimes the answers don’t come when you’re actively looking for them. Sometimes, they come when you allow yourself to live, to experience, to take that step forward without needing a perfect plan. And then we have the Wheel of Fortune, which is basically the universe’s way of saying, “Ready or not, here I come.” Change is coming, whether you’re prepared for it or not. The good news? This is a shift in your favor. The not-so-good news? It might feel a little uncomfortable at first. Change always does. I feel like some of you have been resisting this change, afraid to let go of old cycles, old identities, or even old people who no longer align with who you’re becoming. Bestie, it’s time. The wheel keeps turning, and you don’t want to be stuck in the past while life moves forward without you. Now, let’s talk about The Fool, reversed. Normally, The Fool is all about fresh starts, jumping into the unknown, and trusting that the universe will catch you. But reversed? It’s giving hesitation. It’s giving fear of failure. It’s giving "What if I make the wrong decision?" And to that, I ask, what if you make the right one? What if taking that leap is exactly what you need to finally feel free? Staying stuck because of fear isn’t serving you, and deep down, you know it. You’ve been standing at the edge, looking at the possibilities, but refusing to jump. It’s time to take that risk. Life is messy, unpredictable, and full of surprises, but you are capable of navigating whatever comes your way.

And LAWD, Bestie, be honest, how much sleep have you lost lately? Because I see that ya'll are going through late-night overthinking, worrying about things you can’t control, and letting fear dictate your reality. I see you stressing about things that haven’t even happened yet. It’s like your brain is running a horror movie marathon starring all your worst-case scenarios. But let me remind you: Most of those fears? They’re not real. Your mind is playing tricks on you, making you believe that everything is worse than it actually is. It’s time to break free from this cycle of stress and worry. You are stronger than your fears, and you have more control over your thoughts than you realize.

So what’s the takeaway here? you’ve done enough thinking, it’s time to apply what you’ve learned, change is coming, and you need to embrace it. Stop doubting yourself and take the damn leap. You are so much more powerful than you give yourself credit for, and the universe is fully supporting you. It’s time to step out of your comfort zone, trust yourself, and believe that good things are actually meant for you. The cycle of doubt and hesitation is ending. Let’s move forward, bestie. You go bestie! EZPZ!

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[m-robinavitch]

TROPE TUESDAY!!!!! Yessss let’s gooook

Accidental pregnancy + sibling’s best friend with Abbot!reader x Robby?👀👀💕💕💕💕

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG MY LOVE-

A continuation of this ask here.

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Abbot!Reader

Trope: Accidental Pregnancy w/ Sibling’s Best Friend

“I guess we have to tell him now-“ you wanted to cry. Wanted to run away like you used to do when you were a kid and you broke Jack’s expensive speakers that you poked because the holes looked fun to stab. You had been feeling like shit for the last week- nauseated and lightheaded and were so exhausted even a trip to the store had you take a 3 hour nap to recover. Robby was adamant that you should go to the doctor, even looking around for the best one around where you lived because this was supposed to be just a long distance fling. A fling that lasted for 10 years almost. A fling where you call each other once a week and spend hours on the phone until either of you fall asleep- usually you first, but Robby loves to hear you sleep because it feels like you’re in his bed again. A fling- but he whispers that he loves you in your ear while he fills you up and takes you apart. A fling- but neither of you have even tried to even date anyone else because they don’t compare. A fling but other than Jack- Robby is the first person you want to tell everything to and he can’t wait to listen. A fling- because it would break your brother’s heart that you’ve lied to him for this long.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to do this,” Robby’s voice broke through the silence on the phone. He would love nothing more than a child with you. The nights where he had you asleep on his chest and he stroked his fingers along your back- he let the fantasy play out in his mind. Robby wanted you to have his baby, he wanted you to give him a beautiful baby with your pretty eyes and soft hair. Robby wanted to marry you. But he was still grappling with the fact that you wanted him. Even a decade later- he still didn’t believe you wanted him and that you deserved someone who wasn’t a mess. Someone who could give you the world and not fuck it up. He was already old and broken- even if you slowly put pieces of him back together. He wanted you to be sure because not only will this mean you’re stuck with him forever- Jack might never forgive him and Robby knows that you can’t live without either of them.

“I want this,” you wanted him. You’ve wanted Robby since you first met him. You’ve wanted more than weekend long visits back and forth every other month or so. You wanted more than phone calls and texts. The only thing that held you back was Jack. At first it was because of the age difference and it really was a fling- mind blowing sex only. But then you spent more time together and- your sister in law died, you couldn’t spring anything more on your brother. And it’s been so long now that it’s become second nature to hide it. Jack was all you had left of your family and was one half of your heart while Robby was the other half. You’d lie in bed sometimes missing him and crying because you were thinking too much about the missed opportunities- you could’ve had Robby fully if you had just told Jack years ago. Maybe you would’ve had kids already? Well it doesn’t matter anymore. “I want you.” Bite the bullet. You made a plan to visit your brother next week.

Jack was a little surprised about your random visit- happy of course because he loves you and continues you to try and get you to move closer but he’s resigned from the fact that you were an adult now. An adult who makes her own decisions. It was hard. Because he still remembers carrying you in his arms- pink bundle of blankets that his parents handed to him. He still remembers walking you to school every morning and tying your shoes. He remembers crying when you graduated kindergarten because he couldn’t imagine you growing up and not being his baby sister anymore- he cried the same way at your high school graduation. He remembers how small your hands were in his. They still felt small- sitting across from him with tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me anything- you know that.” He grabbed your hands in his, ducking his head down so you can look into his eyes and- why is Robby pulling up? He tried to tell him that it wasn’t a good time right now but you stopped him- told him you asked Robby to come. His mind was racing. He needed to know what the fuck was going on because he feels like he can’t breathe because something is wrong with you and Robby is here and- are you sick? He can’t lose you. He’s lost so much already and-

“I’m pregnant,” Oh? Oh- well, as far as situations that’s not the worst that could happen. So you’re pregnant? Okay well you can move in with him and- why do you take Robby’s hand?

Oh?

Oh.

Robby deserved the way Jack’s fist connected with his nose.

[vel-vet61]

Remmick would be WAITING for one of your sex toys to break. Uses his thought projection to tell you that you need him because he won’t eventually break like one of those toys. Can see him being lustful enough to risk a little burn to scavenge it out of your trash on garbage day, some time before the sun starts setting. He is licking and smelling that thing and jacking himself to the taste and scent of you.

yes yes a thousand times yes🤍🤍🤍 + sequel for my previous ‘pretend its me’

explicit 18+, dirty talk, peeping tom, double penetration, fantasies, oral, masturbation, filth, everything smutty above

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you’ve really given remmick something to look forward to. something to idealize and a goal to chase after. someone that isn’t just the next blood bag to rip open and then throw away

remmick still aches inside while he’s pleading to you and the stars above him like it’s some deep holy prayer all the while still very deliberately messing with you in your head

the pervy little fuck that he is takes full advantage of your pliant mind to mold you. ingrain some of his favorite scenarios into you that he has while he gets so goddamn worked up from outside spying. pathetically drools as he’s posted up in that same tree outside your bedroom window. his go to excuse was that it’s not like he had anything else to do with his time. this ultimately became his new favorite sickly way of spending it

visions of having you pinned down often scrambled any thinking thoughts you had left after a long day. remmick would have you envisioning how he’d position you, how he’d fuck with you using those impressive sized toys to his advantage

thinks of getting you spread open wide and salivating for it as he’s smiling mischievously right above you. he’d keep his jaw hung open to let a nice drag of spit dribble down until it spreads over you. smoothing you up to take what you were gonna take

thinks if he had the chance he’d line up one of your rubber toys right above his cock like it’s another fat strap on before slowly stretching you out with both at the same time. spears them inside at the same time

feeling your hole clench and try to accommodate the thick girth of both dicks. he’s as whiny as you are, gushing over how beautiful you look getting stretched impossibly. filled to the very brim. his fingers take great care keeping that toy and his cock squished together close, moving real nice and slow for you at first

he’d takes extra time drawing out the made up scene of splitting your pussy open on two bulging cocks at once, making you compare out loud to him which one is better

one moves real nice and warm inside you, don’t it?

remmick knows what his hips could do to tease you, go gently side to side before slamming all he has in

he’d shake his head in utter disdain at how that rubber toy on top of his cock ruined all the slippery, heavenly friction that helped guide him between your legs

this other one just feels so stiff and so cold… you don’t need no lube to get on mine, I promise. s’this feel good, having two cocks in at once?

imagines giving you some well deserved sweltering ecstasy, making sure he’s pounding his hips good the way you’ve evidently craved day in and day out for so long. now without having to do any of the work, leaving all of it up to him instead. and nothing else would make him happier

other visions got lodged in with the rest, soon turning into ones strictly without a toy in sight. nothing to wash or plug in and recharge. just remmick. all the parts of him. remmick’s tongue, remmick’s cock, his lips and his hands. he makes the obsession all consuming

shows you other ones drowning through his thoughts like him on his knees and lapping at your pussy like you’re his only water supply. drinking and kissing up your slick mess

visions like spending way too long with his favorite foreplay. taking his cock and slapping that fat round head directly down on the throbbing hood of your clit. watches how those harsh blunt beatings on your pussy had you writhing and squirming like he was burning you so good

when the jealousy over your own rubber collection started becoming proper torture for him the whispering in your head got a little louder. louder but still delicate in your ear, straight in your subconscious that yeah those toys may be all fun and games when you’re riled up by yourself, alone, but do they ever truly beat the feel of the real thing? and honey, d’you really believe you been all alone this whole time?

he licks off some loose saliva hanging off his lips. fangs releasing as his cherry colored eyes dilated twice the size. like he can’t handle how hard his own daydreams made him. how it was so fun to force feed you all of them right out of the palm of his hand

we both know those things ain’t gonna last you long pretty girl. even that new one y’got that you been riding like a cowgirl every night. thing’ll wear down fast f’you keep gettin’ as needy as you do

sure as shit didn’t think a proper lady like you could take all that dick in so goddamn fast… m-must be real fucking wet. I love it. you’re always dripping down them legs, getting it on them sheets

he wants, he begs that someday somehow you’ll throw away those bedsheets too. soaked and unwashed just for him. manifests it

his eyes hone in on you, smiling teeth fully out on display in the dark. his greedy dick starving for more. starving for warmth.

bet you’ll be beggin’ to feel the real thing soon. and it’ll feel good for you ‘cause I got a real one right here, he tugs on the giant tent poking through his trousers with a tight fist. he sees how immediate you are, stroking your clit with the tip of a finger at the probing imagery of his cock. does thinking ‘bout the real thing too much make you wet, babygirl?

some could call it luck but remmick knows fate when he sees it and fate was what it was. truly your timing couldn’t have been better

it looked so precious - watching how short fused and pissed off you became when one of those batteries gave out and died on you about halfway through a quickie really early in the morning. hears your ramblings to yourself about hating having to deal with batteries and has a smug laugh to himself

and it’s stupid early in the morning. like. remmick shouldn’t have even still been out. his skin slowly started to crawl and bubble and burn like it was pressed up against a skillet under the warmth of impending daylight

but you were up and at em, so he wasn’t interested in anything else. nothing compared to watching how you ground those hips down on that loud, buzzing, battery-powered one that intrigued him enough to obviously keep feasting his eyes. before you could cum for him one last time it dies on you, freezing your high mid-moan and it seems like you’d had enough

of course he’s still staring with hyper vigilance and baited breath as you’re marching out your front door with a loose bag of trash in hand, slamming it in the can carelessly before stomping right back in. watches as you head back to your room. sees your heavy head fall to the pillow. body language screaming that you were irritated with defeat

remmick goes back and forth between watching you and eyeing the trash you left out front. might’ve been fucking foolish but it would be absolutely fucking worth it. he smells that used up toy that you’d rid yourself of and shoved inside the trash. and now the risk was a no-brainer

the opportunities it gave him felt delicious, felt endless. once his grubby creep hands snuck it from your garbage he’d been fucking his fist on it ever since. gets to thoroughly smell you and taste you now so distinctly up close for the first time was easily more than enough to have him busting untouched before his hand even gets started on the job for him

he gives that cute little toy some long feverish kitten licks so he’ll get to taste the ghost of you and your creamed up slick. digs his nose right into it, inhaling hard to reminisce on all the sticky memories you’ve had with that exact toy tucked right between your legs

mm. should get rid of a couple more of these for me. right after using them too. what a good girl. tastes too fucking ethereal, baby

remmick thinks it’s adorable seeing how you toss and turn in your sleep in the midst of all his mind games. knowing that he’s the root cause of this restlessness. knowing that he’s the one that’s had the underlying thread of control over whatever plays behind those eyelids. anything that goes on in your imagination. all without you ever knowing

your name leaves his lips in a hushed rasp. he knows you can hear it when your head lifts off the pillow in real time, barely conscious before he’s in your head again while spitting down his own cock yet again. teasing himself with some wet slow drags up and down

agonizing me. tempting me. got me out here touchin’ myself, gettin’ off on your sloppy seconds, a smirk appears while he holds onto the base of it, shoved in one of his pockets of his trousers

strokes two fingers down the length of that used toy with his unoccupied hand before taking a lick of those same fingers like your trash was his own dirty little trophy

fucking shit… gonna—g-gonna make me cum again. pussy’s already the death of me—

his full body shudder could’ve sent him tumbling down from the branch he barely still balanced on. with his eyes screwed shut and that hand still vigorously stroking, he doesn’t see it in time when you’re first waking up. half conscious and trying your hardest to drill the nonstop slideshows of getting fucked behind your eyes. you shake your head and try to pinch yourself before any more paranoia sets in

he’s still lost and blissfully unaware to see you trudging over as if you might as well have been sleepwalking. in an instant you’ve slammed your window shut, ripping both curtains until they’re fully closed. the sound makes him flinch, killing the high he was about to reach in an instant

reluctantly jolting him back to reality, he finally seems to remember where he is. tucks his painfully hard neglected dick back in his pants in a hurry before flying back down to the ground. eyes barely even once leaving what was now your covered up bedroom window

alright, alright sweetheart. privacy. I get it. f’it comes down to this then that’s just fine by me. don’t gotta shut me out like that. don’t be so shy. we’ll just get you to let me on in next time so I can fuck this new attitude you got right outta you

———————|||—————————————

might def have to do another part after having this one be alllll edging too :D

[sunshinedaisywrites777]

More Than Enough (Leon Kennedy x Chubby!Reader)

A/N- To all my chubby, soft, round, thick, beautifully imperfect readers — this one is for you. 💛

I know some days it’s hard to look in the mirror and feel good about the body you live in. I know what it’s like to sit in silence, wishing you could just be smaller — to take up less space, to hurt less, to be easier to love.

But please know this: your softness is not a flaw. Your body is not a burden. You deserve love, comfort, and safety exactly as you are.

I promise you — the right person will never ask you to shrink. They will see you in the ways you’ve never been seen before. They will kiss the belly you hide, adore the thighs you tug shirts over, and hold every inch of you with reverence.

This fic isn’t just a fantasy. It’s a reminder: you are not too much. You are enough. You are worthy. Right now. As you are.

If no one has told you that lately, let me be the one to say it.

I love you.

Take up space. Exist loudly. Be soft and take your time healing.

You are beautiful — and I mean that 💜

Requested by- @cocoapowders-blog

CW- Body image issues, negative self-talk, feelings of unattractiveness, crying, insecurity, comfort after emotional distress.

This fic contains vulnerable thoughts around body image and self-worth. Please take care while reading — your mental and emotional well-being comes first 🩶

You didn’t want him to see you like this.

You didn’t want anyone to.

The shirt you wore clung just a little too tight that night. You noticed it in the mirror, how it hugged your stomach, your chest, the way the fabric curved instead of falling. You tried not to think about it. But your brain had already started its descent — cruel little whispers pulling at every thread of your confidence.

Too big.

Too soft.

Unlovable.

You could hear laughter in your mind — girls thinner than you, prettier, with toned waists and flat bellies and effortless grace. Girls who looked like they belonged next to someone like Leon S. Kennedy.

You didn’t.

When the door creaked open, you barely looked up. You were curled on the edge of the bed, facing the wall. Your knees were tucked into your chest, arms wrapped tight like you were holding yourself together.

Leon stepped in with a bottle of water in one hand, and a soft “Hey, sweetheart,” already halfway on his lips.

But he stopped in the doorway.

“…You okay?”

You didn’t answer.

He approached slower this time. The click of his boots softened as he crossed the room, setting the bottle down quietly. The bed dipped with his weight, his thigh brushing against yours. You flinched — not because of him, but because you hated how exposed you suddenly felt.

“I asked if you were okay,” he said, voice gentler now. “But I already know you’re not.”

You swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

“For what?” His brows drew in. “Being human?"

You blinked, eyes already burning. You didn’t want to cry. You really, really didn’t.

But it was already pushing up through your chest like something thick and sour and shameful.

“I don’t feel pretty,” you whispered, words barely audible. “I don’t feel like someone you’d want.”

His silence was loud.

You felt the air shift — heavy, tender.

“…Where is this coming from?” he asked. Not accusing, just… concerned. Soft in a way that felt like a blanket being gently placed around your shoulders.

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out more like a choked breath. “From a mirror, Leon. From being in this body every day and wondering why you even look at me the way you do. I look at myself and see everything I wish I could cut off. Everything I wish I could change.”

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t try to shush it away.

“I see my stomach and I feel disgusting. I see the way my thighs spread when I sit and it makes me want to hide. I feel like you’re settling. Like maybe you just love who I *am* but not…” you hesitated, voice breaking, “not what I look like.”

A pause.

Then Leon moved — slow, deliberate.

He turned you toward him, both hands coming up to cup your face like you were made of something precious. His fingers were warm, calloused from years of fighting things most people would never see. And yet, he touched you like you were something gentle.

“I hate that you feel that way,” he said, voice hoarse, almost breaking. “I hate that no one ever made you feel safe in your skin before.”

You tried to look down again, but his thumbs brushed your cheeks — firm but loving — guiding your eyes back to his.

“I’m not with you despite your body,” he said. “I’m with you because you’re you. And I love everything about you. I love the way your body feels when I hold you at night. I love the softness of your skin. I love the way you fill my arms completely when I pull you close.”

He leaned in now, forehead resting gently against yours.

“I love this belly,” he whispered, and his hand slowly drifted down — resting against the soft curve of your stomach. He didn’t grope. Didn’t tease. Just held it. Caressed it with a slow, open palm, like he was grounding you there.

Your breath hitched.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “This is yours. And it’s beautiful. This—” he squeezed gently, affectionately, “is where I bury my face when I miss you. Where I rest my hand when we fall asleep. It’s real. And warm. And it’s you. And I love it.”

The tears came again, and this time you didn’t stop them.

He kissed your cheek. Then the trail of a tear. Then your lips — slow, steady, unhurried.

“I don’t want you to shrink to fit some mold someone else made. I want you exactly the way you are. Always have.”

Your voice was small. “You don’t think I’m… too much?”

Leon let out a breath, almost like a broken laugh, forehead still against yours.

“You’re everything,” he whispered. “Never too much. Never not enough. Just everything.”

He pulled you into his lap, cradling you, arms wrapped around your waist. His hand slid back over your stomach again, thumb moving in soft little circles. Like it belonged there.

You clung to him — not out of desperation, but relief.

Because for the first time in a long time…

You felt safe

You felt wanted.

And slowly, gently…

You started to feel beauitful.

[jenscx]

LUCID DREAM — ning yizhuo

it’s been years without ning yizhuo in your life. it feels surreal; the day you walked out without an explanation. but just the thought of being able to see her again, it draws you back into the endless loop of loving her.

TAGS — angst, exes to ???, insecurity, model!ning, ambiguous ending, mentions of alcohol, making up, jmj wedding (we don’t actually get to witness it tho)

WORDCOUNT — 7.4k

you stare at the wedding invitation, written neatly at the top, the invitation is addressed to a ning y/n. you want to cry. the invitation clearly stating your ex’s name makes your heart clench uncomfortably. it’s a blaring reminder that your relationship ended and you’re no longer living in your childhood fantasy.

“fuck,” you swear, “fuck you, kim minjeong.” you want to murder minjeong, but who were you to ask minjeong to stop reminding you of your bitter ending? especially since it was your own impulsiveness that had ended the relationship. you could have been more understanding towards yizhuo, could have tried her best to resolve your conflict, but no. instead, you ran. ran like the coward you were.

you remember the brokenhearted look on yizhuo’s face, the devastated glimmer in her eyes before she had flipped her expression to another, like a switch. or more like a broken one, your brain offers unhelpfully. of course, the quiver of her lips had given yizhuo away almost immediately. you had known yizhuo for a third of your life, obviously you could tell when your soulmate– or in this case, ex, was about to break down.

you wish you had stayed, and simply comforted your soulmate like old times, but you couldn’t bear to watch yizhuo cry, because of you. you remember the look on your friends’ faces when you told them that you broke up with yizhuo, all the words they had yelled at her for betraying yizhuo. you remember the anger directed at you by yizhuo’s parents when you had sent them an apology letter. through the post, yizhuo had told you, letters felt more sincere than emails.

but perhaps the worst reaction wasn’t from any of them, it was simply from your own cat. meowing viciously when you had picked him up, bringing him together with you. the scratches lining your arms only serve as a constant reminder. mao, your british short haired, was desperately attached to yizhuo (and she was the one who named him too. what absolute luck.) his hostility could only be reasoned that he knew his owner had hurt yizhuo. if a silly little cat knew the extent of the breakup, what could that mean for you?

“wallowing in your grief again? that’s not good for you,” you peer up at chaewon, the only friend that somehow wasn’t connected to yizhuo. chaewon takes a quick glance at the invitation and giggles, “you’re going? i hope you survive, you haven’t paid this month’s rent yet.”

you merely sigh.

“the place’s gonna be filled with people who hate my guts, you really think i’m going? minjeong probably only sent this to piss me off.”

chaewon frowns, “you don’t seem pissed off, just sad. honey, you have to let me know if they’re bothering you, like actually. it’s not your fault, well– maybe it is, but you’re suffering too. it isn’t nice for them to do this to you.” you shrug in response. you deserve it. you deserve every stab in your heart, you deserve the tears that escape in the middle of the night.

“let’s drink tonight, okay? we’ll put on titanic or something and cry about life while eating ice cream,” chaewon offers. maybe it’s the thought of getting drunk, or titanic, or crying in your friend’s arms, but the offer is appealing and you find yourself agreeing too soon.

you can hear chaewon do a silent cheer. it makes you smile slightly and gives you enough energy to pull yourself up from the floor.

“i’ll go get the soju, just lie on the couch and relax!” you follow as your friend says and lie on the sofa you had picked out together after mao’s claws had sunk into the leather, ripping it to shreds. the cat was a brat.

doesn’t this remind you of something– or someone? the voice in your head quips. you groan, why couldn’t your head shut up sometimes? your heart drops as you recall the conversation between your parents when you had told them you broke things off with yizhuo. you remember your mother’s expression; disappointed and upset, a stark contrast to when you had told her that you finally found someone. the proud look on your father’s when you introduced yizhuo to them, god, why the fuck was yizhuo such an amazing girlfriend?

you caused this. you want to scream ‘no’. you’re the one who dumped yizhuo. who are you to be upset over thi–

“y/n? hey, stop thinking about it,” chaewon pouts, “don’t make yourself even more sad!” you blink back into reality and at the sight of chaewon puffing her cheeks out, holding two bottles of soju and a large bowl of popcorn, make you want to coo at the girl. you push the thoughts of yizhuo to the back of your head as soon as the opening to titanic appears on the screen.

you two laugh sometimes, mostly chaewon, but it’s quiet throughout the movie and you can’t tell whether you’d rather have chaewon’s comments about how cute the actors are or the silence that allows you to delve deeper into your thoughts. you take a sip whenever chaewon mentions how in love jack and rose are.

when you blink, it’s already at the part where jack allows rose to get onto the wooden door, while he stays in the freezing water. chaewon throws popcorn at the tv, apparently already drunk, screaming at rose to quote, “fucking move her ass,” for jack to get on. you take a large gulp of soju in the midst of chaewon’s sniffles.

“y/n…i can’t believe it… she just let jack die!” chaewon cries out, “the love of her life, she just let him go! how could she just let him die?!” you nod, trying to drink the already empty bottle of soju.

when you stand up, the whole room swirls and you stumble back onto the couch. “don’t let her go, y/n!” you jump at the close proximity of chaewon’s voice, “don’t let the love of your life go!”

you hum in agreement and scream, “i won’t let her go!” determined, you pick up your phone and the selfie of you and yizhuo greets her. you miss her, don’t you? of course not. you don’t miss her at all. change your homescreen then. you wouldn’t.

you roll your eyes and enter kakaotalk.

y/n [11.38pm]:

i kiss you

i miss you*

read [11.39pm]

“i did it, chaewon!” you exclaim, “i didn’t let her go!”

drunk you is apparently an idiot, since we all know, if a ‘i love you’ can’t solve a crack, obviously a ‘i miss you’ wouldn’t be able to solve an earthquake.

i miss you too. i miss you so much it hurts. but how could you say that, when you’re the one that left me first? yizhuo doesn’t cry as much anymore. she doesn’t sob into her pillow in the middle of the night anymore. the couple posts that appear on her instagram feed doesn’t make tears well up in her eyes anymore.

it still hurts. hurts as much as it did before. and yizhuo might just have to live with that pain everyday. the misspelt word makes her heart throb, in affection and pain, because she could imagine your voice in her head. are you hurting as much as she is? it doesn’t make the stabbing pain in her chest any better to know that the one she loves is suffering.

yizhuo stares at the glaring light from her phone. i miss you. really y/n? she wants to scoff. you were probably drunk out of your mind and sent that text on a whim. or maybe it was meant for another girl. the thought makes yizhuo want to cry.

is there someone else you call ‘baby' now?

fuck, you think, oh fuck. the read blaring on your phone, as if mocking you.

“shit,” chaewon groans, holding her head, “what happened last night? did we accidentally kill someone?” you wish you did. you take a deep breath, and scream. if the neighbours show up the next moment, it’s totally because of the night before, and not your scream at 8 in the morning.

you calm down. eventually. you calm down after chaewon grabs your shoulders and wiggles you back and forth, yelling for you to get your shit together. it only worsens the raging headache the both of you have. if rent wasn’t so high nowadays, you would have immediately fled and lived alone. kim chaewon with a hangover was not a good sight.

“whatever! you drunk texted your ex! whatever! hashtag yolo right— ah fuck, the room is spinning,” chaewon shrieks, “ugh, why did we drink so much?! but! your life isn’t over! so what if you texted her? it’s okay, we stay delusional and pretend things never happened!”

despite the wacky talk chaewon gives, it actually helps. texting yizhuo, while drunk, was a mistake. you nod hastily, “i get what you’re saying, but please let me go.”

chaewon loosens her grip, pursed lips as she huffs, “the most badass thing you can do now is go to the wedding.”

your eyes widen, “what the hell? kim chaewon, are you crazy? no, you’re insane.”

your roommate only grins lazily, “it came with a plus one invite, right? i’ll go with you. it’ll be okay! and don’t you wanna see your friends again?”

“i do, but most of them hate my guts,” you wince, recalling the angry messages left by aeri and minjeong, none from jimin, that probably speaks for itself what she thought of you, “they were yizhuo’s friends first, and mine second. when it comes to things like this, they would, rightfully so, take yizhuo’s side.”

chaewon whistles, “yeah it’s not looking too good for you right now.”

you flop onto the couch, sighing, “if i see yizhuo, i’ll freeze up and make a fool of myself.” your hands fly to rub at your eyes, groaning miserably, “i guess i’m not over her.”

chaewon slides into the space next to you, scoffing, “you think? having her number saved and pinned is crazy and the last time we talked before this, you were in love with her. what happened?”

your heart constricts painfully. you never spoke about your breakup to anyone, only asking chaewon if she still needed someone to split rent with. the moment you had uttered those words, you had left the shared apartment with yizhuo, not turning back to watch the love of your life collapse.

“i…” your throat dries up, “i was in love with her, i guess i still am. i don’t doubt that she felt the same for me, but maybe not anymore. our relationship was the best thing to ever happen to me. the happiest years of my life were when i was with yizhuo. she made me feel alive.”

tears prick at your eyes involuntarily. chaewon’s gaze is full of pity and comfort. sympathy. no one else gave you that.

“she wanted to get married, chaewon,” you whisper, “she was ready for marriage. i wasn’t.”

“oh.”

“i saw her looking at engagement rings one day and god, it was like, how have i never noticed before? she always shows me videos of weddings and how she would want her wedding to be like, but i never stopped to think whether i wanted marriage. i didn’t know what i would say if yizhuo just proposed. would it have hurt less for her if i said no rather than breaking up with her?”

chaewon presses a comforting hand to your shoulder, sighing, “i’m sorry, i literally see two of you right now but i’ll try to articulate this as best as i can.” her words draw out a hollow laugh from you. “you just weren’t ready yet, and yeah, you should have communicated that to her before jumping in to break up, but have you ever thought that you weren’t ready because you didn’t love her enough?”

you swallow, tears flowing down your cheeks freely, “n-no, i love her. she’s my favourite person. i love her so much, too much even. but getting married? that’s a lifelong commitment. i just didn’t know if she was sure that she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with… me. she has her whole life figured out. she’s a rich model who could have anyone else. we were childhood friends first, before girlfriends. and now she’s certain that she wants to marry me? what if there’s someone better for her out there? she’s only been chained to me because we got together so young. i just… had to let her go.”

“commitment issues,” chaewon states, “you have severe commitment issues.”

“i guess so,” you let out a watery laugh. your roommate chuckles, “you want her back?”

“yeah, i’m desperate.”

“let’s go to the wedding.”

you send a small smile to chaewon, “thanks, roomie.”

“i saw the invite by the way, and damn, are your friends rich? don’t get me wrong, i’m going as your moral support but the free buffet too—”

“i’m literally going to strangle you.”

yizhuo twirls the pen in her hand, watching it glide across her fingers and abruptly landing on the wooden table with a thud. she couldn’t stand seeing all the wedding preparations and chose to hide in jimin’s study. the door creaks open, a figure stands by the doorway.

“hello jimin unnie, aren’t you meant to be looking over the finishing touches of your wedding?” yizhuo asks, her smile dimming as she thinks about marriage. jimin frowns, “minjeong’s doing that. she told me to come check up on you.”

“me?”

“i know how you feel about weddings. we all do,” jimin says bluntly. yizhuo’s lips fall into a thin line. of course her friends were aware. they helped pick out the ring for god’s sake. the weight of a velvet box lying in her bedside table haunts her dreams.

yizhuo stands up from her desk, inching closer to jimin, a faux smile on her face, “you don’t have to worry about me. it’s your special day after all.”

“not yet, but let me worry about my friend for a while more before i get married,” jimin mutters, “minjeong sent an invite to y/n.” yizhuo’s whole body tenses up. a blurry image of you appears in her brain. she immediately shuts that down.

biting the inside of her cheek, yizhuo turns away from jimin with folded arms, “and? did she say she was coming?”

yizhuo hears jimin’s hesitance.

“just say it.”

jimin clears her throat, “she’s coming with a plus one.”

a distant thought forms. a plus one. your new girlfriend? did you find someone else? were you coming to the wedding to flaunt your new lover? yizhuo wasn’t dumb, she knew that her friends disliked you, heavily. minjeong most definitely sent out that invitation with disgust. jimin told her what minjeong had said to you. aeri had barely brushed it off, saying you weren’t worth her time scolding, despite the chain of messages she sent. she knew that you were aware they hated you. why would you come to the wedding?

“i-i’m not sure what’s their relationship, but her name is kim chaewon and oh my god, minjeong’s gonna kill me, y/n requested for a shared hotel room,” jimin utters out nervously. yizhuo’s eyes turn into slits. a shared hotel room?

“i see,” yizhuo says indifferently, contrasting the feelings bubbling inside her, “that’s good to know.”

jimin places a hand on yizhuo’s shoulder, “hey, it could all mean nothing, i don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“does it matter when i’m already like this?” yizhuo retorts back.

“i hope you don’t do anything stupid. before everything, you’re still my friend. if y/n showing up makes you uncomfortable, i’ll tell her she’s not invited,” jimin says softly, “minjeong will understand. you come first.”

“it’s your wedding, jimin. i won’t be a burden to you guys. it’s your day,” yizhuo mirrors jimin’s frown.

jimin’s shoulders slack.

“it’s not about that,” the older girl retorts, exasperated.

“what is it about then?”

“i don’t think minjeong will stay neutral and be calm when she sees y/n,” jimin groans, “she’ll probably pick a fight with her and i don’t want my wife to be stressed and angry on her wedding day.”

yizhuo can’t help teasing jimin, “wife, huh?”

jimin smirks, “yes, wife. you know last week, minjeong called me—”

“oh kay! i think you should go!” yizhuo yells, saving herself from the details of her friends’ intimate lives. jimin cackles maniacally as she leaves the study. yizhuo sighs and leans her head against the wooden door. jimin’s footsteps can be heard as she walks downstairs, along with the voices of her friends. they’re all scattered and anxious, she hears the distant shouting of minjeong and aeri. despite the noise around her, yizhuo feels somewhat at peace. for now. she doesn’t know what she’s going to do the moment you come to the wedding.

because despite what everyone else says, yizhuo cannot move on. you were literally half of her life and more. when you had uttered those words of devastation, it was like the world had ended. a terrible nightmare that tortured yizhuo every single day. was she too overbearing? sometimes— well, last time, you had mentioned that she was a very affectionate and clingy girlfriend. was that the sole reason? yizhuo frowns. no, that couldn’t be. you were equally as physically needy as her.

maybe you had found someone new? the plus one that was coming? that didn’t seem plausible either. if you were cheating, yizhuo would most definitely know and you abhorred cheaters anyway.

as she wrecked her mind for reasons, a common past time she developed after you had left, the constant rewinding of the conversation had been engraved in her brain eternally.

(yizhuo had just gotten off work, a smile on her face as she entered the house, heels clacking against the floor. the thought of you waiting at home impatiently for her only brought her smile to widen. maybe you would run up to her and embrace her warmly, complaining about how long she took. yet, neither of those happened and she’s left staring at you, hunched over, at the dining table, a suitcase packed by your side.

“what are you doing?” she had asked curiously. were you going on a trip? begrudgingly, you had gotten up, a sombre look on your face as you whispered, “yizhuo…”

that ticked yizhuo off. you never called her yizhuo. it was always baby, honey, sweetheart. but never yizhuo. it sounded so foreign and cold coming from your lips.

“what’s wrong? is everything okay?” she asked.

your face contorts into one of utter desperation and heartbreak, “i think we should break up.”

yizhuo’s mind had gone blank. she had never anticipated hearing those words from you. break up? that wasn’t in her future with you. her heart clenched uncomfortably against her ribcage and her throat constricted, to the point she couldn’t mutter a single word.

taking advantage of her silence, you run your fingers through your hair, the hair that yizhuo would so lovingly comb through every night as she whispered words of devotion into your ear, “i want to break up.”

“no.” is the only thing yizhuo can say. wide-eyed and stupefied, “no.”

you look as stunned as she is, yet the stark difference between the two of you, are the tears that threaten to tip over at every passing second in your eyes.

“yizhuo,” you pleaded, “i’m sorry. i can’t.”

“why are you doing this?” she croaked out, demanding an answer. the weight of the velvet box in her purse felt like it was dragging her down to the darkest pits of hell. she couldn’t imagine something like this ever happening. you were meant to be her happily ever after.

“i—”

yizhuo couldn’t stand it anymore. “tell me why you want to break up!” she yelled, the confusion and fatigue of her body overwhelming everything.

“i… please… don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“you don’t love me anymore? you found someone else?” yizhuo accused. of course, none of these were the true reasons. you couldn’t even look at yizhuo in the eye before murmuring an apology again and grasping the suitcase in your hand.

“i love you,” you had whispered at the door, “i’m sorry.”

yizhuo doesn’t even respond. pure shock overtaking her as she watched you leave. the moment the door had closed, sobs took over yizhuo as she collapsed on the floor, heartbroken and devastated at losing the love of her life.

if you truly loved her, you wouldn’t have left so easily.)

that statement plagues yizhuo’s mind for the next few years. it replays in her head repeatedly, like a broken mantra. she knows that it’s unhealthy; to be thinking of you every night before she succumbs to a dreamless sleep. yet, sometimes, yizhuo prays that she might be dreaming, and when she wakes up, you would be right by her side. jimin thinks she should get a therapist. but yizhuo doesn’t want to get over you. she fears that you might just become a hazy memory, lost in anger and grief. she doesn’t want that to happen. because despite everything, the pain you have caused her, she still loves you.

it’s strange, the way love works. yizhuo hates you for doing this to her; ruining her for anyone else because if they even bore a similar trait to you, she would just break down. like the blind date aeri had set her up on long ago. fresh out of the breakup, and with extreme bribery and convincing, yizhuo had met shen xiaoting, one of aeri’s friends, over dinner. aeri had said that maybe yizhuo needed someone closer to her culture, and with the homesickness she felt constantly, the lack of comforting words that you provided, yizhuo agreed.

that date was the whole reason aeri stopped asking yizhuo to go on blind dates, for when xiaoting had mentioned that she liked cats, yizhuo had started bawling, the memory of you playing with your own pet cursing her mind.

it was embarrassing to say the least, and even more embarrassing to explain to xiaoting that it wasn’t her fault. the poor girl had thought yizhuo had something against cats. aeri apologised endlessly as yizhuo cried, with an awkward xiaoting patting her shoulder. at least they became friends.

maybe, with the support of her friends, yizhuo would be able to stand the sight of you at the wedding. it would be totally fine! and if she sees you with someone new, maybe, just maybe, it would give her the motivation to finally get over you.

honestly, screw everything. you literally hate chaewon right now. thankfully, jimin and minjeong had provided a one night stay at the hotel. your apartment (and mao) was being taken care of by sakura, one of chaewon’s friends. there was apparently a party before the actual day. you assumed they would just want a shared bachelorette party. however, your self-proclaimed wingman was cozying up to one of the guests. by her straight posture and gentle expression, she was probably nakamura kazuha from high school. yizhuo was friends with her, you remember.

you couldn’t believe that all those words of encouragement had flown out the window the moment chaewon locked eyes with the ‘love of her life’. you roll your eyes, already annoyed with your friend. somehow, you still hadn’t spotted yizhuo amongst the crowd.

most of them, you didn’t recognise. some, from high school and college. the rest, probably family members. maybe some faces stood out, like shin ryujin from history class or jang wonyoung, the valedictorian. but mostly, unrecognisable. from the various mops of hair in the crowd, you spot uchinaga aeri’s infamous smirk. you wonder where the rest of the group are.

you sigh, taking a lonely sip of the champagne they provided. at least it was good.

chaewon’s obnoxious laughter fills the area. it’s loud and irritating, or maybe you’re just easily annoyed right now. kazuha just stares at her, all confused. it’s a little funny.

“y/n.” a steely voice rings out from the crowd. you whip your head, heart racing at the familiar but dreadful tone.

“oh,” you whisper, horror-stricken. you weren’t prepared to meet them now!

the older girl merely stares at you, before you bow your head hesitantly, “congratulations on your marriage.”

jimin visibly loosened up, her eyes twinkling and shining with adoration, “thank you.” perhaps out of all of yizhuo’s friends, jimin was the one who hated you the least. she didn’t bother scolding you or cursing you out, only choosing to glare at you.

“i think we should talk,” she finally says after a moment of silence. you wholeheartedly agree with her. if you were meant to see yizhuo tomorrow, you definitely needed another friend that wasn’t chaewon.

she brings you out of the function room, the starry night sky being the only company outside. jimin takes a long gulp of her champagne.

“why’d you really break up with yizhuo?”

the patiently and dedicated stitches of a sewed wound are ripped apart, directly exposing your bleeding heart and emotions. everything comes falling apart the moment she asks. you can only stare at her.

“i… i made a mistake,” you shake your head, “i wasn’t ready.”

jimin, patient as always, hums, urging you to continue.

“she wanted to get married. i didn’t,” you say, with grief and regret lacing your every word, because everything would be fine if you had just talked to yizhuo.

“we helped her pick out the ring,” jimin adds. you only feel more guilty.

“i can’t give her the life she wants, unnie,” the endearing term of intimacy slips out, a cry filled with desperation, “she deserves the world and i can’t give her that.”

“you were her world. it’s that simple. she only ever wanted you.”

hurt gnaws at your heart, it’s palpitating with raw stabs that echo of your heartbreak.

“i don’t deserve her,” you sigh, “i had to let her go. i couldn’t bear to see the look on her face if i refused her engagement.”

jimin nods, “i understand your fear. but i hate the fact that this could have been solved with an explanation.”

you groan, anger coursing through your veins. you were so upset and narrow-minded at the time. the only solution was to seemingly break up with yizhuo. it would spare her the everlasting pain from a rejection of her proposal.

“i know, i just couldn’t at that time.”

the older girl tries to smile. it’s akin to one of those encouraging ones she would give right before an exam or test. it sparks a shiver of nostalgia.

“jagiya, where are you— oh.”

jimin quickly straightens up, swiftly turning around to face minjeong with a grin, “hey, mindoong.”

you tense up, your fingers wrapping around the glass tightly.

“glad you could make it,” minjeong’s eyes flicker up and down your body, venom evident in her tone as she hisses, “y/n.”

nodding, you reply, “thank you for inviting me.”

the tension is overbearing; with minjeong’s glares, jimin’s beaming smile and your awkward shuffling, you couldn’t wait to retreat to the comfort of your hotel room.

“where’s your girlfriend?” minjeong suddenly asks. you stare at her, confused, “my what?”

jimin’s eyes widen as she hastily pulls minjeong aside, frantically whispering in her ear. but like the past, jimin has never been a good whisperer. you catch phrases like ‘she might not be her girlfriend’ and ‘what if yizhuo hears?’. a looming sensation brews in your stomach.

“kim chaewon? is that her name?” minjeong asks harshly, “didn’t take you to like korean girls, i thought you liked chinese girls instead.”

you’re visibly taken aback. what was minjeong saying? chaewon? your girlfriend? since when was chaewon your girlfriend?

“uh,” despite your fear of minjeong yelling at you, your words come out firmly, “chaewon isn't my girlfriend.”

minjeong falters slightly before scoffing, “yeah right. you don’t have to lie now. we all know that you left yizhuo for some other girl.”

your heart stops. what?

what was she saying?

leaving yizhuo for another girl?

“i— i would never… that’s—”

“minjeong unnie, that’s enough.”

you’ve thought of this moment forever. every single day after the break up. you’ve thought of running back into her arms, apologising endlessly for even thinking of breaking up with her. you’ve thought of how she would accept you graciously with murmurs of comfort, because that was just how she was. a gracious and generous girl who deserved the world. you’ve thought of her bright smile and gleaming eyes.

you’ve never thought of her staring at you, a dull and saddened look on her face.

“ning—”

“minjeong unnie,” she pleads, “please.”

the watery gaze must have swayed minjeong over. you would know, having fallen prey to her puppy eyes before. yizhuo slides the door open, watching intently as minjeong and jimin leave.

“good luck,” jimin whispers just before she steps away. you think you need all the luck in the world right now.

yizhuo lets out a heavy sigh once the door slides closed. she gazes at you for a second. you’re taken back to your younger days, where every day was spent just staring at yizhuo. you had proclaimed confidently that yizhuo was the most gorgeous girl on earth. you aren’t wrong. the years you spent apart from her had done her generously. it had only been two, yet, yizhuo looked more mature and sure of herself.

“did you really find someone new?” she whispers, shattering the glass of ignorance. you swallow, shaking your head, “no.”

yizhuo thinks back to the drunken message you had sent.

“was that on purpose? that text you sent,” she asks, eyes wide and afraid of your answer.

you shake your head again, “i was drunk. i’m sorry.”

“i hate you, you know that right?” yizhuo says. before, you had imagined the piercing stab of pain that came with those words. you had thought it would be the end of your life, with the girl you loved the most saying she hated you.

it’s understandable now, and inevitable.

“i know,” you whisper.

yizhuo continues to stare at you. somehow, this all feels like a fever dream, one that she’ll wake up from soon. it feels unreal to have you in front of her again.

she takes in the sight of you, memorising every detail for if you leave again.

“why’d you come then?”

there are many reasons that you can say, with varying degrees of truthfulness; to congratulate jimin and minjeong, to see your friends again, to just visit your hometown.

“i wanted to see you.” it’s the truthest thing you’ve ever said.

“you can’t,” yizhuo inhales sharply, “yo-you can’t just show up like this.”

“i know, i’m sorry.”

your head hangs lowly.

“tell me the real reason why you left.”

you had expected this.

she would want closure.

your throat constricts uncomfortably.

“i… yizhuo…”

“tell me.” it feels similar to your past.

yizhuo looks as beautiful as ever. she’s the only thing you can think of right now. her lips are moving, yet you don’t hear a single thing.

“i didn’t want marriage.”

oh.

the girl’s eyebrows furrow. her eyes turning into slits of anger as she takes in a deep breath. you know she’s about to start tearing up. maybe you should quickly explain yourself.

it’s your only chance.

“i saw you looking at engagement rings and i knew i wouldn’t be ready if you got down on one knee. you’re a model, for god’s sake. you had a prospering career, being tied down to someone like me wouldn’t bring you any benefits,” you finally say. it’s not the full reason why, but you hope yizhuo would understand even a semblance of your choice.

“i know that it’s a shitty excuse. i know that i’m a coward. but what else was i meant to do?”

yizhuo huffs.

“talked to me. you could have talked to me.”

you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“would that stop me from breaking your heart?”

the love of your life stands before you. yet, it seems like the only words of devotion you’ll exchange is how devoted she is to hating you. yizhuo crosses her arms, frowning, “yes. i’d much rather have a minute of heartbreak than years of it. you’re such a prick.”

“yizhuo—”

“no, you don’t get to do this,” she points a finger at your chest, prodding the area where your head resides ferociously, “you can’t just come back, explain yourself with an extremely stupid reason, and expect that i would be okay with it. you sent me a drunk text, saying you missed me. how come i don’t feel anything?”

“i love you, yizhuo. i just did what i thought was right in that moment—”

the only thing you can hear is your heart shattering into pieces at the sight of tears falling down her face. yizhuo sniffles, her voice becoming shrill as she adds on, “you’re an asshole. you think you’re the only one in this relationship? you didn’t even explain yourself properly. you think you’re making the right choices for us? for me?”

you continue to stare at her blankly.

the next words come out like a gunshot, “then you don’t know me at all.”

it snaps onto your skin, leaving a scathing burn and engraving ning yizhuo’s name into your body. your insides coil up painfully. hearing yizhuo’s cries as you left years ago had been torturous, but nothing beats her breaking down in front of you right this instant. you’re overcome with a striking urge to pull her into your arms and whisper words of affection into her ears, promising her to never leave. the pet name leaves your mouth quicker than you can think.

“baby—”

a sharp stinging sensation sears in your right cheek. you can feel the affected area heating up, scorching hot and red. yizhuo’s handprint is evident, singed in your skin.

an onslaught of tears rises, but you’re determined to not let them fall.

“okay,” you whisper, unable to say anything else to the equally stunned yizhuo, “i’ll leave. i’m sorry.”

the girl just stands outside in the cold, her eyes bloodshot and cheeks rosy from the wind. before you go, the slight shiver that runs through her body makes you hesitate. the comfort of your jacket feels like a heavy burden now.

maybe you would get slapped again. but at least yizhuo wouldn’t be cold.

gently taking it off, you encase yizhuo in your jacket, biting your cheek (which still hurts!) to resist a smile at how it covers her small figure. she gazes at you like a deer caught in headlights. you sigh and try to move your legs, but they feel like jelly. with much difficulty, you finally make it to the door, using the frame to stabilise your wobbly walking.

when you turn back, yizhuo isn’t staring at you, but she’s staring at the night sky, more specifically, the moon. you take one last look at her. the weight on your shoulders is gone now. and all that is left is a longing feeling to have yizhuo back in your arms again. but maybe, you could live with that.

sliding the door open, you go back into the function room. the crowd had dispersed, leaving just a few people chatting around. you spot jimin and minjeong talking while drinking. aeri’s at the bar, engaged in a conversation with a waitress. chaewon, god bless her, is relatively nearby, while kazuha is nowhere to be found.

“chaewon,” you breathe out, relieved. she turns to you, startled, “oh damn, what happened to your face? you look a little…”

“i know,” you laugh dryly, “i think it’s time for us to leave and go to sleep now.”

chaewon doesn’t argue and instead nods, her eyes drawn to the reddening mark across your cheek. even in the dark light, she could still notice the imprints of someone’s fingers.

“she slapped you?” she asks while you head towards the elevator.

“yeah,” you scratch the back of your neck, “we kind of… argued.”

chaewon laughs heartily at your misfortune. you’re glad at least this brings someone joy. maybe minjeong too. she would love to see you in pain.

“i think you should get some rest buddy,” she pats your back. you nod, feeling as if sleep was just an arm’s reach away.

the conversation with yizhuo had drained you significantly, both mentally and physically. and maybe you should put some ointment on the red area too. you might wake up with a bruise or something tomorrow.

the urge to flop into bed is too strong as chaewon slides the keycard into the slot. the door opens, revealing a luxurious hotel suite with a king-sized bed. you remember requesting for a shared room. it was to mainly prevent yourself from doing anything reckless when drunk. you’d have chaewon to keep you grounded.

“did you get kazuha’s number?” you ask as chaewon throws her face cleanser at you. the girl giggles, “yeah. she’s so cute.”

you subtly cringe at the lovestruck look in her eyes.

groaning, you head into the bathroom. your eyes widen as you prod at your cheek, shocked that yizhuo landed such a heavy hit. damn, has she been going to the gym lately? the yizhuo back then barely had any strength to resist your tickles. there wasn’t any surging hot anger left from yizhuo slapping you, just a dull and yearning hope for her. maybe you should calm yourself down by taking a cold shower.

after dowsing yourself with water, you padded out of the bathroom, only to discover that chaewon wasn’t hunched over her luggage anymore.

you check your phone.

chaewon [10.27pm]:

zuha texted me, staying w her for the night

there’s ointment on the bedside table

for ur stupid face

bye :p

wow. chaewon had managed to do that within a day. staying at a girl’s hotel room? you whistle lowly. maybe she was onto something. but with her departure, the hotel room feels too quiet now. only the breezing and fluttering sounds of the airconditioning accompanying your thoughts of self-loathing. collapsing onto the bed, you reach out for the ointment.

just as you unscrew the cap, the doorbell rings. you don’t recall ever ordering room service. maybe it was chaewon and she forgot something?

you turn the door knob, not bothering to check who it was.

“chaewon—”

ning yizhuo stands before you, glassy eyes and a look of desperation that you’re familiar with.

“oh.”

she shuffles awkwardly, gesturing at your cheek, “are—is it okay? does it hurt?”

gulping, you shake your head.

“can we talk?” she asks, in the quietest voice ever, her words coming out shaky and breathless.

you open the door wider.

yizhuo mutters a soft, “thank you,” as she enters the room. you quickly send a text to chaewon telling her not to come back.

“did you put any cream on it?” she asks.

“no, not yet. i was just about to,” you reply quietly. the tension from the heated argument from before had disapparented, only leaving a strained relationship behind.

“can you sit down?”

you follow her instructions dutifully, sitting right at the edge of the bed. yizhuo lifts the ointment up, squeezing a bit on her finger before gently rubbing it into your cheek. it hurts, but the softness of her touch heals the area.

wincing as she applies more pressure, you can only stare at the girl.

“i’m sorry,” she whispers.

“it’s okay.”

you want to pull her into your arms.

you want her to lean onto you.

you want the feeling of her skin against yours.

“i was really hurt.”

“i know.”

yizhuo sighs, her hands dropping.

“i can’t believe you left me so easily.”

your chest tightens at the devastated tone in her voice. it wasn’t easy, you want to say. but it doesn’t feel right to defend yourself now.

“i thought it was the right thing to do.”

yizhuo lifts her head up, “why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to get married?”

“i don’t know,” it comes out in a hushed murmur, “i didn’t want to tie you down. you had a lot more things to accomplish.”

“i’d rather have you and nothing than losing you and having everything.”

the confession goes unsaid. because you’re her everything.

“i’m sorry. you just had your whole life in front of you and i was in the back. i… i didn’t fit into your life.”

the girl takes everything in. you were just so afraid then. scared that once you said yes to her proposal, yizhuo might realise that you weren’t the one for her. you’d rather be away from her, than be with her and make her unhappy. you didn’t want to live a miserable life where you hated each other.

“you don’t get to make that choice for me.”

“i know, yizhuo.”

yizhuo’s eyes are brimming with tears. her raven hair covering her face partially, but you can feel the pain radiating off her.

“you know that i would have been happy just being with you?”

“i know.”

“god, you still left like it was the easiest decision of your life.”

no it wasn’t, you again want to protest.

“you know that even in another life, i would choose to just have you by my side, even if i lose everything else? don’t you understand the extent of my love for you?”

it’s so surreal— the way yizhuo is practically begging for you to realise that leaving her was the worst possible choice for you to make.

“i love you too much.”

“then why’d you leave?” she asks.

through tears, you shakily breathe out, “because i love you too much.”

the lack of past tense doesn’t bother you, nor does it bother yizhuo. it’s a given that you’re still madly in love with the girl, and vice versa. it only leaves the question of what will happen now. yizhuo doesn’t say much afterwards. it’s the truth. you love her too much that you couldn’t bear to see her suffer because of you.

“i was so ready to marry you, i bought a ring,” yizhuo mutters, shedding tears. her sniffles aren’t concealed by the low humming of the air conditioning. it feels too real.

“forgive me, please,” you say.

“i can’t.”

the hotel room goes quiet.

“that’s okay,” it’s hard to say. you want to protest against everything, beg yizhuo to take you back and you could live your happily ever after with her.

it doesn’t happen. you don’t fall to your knees and plead.

you only stare at yizhuo in a mix of fear and longing affection. it pains you to see her so broken, and it only drives the knife further into your heart to know you’re the reason why.

“i’m so tired, y/n.”

you nod, feeling the fatigue seep in.

“me too.”

“can i sleep here tonight?” yizhuo asks softly.

you nod. there were still things to talk about, but you think you’ve done a decent job so far. pulling the covers over your bodies as yizhuo slides into the bed, you relish in the warmth and comfort of having her beside you again.

she turns her head to look at you, uncertainty filling her voice, “let’s talk more in the morning. i’m tired now.”

you agree with her wholeheartedly, inching closer to fit against her back.

as yizhuo’s eyelids flutter shut, you caress her skin tenderly. your index finger writes against her back, strokes lining her skin.

我爱你.

i love you. it’s one of the many phrases you’ve picked up throughout the years of being with the girl. she only taught you silly words and swears, but yizhuo had insisted you learn how to say and write those very words.

it’s fitting, because it’s all you ever feel for her.

because of yizhuo, you’ve had the opportunity to experience having a soulmate for almost your whole life. because of yizhuo, there’s no lingering doubt of being unlovable. because of yizhuo, you get to spend your days filled with happiness.

because of yizhuo, you understand what love is.

you just hope she understands you too.

[yurishots]

CAFE AU ━ o. miya

GENRE ━ fluff + the smallest amount of angst

WC ━ 770

Ever since Osamu has aged and settled into his new life as a shop and home owner, it seems like couples have been miraculously popping up everywhere he looks. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit of loneliness seeing couples in booths sharing the food he made. Him being a romantic never helped either—the fantasy of seeing his s/o after a long day at Onigiri Miya plagued his mind constantly, as well as the domestic feeling of coming home knowing that someone will be there waiting for him. 

The brunette began to put himself out there more, but not like his blonde counterpart. It was more subtle; making more conversation with his patrons and posting a little more on instagram. He became a fanatic for a short while—constantly stalking his notifications and dm requests even though he knew there would be nothing new. He contemplated giving up on the whole romance act, maybe it's a luxury only certain people can have. 

Sighing for the fifth time this morning, Osamu shoves his phone into his back pocket. A past friend of his posted some pictures from his wedding. “Must be nice,” he mumbles under his breath. After washing his hands, he prepares to head to the back before hearing a delicate voice break the silence of his early morning shift. 

“Hi, can I get a coffee?” Osamu froze as he heard the voice of this customer, he’s never heard anything like it. He looks up to see a smile adorning your face as you wait for him to confirm the order. The shop owner hopes he doesn’t look stupid as he quickly wipes his hands on his apron and clears his throat. 

Osamu quirked up his brow in curiosity,”just a coffee?” The request was quite vague, there’s a million coffees in the world, he’s not a mind reader after all. 

“What kind? we carry a bunch of flavors y’know!” He watched as an amused expression took over your face as you listened to him. 

“Well, I actually don’t know since your menu up there is quite empty.” Osamu looked up at the digital menu screen above him to realize that it is indeed—blank. a wave of embarrassment washes over him as he grabs the remote off the counter behind him and presses the on button. The menu soon lit up with a bunch of options for you to continue your less detailed coffee order from earlier. 

“I'm really sorry about that,” his face feels flushed from the embarrassment of the moment and because of the sound of your laughter entering his ears. 

“It's fine, I'll take an espresso.” Osamu nodded as he entered your order into the system in front of him. “And your name?” You looked up quickly with a small ‘hm?’ and gave him your name, “Y/n L/n.” The tapping noise resumed as he typed in your name, smiling softly at the fact he knows you a little bit more. As you leave the counter to find a seat, the shop begins to fill up slowly as people come in for breakfast. 

Usually Osamu calls out his customer’s names for them to grab their items, but he felt as if you deserved the delivery. He calms his nerves before walking over to your table by the window, “Here you go Y/n,” he says softly as he hands you your mug, telling you to be careful because it's hot. He slowly retreats back to his spot behind the counter to make the orders since his coworker has shown up to take them. Watching you out of the corner of his eye, he smiles seeing that you’re enjoying your drink as you gaze out the window. “Osamu!” His co worker snapped to get his attention, the amount of drinks he had to prepare had piled up. Sending her an apologetic look, he got back to work. 

After making and sending off the last coffee, he looked over to where you were sitting to see an empty table with a lonely mug. Osamu sucked his teeth, he planned on asking you if you enjoyed it. As he walked over to the table to clean it, he noticed a slip of paper poking out from under the mug. He grabbed it and read its contents. 

“Y/n L/n: XXX-XXX-XXXX. here’s my number, I’d like to talk to you some more. P.S: I saw you staring at me ;p.” 

Smiling to himself, he pocketed the note and cleaned up the previously occupied table. Maybe this romance thing isn’t so hard after all. 

[supernaturalfreakout]

— Serve you (Sam Winchester x fem!reader)

Summary: Sam is completely infatuated with you, so much so that he practically lays his heart at your feet. He is the most selfless, tender, and attentive lover you have ever had, but he also loves to taunt, tease, and demand, a side of him reserved solely for you, and you can't get enough of it. OR: Sam brings you to orgasm with your bullet vibrator whilst you cockwarm him. Plus some emotional revelations and some ever-so-appropriately-timed philosophical musings. In other words, you're just a couple of hot, horny nerds with a soul-bending emotional connection (emphasis on the horny).

CWs: 18+ MDNI 🔞 Smut, BDSM, dom!sam, sub!you, dom!sam, confessions, mutual longing, cockwarming, vibrator, multiple orgasms.

Notes: This may eventually make an appearance in my longfic, History on Your Side, which I wrote this adjacent to, but I haven't got there yet, and I'm too impatient to keep this to myself. This can also be read as a one-shot. I hope you enjoy!

Sam’s eyes meet yours, the thin band of hazel ringing his pupils glazed with pleasure. The gold flecks in what was left of his irises appear to dance in the lamplight, swimming with desire as he reclines against the headboard, chest rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm.

He looks dazed: his lips wet and parted, the sweat on his skin making him glow like a god. You’ve never seen him so... 

So...?

He is blinding, angelic, gazing down at you with... what?—adoration?—awe? He’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. How can he even exist? He is beyond comprehension.

Your heart beats a little harder in your throat and you swallow around the lump that has formed, the salty tang of Sam’s release still fresh on your tongue. What is he seeing as he takes in your state: naked and disheveled, what you have just done, what you are planning to do? You can’t be sure, but the way it makes you feel when he looks at you… The way he makes you feel. Him wanting you, desiring you, basking in the afterglow of your ministrations. You feel like the most powerful woman on the planet.

Chancing a smile, you shuffle your already-grazed knees in the blankets.

“I wanna be the best, and worst slut you’ve ever had,” you rasp without thinking, but stop yourself short before saying, I want to be your everything. It’s too much to ask—you know—but fuck, it doesn’t make it any less true.

You watch his eyes widen, then... soften slightly. He is all hard muscle and bone, but you know that beneath that rough exterior is a softer terrain he’s sheltered behind the barricades of his lifestyle for too long. Just like you have. He’d taught you that, no matter how unintended.

“Shit,” he says, his breath hitching. “You already are.”

You already are. It sounds like a confession to your unvoiced thoughts. 

“And I,” he continues, leaning forward and cupping your cheek with his palm, “want to be the one to fulfil those desires.” His thumb brushes a gentle stroke against your jaw, making your hairs stand on end, electric. “Every depraved, little thought. Every dirty fantasy. Every desire you’ve been too afraid to ask for—including the ones you deem you don’t deserve.”

He isn’t just talking about sex anymore. This is.... personal. He knows. Somehow, he knows. He’s always known—the way you view yourself—how you’ve deemed yourself unworthy of love. Because... He feels that way too, you realize, your heart breaking a little. This man. This perfect, selfless man, has never deemed himself worthy of love. At least he hadn’t, until—

Sam’s hands find your waist, his calloused hunter's palms gliding over smooth skin, and he pulls you towards him, guiding you onto his lap. You let your knees fall on either side of his hips, his bare skin a warm, familiar comfort against yours. 

“I,” Sam says, your face now level with his, “want to be the one who gives that to you, Y/N. It’s my greatest honor to serve you.”

“Serve me?” Your voice is but a whisper, but the question sits heavy on your tongue. It tastes foreign, but sweet, a flavor you’ve never encountered, but now that you have, you’ll never forget the aftertaste.

“Yes,” he says, matter-of-factly. “As your dom, it’s my duty to serve you.”

Duty. That word again. It's come up a lot in your conversations. What is it with this man and his superior sense of moral responsibility? For a seemingly non-religious man, he attaches a lot of reverence to it. For him, it is an imperative. He is attracted to it like flies to honey. He did study for law school, you reflect. Maybe he's read too much Kant?

He cups your cheek again, his gaze flicking between your eyes and lips. “Everything I do is to serve you, Y/N. Even when I’m commanding you, I do it to serve you. Thank you for trusting me to do that.”

A sense of revelation washes over you at his words. Although you’ve never doubted him, not even for a second, trusting someone to anticipate your needs—to know when and how far to push your boundaries, and when to pull back—is not something to be taken lightly. Now, you realize, that putting your trust in him should have been harder than it was.

But he makes it so easy; you’ve never once felt pressured, put on the spot, or coerced. As counterintuitive as it may sound, being his sub—being commanded by him, at his mercy, even being restrained at times—actually makes you feel more free. Liberated. It all suddenly makes so much sense, like a lens snapping into focus. 

He looks you in the eye again, steady, analyzing, and you know that he is asking for permission. That look, coupled with the strained sensation against your thigh— You know that this conversation isn’t over, but yet...

You can feel him beneath you—again—hard and insistent. Undeniably desirous. You’ve never known such stamina.

You nod—yes—and that is all the confirmation he needs.

His lips meet yours in a heated kiss, his tongue shortly following, as if he’s savoring every note of your taste.

You shift your weight and your bodies move together as you rise to angle yourself against him.

You join together slowly, deliberately, the stretch of him a welcome pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth. You sink deeper, deeper, until you are held-fast against him. He fills you so completely, so perfectly, you can feel it in your soul. It is more than the physical—you’ve never felt so whole, so complete.

Sam smiles against your lips as he holds you there, unmoving, seemingly happy to just sit here inside you.

“You see?” he says. “We fit perfectly together, you and I.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you tease.

“Maybe. Maybe it’s just the effect you have on me.”

Playfully, you roll your eyes, start to say something, but are stopped short as Sam’s lips attach themselves to the base of your throat, causing you to let out an embarrassingly breathy moan. 

“You were saying?” He chuckles, continuing to explore your neck with his lips and tongue. 

“I..." you sigh. "I can’t remember.”

He chuckles again, smugly, then moves his lips to nibble at your earlobe. The way his body presses against yours angles his cock even tighter into your sweet-spot, and the desire below your belly cascades with liquid heat.

“Fuck,” he growls, low and deep, his breath hot against your ear. “I can feel you baby—what this is doing to you. You’re so fucking wet. So fucking responsive. Such a good girl for me.”

You don’t even bother to hold back your moans now, it is all too much—he knows exactly what to do, knows exactly what to say to get you going. Always has.

“Yes,” you mewl. “And it’s all for you, Sir. All for you...”

You begin to grind your hips, chasing that high only he can give you, but Sam clearly has other plans. 

“Hey,” he whispers, placing his hands on your hips to still you. “Not yet. Slow down.” 

As frustrating as it is, you comply. Sam has a way of testing your patience like no one else. It has always been worth it, though. 

You watch as he extends his arm to the side, rummages around in your bedside dresser. Immediately, you know exactly what he has planned, and you throb around him at the thought. 

His hand emerges grasping a small, silk, drawstring pouch, and you watch as he slides out your small-but-mighty bullet vibrator.

It may not look like much, but it is powerful, versatile and lends itself perfectly for situations like the one you currently find yourself in. 

You’d told him about your toys—this one especially—seeing as it had kept you company most recently whilst he was away. 

He sets the empty pouch back in your drawer.

“So this is what had you screaming my name down the phone?” he says, smirking. 

You whole body flushes at the memory: Sam’s voice in your ear as you both got yourselves off; you at home, Sam in some dingy motel room when he’d managed to steal some time alone.

“It might be small,” you say, “but it’s very effective.” 

“Hmm,” Sam says, considering. “I think it’s about time we get acquainted, then.” 

You watch open-mouthed as Sam brings your vibe to his lips, letting the tip enter his mouth. 

“Cold,” he says, then pushes it in further, coating the entirety of the metal with his saliva. 

You continue to gape as he removes it, then after three testing clicks with his thumb, sets the vibe alive. 

The sound of the buzz alone has you tingling, especially at the thought of Sam controlling it. 

“May I?” he asks, holding the device between you, always asking for permission, always the gentleman, even as he plans to torment you.

Your nod is urgent, but Sam’s actions are anything but as he brings it to rest lightly against your mouth. The sensation is strange, but not unpleasant, and it sends a tingling sensation right through your brain. 

“Open,” he demands, and you comply, letting the vibe buzz against your tongue for a minute before he drags it down your chin and across your jaw, painting your combined saliva in a shiny, wet stripe across your flesh. 

When it meets the side of your neck, you flinch, giggling. You’ve always been ticklish there. Sam knows that, and he only looks amused. 

After that agony, he drags it over your collarbones, then over your chest, taking a moment to circle the tip around your already-erect nipples, making them pebble even further.

“That good?” he asks with a smile, no doubt in response to your increasing moans, and you nod, biting your bottom lip. 

“Good,” he says, satisfied. 

After another few moments, he slowly trails the vibe down your stomach, as if the tip were a knife skimming the surface of your skin, too light to scratch the surface. You are ready, itching with anticipation, desperate for the ache between your legs to be quelled, but before it reaches its destination, it veers of to the side, snaking its taunting vibrations along the insides of your thighs. Not where they're meant to be.

A groan of want erupts from your vocal cords, a pathetic, audible manifestation of all your sexual frustration and tension. It is torture, and just like Sam to add salt to the wound. 

Your clit is throbbing, pulsing with need, and you can’t stop yourself from rocking into his pubic bone for a fragile semblance of relief. 

At that—and in true Sam fashion—he pulls the vibe away completely, stealing a kiss before you can do so much as protest.

His free hand moves to tangle in the hair at the base of your skull and tugs with just enough force to let you know that he is in control. As if you didn't already know, as if you weren't already completely possessed by this man.

He’s throbbing now, too, you can feel it—aching inside you—yet his kiss is anything but urgent; it is controlled, completely deliberate, and utterly frustrating. You want to be devoured. 

His tongue glides against yours at an agonizingly slow pace, and you have no choice but to let the feel and taste of him flood your senses, completely override your nervous system. He is soft, and sweet, and tender in all the right places, though sharp, hard, and demanding in equal measure, in a way that is so uniquely him, and the combination is intoxicating. Your own personal class A.

Is it possible to be addicted to a person? you wonder in earnest, because you're now certain that what you've been experiencing when you're away from him is nothing less than withdrawal symptoms. 

When he finally pulls back, you are breathless, but his breath is steady. How does he do it? you wonder. Stay so calm? You suppose that is why he is such a good Dom for you: he is the gravity keeping you in orbit in an otherwise chaotic universe. The steadying force, keeping you from spinning out of control. Without him you’d either combust, or float around aimlessly like you had done for the past several years. 

When you are least expecting it, Sam finally acquiesces, resting the shiny surface shyly against your swollen clit—so shyly that you are still forced to chase—and it drives you fucking crazy. You know how much satisfaction he derives from making you so uptight and needy, and the sound that leaves your body at that moment is bound to have pleased him with now desperate you sound.

Shifting your hips, you press up into him, wedging the vibe snugly between your bodies, and this time, he lets you. The rumble is ecstatic, and you gasp as the sensations take over, dissolving every rational thought inside your skull.

It doesn’t take long. After all that apprehension, you are a loaded gun; quite literally cocked and ready to blow.

Closing your eyes, you tilt your head back, and in pure ecstasy, release another high-pitched squeal of pleasure. 

Sam laughs at that—actually laughs—and then it's his lips on your throat again, his voice in your ear. 

"That's it, moan for me, baby. Ah—fuck—you're so tight, so close already, I can feel it. Come around my cock, princess. Yeah, that's it. My beautiful, beautiful girl..." 

His words. His voice. His lips. His tongue on your neck. His cock inside you... It's all so... perfect. He's perfect. So—

You start to tremble uncontrollably, so overcome by all these emotions it would feel demeaning to name, and then it hits you, all at once, like a freight-train derailing, again, and again ...

“Fuck!” you scream, as your climax seizes you, grasping you by the throat and throttling you blue. And as quick as the first one leaves, another simmers in it's wake, surging towards you like a lightning bolt—sharp, intense, and impossible to escape.

As the high of the second also fades out, your head is left hazy with endorphins and you are sweating buckets despite the goosebumps that have also risen on your skin.

In addition to your dizzy satisfaction, you also feel clammy and sticky, your skin sticking to Sam's with the liquid heat of your combined bodies. It's undeniably gross, but Sam doesn't mind in the slightest. In fact, he can't seem to get enough.

"Sam—" you cry, trying but failing to bat him away as he returns the vibe to your clit, assaulting your bud with a force that makes you hiss through clenched teeth. "S-sensitive!"

"I know, baby," he says, and he does know, but he's also using his dom voice, and that can only mean one thing. 

"C'mon, baby," he says, as you continue to squirm and squeal against him. "Please, let me give you another. You've got more in you, I know it." 

"But Sam I—I can't—" you whine.

"Yes you can," he says adamantly. "You can, and you fucking will."

At that, you have no choice but to give in, clawing your nails into Sam's shoulders hard enough to mark as he turns the vibrations up to the max and tears well in your eyes and dribble down your cheeks.

You're so sensitive from your first two orgasms that the stimulation is almost painful, but you're also so enthralled by him that any pain you feel is secondary to the overwhelming pleasure you feel being at his command. 

You could always safeword if you wanted, you both know you could, that's why he feels so comfortable in pushing you, and you in letting him. You do in fact have a choice; you always have with Sam. There's always a way out if you wanted; a way to escape this vulnerability, this powerlessness. But, despite yourself—despite everything—you don't. 

Instead, you resume your chase, rocking your hips frantically into his to meet his demand, pushing yourself to the edge of overstimulation and then over, finally manifesting in a pleasure that is threefold and leaves you reeling in catharsis. In control. In power.

"That's it, baby," Sam growls, almost aggressive now in his devotion as you buck against the vibe, practically wailing his name as hot tears zizzle down your cheeks and evaporate against your skin. 

"That's it. My good fucking girl. My perfect little slut. Fuck—you're so hot—screaming like that. Fuck—you're gonna make me come. Please," he groans. Pleads. Begs. His restraint finally fraying. It's always so satisfying to watch it break. 

"Please make me come. Princess deserves it. Princess deserves all my cum." 

And you're not a religious person by any means, but dear god, this... This feels like worship. Like reverence. 

And sure as hell, it is enough to do it, and he is right. Again.

Is he always fucking right? 

The tangled knot inside you frays, and then finally breaks, and you can't contain yourself any longer.

Whiteness spreads behind your eyes and your body trembles with an intense, visceral relief that leaves you unable to do anything but cling onto the only man that has ever made you feel weightless. Who knows you better than anyone should have the right to. Who always makes you feel powerful, even in vulnerability. 

Gauging your reactions, Sam clings back, cradling you to his chest and rutting his hips upwards as you both come together in a writhing ball of orgasmic bliss.

A few, sweat-soaked minutes later, collapsed and tangled together in euphoria, Sam concedes with a grin, “Very effective, indeed.”

Even he is breathless now. 

[n1k0laa5]

my doubts are killing me. EVERTIME i feel confident and everytime i wanna shift to my dr it feels so unrealistic and “fake” and i don’t get myself i know shifting is real af??

and the thing is the moment i “feel” the shift or i shift wtv i get so scared like “omg this actually is real and no i don’t deserve it i go back” or and then when it happens these doubts are starting to kick in again and it pisses me off. i just don’t get it why i get SO SCARED ??

like i shift , i feel the “change” my doubts still think its bullshit and fake, i freak out and then i get back to my cr. #helpiloveyouraccbuthelpimgoingcrazy #wtfiswrongwithme

Oh sweetheart.

Listen to me CAREFULLY and feel this in your bones:

Nothing is wrong with you. You are not broken. You are not blocked. You are simply meeting the edge of your old self and instead of breaking through, you’re recoiling because it feels like a free fall. But that fear? That instinct to yank yourself back the moment the shift actually feels real?

That’s not failure. That’s proof that you’re literally at the door. You’re not imagining the shift. You’re not making up the sensations. You’re doing it. And your ego is panicking.

Why? Because it’s losing control.

Shifting doesn’t just “grant your wishes.” It dismantles the false reality you’ve been trained to believe is all there is. When you’re finally about to leave the lie—when your body starts buzzing or you feel yourself clicking in—that old CR identity screams:

“WAIT—what if it’s real? What if this actually works? Do I deserve it? Am I ready? Will I lose everything? Am I safe?”

It’s the same panic as someone who’s been trapped their whole life finally being handed the keys and going:

“Wait… am I allowed to leave?”

That’s what you’re feeling. And that’s why your doubt is louder at the edge of the shift than any other time. It’s not because you’re failing. It’s because you’re close. Too close for the old version of you to survive it.

So Let’s Break It Down:

1. The doubt isn’t proof it’s fake.

It’s a conditioned reflex. You’ve spent your whole life being told reality is fixed. That you have to “earn” things. That fantasy is fiction.

When your subconscious finally tastes freedom, it doesn’t know what to do. So it calls it “fake.” That’s not a flaw. That’s a leftover script. And you get to rewrite it. Instead of arguing with the doubt, observe it. Let it shake. Say:

“Ohhh there you are. You always show up when I’m about to evolve.”

“I love that you’re trying to protect me. But I don’t need that anymore.”

“I know it’s real. I choose it anyway.”

Because certainty isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the refusal to bow to it.

2. Fear of receiving = fear of identity death.

That part of you that says “I don’t deserve it”?

That’s not you. That’s your ego’s attachment to struggle.

Your CR self has built its whole identity around lack, effort, trying, hoping, doubting. So when your DR starts feeling real, that identity doesn’t know how to exist in the new reality. It panics. It pulls you back. But guess what? You don’t have to identify with that anymore. You’re not your doubt. You’re not your fear. You’re the god behind it all, deciding what’s real.

You’re allowed to shift. You’re allowed to receive. And you’re allowed to feel afraid and go anyway.

3. You don’t have to “deserve” it. You just have to allow it.

This is not a reward system. The DR isn’t a trophy for good behavior. It’s a parallel thread of your own consciousness already happening.

You’re not begging for entry. You’re just shifting focus. And fear doesn’t cancel out your access. Only attachment does. So next time you feel the shift and your mind starts screaming “NOPE TOO REAL”? Smile.

Let the panic pass. Breathe and say:

“This fear is old. This shift is mine. I choose to stay.”

Even if your heart is racing. Even if your body twitches. Even if your thoughts spiral. The more you sit through it without buying in, the more solid you become in the new timeline.

4. What you’re calling “scared” might just be intensity.

Sometimes that “freak out” isn’t fear, it’s the sheer surge of energy as your awareness detaches from this timeline. It’s like unzipping reality. Your heart races. Your mind glitches. You feel like you’re being pulled somewhere.

That’s not wrong. That’s movement. Let your body ride it. It’s like a rollercoaster drop, you don’t stop the ride halfway because your stomach flips. You scream, you clutch the seat, and then you land on the other side. That’s what this is.

You’re not scared because you’re failing. You’re scared because you’re finally succeeding. So when the doubt hits, when the shift starts, when your whole being goes “wait is this REAL?” You say:

“Yes. It’s real. And I’m ready now.”

You can freak out. You can cry. You can stutter and shake. And you can still stay shifted. Let the fear come. But don’t let it lead. You decide where you stay.

You’re not crazy, baby. You’re so fucking powerful. And you’re closer than you think.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Elemental (M) Pt. 1

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 17,287 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. Part I is here, and Part II will be uploaded shortly. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts. (also, if you haven't already realized based on the premise, Y/N does break up with Jungkook in the first part of this fic lol so, if that's something you don't want to read; fair warning!)

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

Magic, to you, has never been a boon.

Despite its romanticization in movies and stories, the reality of magic is messy and unpredictable. As dangerous as it can be fickle, your mom likes to say. Usually followed by a glance in your direction, swift enough for you not to notice, although you always do.

Either that, or an unconscious tilt her chin towards the photograph on the mantle. You aren’t sure she even realizes she does it, acting on instinct alone. The photo is of your dad, holding you on his shoulders with an ear-to-ear grin. He was the other Elemental in your family.

Even with only one magical parent, the Elemental gene tends to be passed on to children. Your dad’s magic was water, skilled in manipulating and calling forth the element. He was lauded for it, which was in itself unusual. More often, Elementals are run out of town by other humans. Although time has gone by since societal integration, there are still many who view your kind with suspicion.

You can’t say that you blame them – not really. Because again, the reality of magic is it can be dangerous. Based on experience, bad things tend to happen when you lose control.

Head tilted, you squint through the fog at your boyfriend’s apartment. For centuries, fog has been heralded as an ill omen and maybe there’s some degree of truth to it. Maybe the first speaker lived near a temperamental water Elemental, unable to keep their emotions from manipulating the weather.

Thoughts souring at how close to reality this feels, you shake your head once and some of the fog clears.

A pep talk, you think. That’s what you need to convince yourself to enter. Unseasonably chilly this late in the summer, your fingers curl into the ends of your sweater. Going inside would be preferrable to standing out in the cold, and yet you can’t manage a single step.

Better to stand in the cold than enter and shatter.

Again, you remind yourself you’re doing the right thing and again, this doesn’t help. If anything, it makes you clutch your sweater tighter. For once, you wish doing the right thing meant what’s right for you. Exhaling deeply, your eyes shut as a train passes and shakes the ground.

You began dating Jungkook three months ago and within a week, you knew it was different. You have a tendency to hide pieces of yourself, knowing most people won’t like what they find. Jungkook never allowed that to happen. The first time you ghosted, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop the next morning and asked what had gone wrong. Taken aback, you responded honestly and to your surprise, Jungkook listened.

He stayed. Stayed when others had run, cementing himself on a short list of people you can trust. Three months into dating, things have moved at once fast and slow. Fast because typically, you exit relationships long before feelings like these ones develop. Slow, because you haven’t given Jungkook every part of yourself.

Physical intimacy comes to mind. On several occasions, this has proved… difficult.

Eyes opening, you stare at the door. Memories of last night rise to the surface. For a long time, you’ve known this relationship has an end date. Knowing this doesn’t prepare you for the difficult conversation ahead.

The last time you saw Jungkook was after midnight. Fat raindrops chased your footsteps while you ran from his place, descending the subway at a record pace. The look on his face remains stuck in your mind and even now, you find the thought hard to revisit.

Imagining hurting Jungkook again is unfathomable. Stifling a gasp, you spin on your heel and march away. Halfway to the gate, you get a grip on yourself. Coming to a stop, you remind yourself this isn’t about you. Jungkook will hate you – there’s nothing to do about that now. Now, this is about Jungkook and ensuring he’s safe.

Slowly, you turn around and make your way forward. In the name of procrastination, you stop at a trash can to clean out your purse. Old receipts, gum wrappers and a crumpled-up napkin shake into the bin. You pause at the napkin, staring at the embossed name of the restaurant you work at. Or – more accurately – worked at.

Slamming the trash lid, you turn. You began work at Pierre’s Bistro two months ago as a temporary measure. Ideally, you paint but lately, inspiration has run dry. Waiting tables pays the bills, leaving time at the end of the day to stare at a blank canvas.

Pierre’s is an upscale French restaurant a few blocks down with semi-decent food and waiting tables would be fine if the owner – Pierre – weren’t a massive asshole. Now that you don’t work there, you can be honest about that. Pierre was the most sexist, elitist, capitalistic piece of shit you’ve ever had the displeasure of working for. While on his payroll, you tried to make the best of it but now, you have nothing to lose. Pierre was a dick.

A point he proved yet again last night, much to your mortification. You prefer working the lunch shift to dinner, and weekdays to weekends. Saturday nights are worst of all, and last night Pierre didn’t arrive until well after six. You were forced to cover the entire front section, picking up for a co-worker who called in sick.

Rushing from the bar, you nearly crashed into your boss removing his coat. Grabbing you by the elbow, Pierre steadied you, his hand lingering.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he joked.

You forced a smile. Experience has taught you the best thing to do in those types of situations is to smile and laugh.

“No fire. Lots of customers! Excuse me,” you said and tried to move past.

Pierre didn’t release you. If anything, his grip on you tightened until you turned your head.

“Yes?” you said, impatient.

Pierre didn’t respond, looking you slowly up and down. Eventually, he released you to take a step backwards. “Nothing,” he said carefully. “Be careful out there tonight.”

Trying not to gag on his words, you moved on. Unfortunately, it was hard to escape Pierre’s notice once caught. From that point on, each of your flaws were held under a microscope. First, it was that you didn’t fold the napkins correctly. Next, you took a wandering path from kitchen to table. Each time you entered the dining room, scornful words were covered by simpering smiles.

By the time your shift end approached, you could barely keep going. A large group had entered and, seeing the host occupied, you took it upon yourself to seat them at your last table. Fixing your apron, you hurried through the restaurant and into the kitchen.

Grabbing another table’s dishes, you thanked the cook and pushed open the door. Immediately, arms shoved you back in. Startled, you barely had time to recognize the host, Vanessa, before the doors swung shut.

“Vanessa?” you said, adjusting your grip. “What’s going on?”

Harried, she glanced over one shoulder. “Sorry,” she sighed, curly hair slipping from her messy bun. “I wanted to warn you before you went back out. Pierre is pissed.”

Your stomach sank. “Pissed… at me?”

She nodded, another dark curl escaping. “Something about saving the table up front for his friends? Bullshit, yes,” she said at your expression. “But you know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. Deciding there was nothing to be done but keep moving, you hefted your plates higher. “Okay, thanks for the warning. I need to get these to table ten.”

“No problem,” she said and stepped out of your way.

You walked inside with slightly less spring in your step. Pierre lounged near the bar, surrounded by a group of people you could only assume to be friends. Although you felt his gaze on your face, you avoided him the best you could while you made your rounds. Taking the long way to the kitchen, you passed in front of the window.

Which was the moment you noticed Jungkook waiting for you on the curb. He stood beneath a streetlight, light pooling around the ends of his dark hair. When he saw you approach, his face lit up and he smiled.

Cursing beneath your breath, you smiled back. You were supposed to be done a half-hour ago, but there hadn’t been a good time yet to stop. Waving back, you mouthed, just a minute, and frantically pushed through the crowd to the back.

Merely seeing his face lifted a weight from your chest. It was easy to be around Jungkook because he liked every part of you. You never felt the urge to pretend, to curve yourself into something someone else would find pleasurable.

Well, he liked every part except one – and you were working on telling him that.

Hurrying into the staff room, you forgot your plan to avoid Pierre. You nearly jumped a mile when a hand grabbed your elbow, spinning you to face your fuming manager.

Pierre stared down his nose. “Follow me,” he snapped, releasing your arm to spin around.

He passed tables full of patrons, leading you to the bar before turning. “Y/N,” Pierre said, his voice dropping. “Are things okay tonight?”

“Yes,” you responded, deciding one-word answers were safest.

“Then why, exactly, are you fucking this up?”

Your jaw tensed. “I wasn’t aware I was doing so,” you said carefully.

“The napkins?” Pierre made a tsk-ing sound. “How many times should I say that presentation is important? Not to mention your laziness. One of your tables had to flag me down to ask for a refill. And now, you gave away the front table.” His expression darkened. “What makes you think you, a fucking waitress, can step in for a host? You sat someone at the table I personally reserved for my friends!”

You shouldn’t have responded. You should have stayed quiet and yet –

“There was no name in the book,” you muttered.

“What’s that?” Pierre waited and, when you stayed silent, shook his head. “I hadn’t had time to write their name down, but I told Vanessa, who assured me it’d happen. Of course, she wasn’t taking into consideration Y/N, the wonder waitress! Taking everyone’s jobs and making them harder.”

At your sides, your hands balled into fists. It took a greater amount of concentration than normal to keep your emotions from spilling over.

Of course, there were explanations for Pierre’s accusations. The napkins were correct before he jostled the table. You had been circulating your tables and if you were unavailable, it was because of his poor staffing. Oh, and – he didn’t make a reservation for his friends.

Slowly, you exhaled and stuffed down the responses. Deep down, with other emotions and magic. Beyond Pierre, a glass trembled but once you relaxed, the water went still.

“I apologize,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll do better next time.”

Pierre sniffed. “See that you do,” he said, brushing past. Grabbing a beer from the bar, you heard his friends burst into raucous laughter. Apparently, your humiliation was entertaining.

Heaving a small sigh, you turned – and froze where you stood.

Outside, Jungkook stared into the restaurant with murderous eyes. Too late, you realized Pierre had pulled you in front of the window. Away from anyone dining, but in full view of anyone on the sidewalk. Like your boyfriend, who witnessed the entire spectacle.

For a moment, your emotions overwhelmed, and you felt magic crack the walls you kept hidden. Embarrassment crept past your boundaries. Humiliation. Fury. Stuffing everything back, you quickly turned to rush through the tables.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped towards you, his brow furrowing. Reaching the staff room, you paced up and down. Jungkook saw you. He saw Pierre’s outburst, which meant you’d have to explain. You’d have to explain to Jungkook – the only person whose opinion you cared about – why you allowed other people to walk all over you.

He’d start to ask questions. Questions like, when was the last time you really got mad? You’d have no good response. Not because you don’t get mad, because you do. But because you don’t ever allow yourself to act on the feeling.

Faced with the prospect of brushing him off, you buried your face in both hands. Your usual excuses wore thin in your ears.

Pierre isn’t so bad. It was a one-time thing. You promise you’ll talk to Pierre tomorrow.

None of it would be true, and you didn’t want to lie to Jungkook. People never understood why you wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but the answer was complicated.

Your last date said you lacked emotions, but you don’t think that’s it. Of course, you have feelings, but those feelings are buried beneath so many layers, they can be hard to see. It’s not that you don’t feel, it’s that you cannot.

When you feel, your magic reacts, and people get hurt.

That was the last part of yourself you kept hidden. Jungkook is normal and he doesn’t know you’re an Elemental.

You know that by now, you should have said something. Obviously, but the timing was never right. Twenty-five years old, and you still aren’t sure how to broach the conversation. Few people know what you are, so you haven’t had much experience with the explanation. Your magic isn’t something you use if you can help it.

Yet another lesson you learned from your mom.

Your dad, an Elemental, died when you were five. Before, you lived near the ocean on a flat strip of sand. Your memories from before then are faint, but whenever you try, you can hear his booming laugh. Can feel the salt sting your cheeks, your mom tossing you in the air while you spun around.

Everything afterwards faded. At five years old, a hurricane swept past the barrier islands and that, you remember. You recall your mom at the door, pleading with your dad not to go as he donned his jacket. You remember him holding her hand, kissing the top of your head, and saying he’d return soon. Not many Elementals lived in your area, and even fewer had water magic.

You recall the hours passing, stretching longer and longer until dawn approached. Flashing lights followed, a woman climbing from her car to speak to your mom. You recall the sound of your mom sobbing, the policewoman’s voice floating into the house.

The storm surge was stronger than expected, but your dad managed to divert the worst. He saved the town only to be hit by a bolt of lightning. Instant death, the policewoman said, her tone implying this might be a comfort. Chest tight, your fingertips dug into the railing. Comfort meant nothing when your dad was gone. The irony struck you even back then – your dad saved others, and no one came to save him.

For weeks following, your mom was a ghost. At first, neighbors stopped by to drop off casseroles and condolences. Soon though, their sympathy stopped, and the whispers began. You were young enough not to notice, too consumed by the enormity of your own loss.

Eventually though, you noticed something was off. Suspicious eyes followed you down the sidewalk. Mothers clutched at their children, hurrying them to the side of an empty street. One day, you traipsed downstairs and overheard your mom on the phone.

She sat at the kitchen table, facing away from the staircase. You paused on the landing, listening to your aunt’s voice blast on speakerphone.

“Nonsense,” she was saying. “Your husband was a hero, and anyone saying otherwise is cracked. He saved your town!”

“I know.” Your mom blew her nose. “But now, people are wondering if he caused the storm. They’re saying maybe he… made the hurricane. It’s this new mayor,” she said, frustrated. “He hates Elementals and keeps insisting our family orchestrated this to collect money. He says –”

“Oh, no.” Your aunt sounded furious. “Don’t you repeat a single word that hateful man says.”

“He has a point, though,” your mom said, her voice low. “Did you hear about Uniontown? A fire Elemental accidentally set their barn on fire. Nearly burned the whole town. Magic is dangerous. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen, and now –”

“When was the last time your husband lost control, though? Are you saying you think he caused a hurricane?”

“God, no!” You watched your mom straighten. “But there are people saying… awful things.”

“Some people aren’t worth listening to.”

“I know.” Wearily, she exhaled. “They’re talking about Y/N, too, though. Apparently, she caused a tidal wave at the pool last weekend.”

Hearing your name said out loud, you shrank back in the shadows. You weren’t aware your mom knew about that, or that she cared. Bobby Clemmons teased Judith Bryce about her hair until finally, you snapped. Bobby was swept to the other end of the pool, much to Judith’s relief. She thanked you repeatedly.

Bobby was fine, except for some water up his nose. From the way he carried on though, you’d have thought he broke his arm.

Your mother lowered her voice, as though magic was something to be mentioned only in whispers. For the first time, a sense of shame crept over you. Your dad had always been open about magic, though stern. Stern in his belief magic should help people, not hurt. Never once did your dad insinuate magic itself was the problem.

Magic is dangerous.

Your mom’s words on the phone sank in as, your head pounding as you turned around to run up the steps. Even at six, you felt panic. If magic was dangerous and you were magical – that meant you were dangerous, too.

Slipping beneath your comforter, you stared at your shaking hands. Rain hit your windows, snowballing your worry to full-on fear. By the time your mom rushed upstairs, you were rocking under the covers as a storm raged.

She helped to calm you down, got your magic under control and a month after, you moved far away from the sea. A version of yourself vanished as you passed the pier. Despite this, you felt instant relief at the thought of control.

You remember your mom smiling when you joined the highway. “This will be good,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “A fresh start, away from it all. You can be whoever you want to be, Y/N.”

Except for the person you actually were.

Her meaning was clear, even if she didn’t say it out loud. At the time, you found the thought soothing. If you didn’t want to use magic, you didn’t have to. You never had to become your dad, who all your friends said had caused the bad storm. Even the news had turned against you.

Earth Elemental suspected behind San Raoul earthquake!

Jailed air Elemental claims innocence against onslaught of tornadoes!

Fire Elementals flee after string of arson!

Always the exclamation point. Always the lurid fascination that blame could be pinned on a single person. New rules were implemented in the house. No magic, except in your mom’s presence. This soon became no magic at all, but you didn’t mind. Whenever you did use magic, it felt wild, chaotic – the opposite of how you wanted to feel.

Your early years were marked by the struggle to conceal your powers. Years passed without incident and then, something would happen, and you’d have to move. Your mom never begrudged you, simply packed the house to travel to the next city. Each time, you promised you’d do better but by the time you realized school wasn’t for you, you had moved no less than six times.

Art was a risk, though one you found necessary.

Creation meant tapping into emotion, but you found methods of coping. Painting was the only place you loosened the reins on your magic, and so it became an outlet of sorts. A release, preventing your emotions from spilling into unwanted places.

There were other strategies, as well. Deep breathing. Counting backwards from one hundred. Focusing on one point, then on another until the magic calmed in your veins. Until you forgot the dangerous and destructive water around you.

Some people proved more reactionary to you than others. With some people, your magic responded so strongly, you were forced to cut them out completely. The first person this happened with was your best friend, Katrina. You were fourteen when she confided in you her family was fire Elementals. In response, your magic surged.

For a glorious summer, you practiced magic in secret. Each morning, you and Katrina bounded through the woods towards the far creek. You summoned great waves of water for Katrina to singe into mist. Everything was fine until late one evening, your mom caught you. She witnessed the combined magic and lost her temper.

Dragging you from the woods, your mom slammed the front door in Katrina’s face. She sat you down at the kitchen table, delivering a scolding you’ve never forgotten.

Do you know how reckless you were? What if a tree had caught fire? What if you altered the town’s water supply? What if someone saw and the next time a disaster happened, they blamed it on you – or Katrina?

Stricken by these very real possibilities, you promised not to do it again. Although you begged not to move, your mom packed the next day – your fastest exit ever.

The second time you cut someone out was after high school. Elliot was an artist, a quiet guy who dabbled with oils. He saw you painting one day in the park and silently set up his easel beside yours. This happened for weeks until he asked you out. Your ensuing romance was brief and sweet, and your feelings grew within a short period of time.

When Elliot told you he loved you, you dissolved into panic. You could feel how your magic responded, reaching for water that surged through his tiny apartment. Tossing on clothes, you stammered apologies and fled into the night.

For weeks following, it rained. Enough for the reporters to forecast local flooding. The fact terrified you – imagining people trapped on top of cars, small businesses flooded, the Red Cross called in to ferry locals to safety. It took your mom flying out to put you at ease, clearing the skies and regaining control.

Since then, you haven’t let anyone else past your inner walls. Until Jungkook.

Swallowing hard, you stare at his apartment and wonder if you’ll survive. Breaking up with Elliot is one of your worst memories and you only felt a fraction of what you do for Jungkook. Maybe you’ll conjure a hurricane, bringing the events of your life full circle.

Shutting your eyes, you rub at them dully. There’s no point in wondering what-if. You need to end it now, before things get worse. All day, you’ve gone over the facts and arrived at the same conclusion.

As expected, Jungkook was livid about Pierre last night. He wanted to confront your boss himself, although quickly backed off when he realized this was your battle. This though, turned to confusion when you said your intent to do nothing.

Although you tried the usual excuses, none of them stuck. Even if it was just once, Jungkook argued, it shouldn’t go unnoticed. You snapped slightly at this, insisting you’d deal with things in your own time.

Getting angry near Jungkook was peculiar. Suddenly, you became aware of the water around you. Thick, leaden pipes lacing Jungkook’s walls. Moisture that hung in the air, in the clouds – within his very veins. The thought terrified you, wondering what you might do accidentally.

Your panic must have been visible, because Jungkook instantly softened. Crossing the room, he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s just… I hate seeing you hurt. Of course, you know what’s best. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

His grip grounded you, enough that your magic dissipated, and that you realized a truth you’d hidden for some time.

You were in love with Jungkook.

No one in your life had ever been like him. Someone who was always in your corner, who protected you when they could and lifted up parts they couldn’t. Someone who liked everything about you – even the parts you weren’t brave enough to admit.

Studying his face, you tried to ignore the sudden ache in your chest. Even last night, you knew the inevitable. Memorizing his face, you tried hard to hold on. Jungkook’s slightly rounded nose, his full bottom lip accentuated by two piercings. Dark hair fell over his forehead; strong features contrasted by a soft gaze.

Jungkook watched you as well, and you wondered if he felt the same. Wondered why he’d commit you to memory, since you were the lucky one. He was the miracle, and you were biding your time.

Bending, he lightly brushed your mouth against his. Instantly, you melted. It wasn’t your first kiss and prayed it wouldn’t be the last, but something about last night felt different. Walking the two of you backwards, Jungkook pressed you against the wall and kissed you harder. His touch became desperate, one hand sliding beneath the lines of your blouse.

Your breath hitched at the brush of his fingers, delicious and warm against skin. His touch unknotted a hidden, tangled piece of your soul.

Ever since you met Jungkook, you’d held yourself separate. When you asked him to go slow in the beginning, he agreed. Touching was fine. Kissing was fine. Anything more, and you lost control.

About a month into dating, you met Jungkook at a bar and got tipsy. Three drinks in, you were frantically making out in an alley outside. Jungkook panted, “my place?” against your mouth, and you nodded. The journey back to his place was fast and slow, pausing in every dark place to drag his mouth to yours.

The second his door shut, you found yourself stumbling – into his bedroom, his bed, the confines of his heart. Shoes were discarded with every step, and Jungkook couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. You returned his fervor in spades, nipping his lower lip to watch him smile.

When he fell back on the bed, you saw his pulse quicken. Staring up at you, Jungkook watched your clothing disappear with a gaze so dark, it bordered on onyx. Climbing onto him, you resumed kissing with a newfound reverence. Eyes falling shut, you did your best to stay present.

Each brush of his lips was combustive, each touch of his hands filling you with sharp, pulsing light. And then –

The sink and shower in his bathroom burst on.

Startled, you pulled away and realized it had been you. Your magic had caused it, flooding his bathroom with water. Swearing under his breath, Jungkook scrambled out of bed to hastily turn off both faucets.

You sat there on his bed, heart pounding with fear. By the time he returned, you were already dressed and mortified. Jungkook was all apologies, certain he’d moved too fast, but you assured him he hadn’t. Anything that happened, you were an equal participant – too much maybe, although you didn’t say so out loud.

Lying in bed that night, you stared up at your ceiling. For a moment, it felt as though you were six and under the covers at your old house. Magic was dangerous. You would eventually hurt someone. Dread pooled in your stomach, recognizing the truth. If you couldn’t control your magic around Jungkook, you’d have to end things.

Heartache chased the thought, filling you with so much panic, you nearly drowned. Pushing this aside, you simply resolved to do better. To be better and keep both Jungkook and magic. This was simply another challenge; you owned your magic, not the other way around.

Thus, began the two best and worst months of your life. The best, since you’ve been dating Jungkook and the worst, because at every moment, you’re terrified of hurting him. Walking a line as thin as a razor, you’ve fallen in love while trying your best not to feel.

Until last night, you thought you’d been successful. Life was mostly under control, but then the Pierre debacle took place. Then Jungkook kissed you with such intensity, you forgot who you were and why you’d been holding back. Two long months of restraint and suddenly, you came undone at the seams.

Before long, you were again in his bedroom. Jungkook stripped off his clothes, bare skin pressing to yours with a searing intensity. Pulling you over him, a low hiss escaped while he kissed your throat. Even through his boxers, you could feel how hard Jungkook was. How badly he wanted this; a need you returned.

The thought of him inside you made you frantic. Pushing Jungkook onto his back, you straddled his waist and rocked forward.

Jungkook lay underneath you, his hair a dark halo. Suddenly, you could feel water everywhere. Magic, everywhere – it was in you, around you, in Jungkook’s walls and molecules. Everything felt so utterly fragile, and your magic responded.

Ferocious, it strained at your self-crafted bonds. Realizing how precarious your grasp on control was, your emotions slipped into panic.

You had to leave. Now.

Sensing the change in your body, Jungkook paused.

“I – I’m sorry,” you blurted, scrambling off him. Bending for your pants, you pushed one leg through and hastily zipped. “I need to go.”

Jungkook stared, frozen in place. “I…” Shaking his head, he pushed a hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Stomach dropping, you roughly shook your head. Part of you ached to correct him but your magic was barely leashed, and you weren’t certain how much longer it’d hold.

Your magic wasn’t something you wanted Jungkook to see.

Frantically throwing on your shirt, you rushed towards his front door. His dog, Bam, whined from the couch and lifted his head as you passed. Yanking open his door, you escaped to the hall and downstairs. You heard Jungkook call after, but he didn’t follow, for which you were grateful.

Remembering his face broke your heart as you entered the subway. You kept your magic at bay until reaching your building, at which point rain swept the city in waves. Soaked through, you got in the elevator and saw Jungkook had texted. Shaking, you responded you’d talk to him tomorrow and turned off your phone.

Rain poured all night and you barely slept. By the time you woke, your mood had gotten worse. Work was torture. Even the lunch shift couldn’t save you, the looming specter of Jungkook impossible to forget. When Pierre showed up around one, you knew you were doomed. His glower could be felt all the way across the restaurant and no matter what you did, you somehow stayed in his way.

With little to no sleep and haunted by last night, the grip on your magic was tentative at best. Your entire shift, it hovered at the edge of your fingers. When Pierre commented you looked tired, the rain outside worsened. When a table of middle-aged men called you ‘girlie,’ their water glasses shook.

It was miraculous nothing happened until the end of your shift. That was the moment Pierre’s friends arrived, seating themselves at the table you gave away last night. One of them laughed as you poured them water, and you managed to push down your snide remark.

Glasses full, you turned around to go and the same one grabbed your waist.

You went still.

For so long, you’ve hidden your magic to protect others. You’ve kept them from hurting and there you were, broken, and no one cared about you. Just like no one cared about your dad, in the end. Teeth gritted, you whirled – and the entire water pitcher dumped itself at him.

At him, not on him.

You didn’t trip. Didn’t throw the water, although either would have been preferrable. Instead, the water leapt from the pitcher to slap the man in the face.

Horrified, you stared as reality sunk in. You had just assaulted a guest – a friend of Pierre’s, at that.

Shocked, the man wiped water down his visage. The entire restaurant fell silent, every eye in the room locked on you. Panic-stricken, you stammered an apology, flung a napkin on the table and fled into the kitchen.

The moment you crashed through the doors, you were hailed a hero. Izumi, your line cook, wistfully recalled the one time she punched a guy who grabbed her ass. Georgina added that once, she spit in the drink of a man who called her a bitch.

Both tactfully avoided the fact that you were an Elemental, which you appreciated. You were starting to feel marginally better – maybe you wouldn’tbe fired, after all – when the door to the kitchen swung open and Pierre stormed through. Seeing his face, your heart sank.

“You!” Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed. “Y/N – pack your things! You’re done here. Fired. You think you can insult my friend, pull some magic bullshit on him, and continue to work here? Fuck that. Get out – now!”

A pin could have been heard in the silence. Coming to your senses, you did exactly as asked and got your things. Pierre hadn’t mentioned pressing charges, and you didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.

Outside, you stood on the sidewalk and stared at the bus stop. Storm clouds brewed above, a visualization of your inner turmoil. Eventually, you turned and trudged down the subway.

Things had reached a point you couldn’t ignore anymore. You were beyond out of control. Emotions surged and strained against your internal walls, threatening everyone you held dear. The city didn’t deserve to be punished, even if no one within it knew of your sacrifice. Pierre’s friends were awful, but you could’ve just as easily lost your temper with someone you loved.

Someone like Jungkook, whom you couldn’t seem to be around without incident.

That was the reason most people feared Elementals. It was selfish of you to put your desires ahead of another person’s safety. The only way to protect someone you loved was to stay away.

Starting with Jungkook. You just wished he didn’t have to get hurt in order for that to happen.

Standing outside his building, you take a deep breath and press the buzzer. You wait for several long moments, wondering if he’s home and then –

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Leaning in, you press 316. “Hey. It’s me. Y/N.”

A weighted pause, and then –

“Come in.”

The door unlocks, and you push it inside. Climbing the steps to his place, your heart starts to pound. The last time you saw Jungkook, you were running away. The last text he sent was, ‘ok,’ in response to your message. If you were Jungkook, you wouldn’t be thrilled to see you.

Coming to a stop outside 316, you lift your hand and knock. A howl responds, followed by the patter of gigantic dog footsteps. Unable to stop your smile, you shake your head at the chaos.

“It’s just me, Bam!” you say, and he stops.

Bam’s howl is replaced with a whine and the sharp thwack-thwack of his tail on the door.

“Bam, out of the way,” Jungkook calls, his voice coming closer. A few seconds later, the door flies open to reveal your boyfriend.

You only catch a glimpse before Bam barrels out, nearly knocking you over. Legs and tail akimbo, he slobbers all over until you bend to pet him. Once satisfied, Bam turns around and trots back inside.

Silence falls between you, and you look up to see Jungkook. He’s dressed casually, sweatpants and a t-shirt bought at a concert you attended. He hasn’t moved aside, blocking you from entering.

Uncertain, you straighten. “Can I come in?”

Slowly, he nods and moves. You walk past him, trying not to focus on the heat of his shoulder. This might be the last time you see Jungkook, so you try to focus on that. Not the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Hearing the door shut, you take a deep breath and turn to face him. “I can’t stay too long,” you admit, digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

Jungkook regards you warily. His expression makes your chest ache, unused to him with such a stern expression. After last night, you suppose it’s earned. You should probably get used to it.

“Y/N.” His jaw works. “What’s going on?”

Deciding honesty is the best policy – up to a point – you force out your next words. “I think we should break up,” you say in a rush.

With a low whine, Bam slinks in the direction of the bedroom. Jungkook glances at him, distracted, before facing forward.

“What do you mean?” His head tilts. “Like, you want to take a break?”

Steeling yourself, you shake your head. “No. As in, I want to break up. Permanently.”

A train passes by the building, rumbling the floorboards underneath. Most people would avoid living in this building for that reason, but Jungkook was overjoyed by the prospect of discounted rent.

He doesn’t seem overjoyed now, though. Instead, he looks stricken.

“Walk me through this,” Jungkook says, walking closer. The set of his mouth has turned stubborn. “I don’t follow. Why are we breaking up again?”

The knot in your chest tightens. You should have known Jungkook wouldn’t make this easy on you. “We’re not good together,” you say, only to correct yourself. “I mean, I’m not good for you. I’m not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

He comes to a stop. “I can wait, Y/N. I don’t mind.”

Reaching for you, Jungkook’s brows crease when you take a step backwards. His hand falls between you, and he stares at the empty space. The crack in your heart widens, made worse by his silence.

“I mind, though,” you force yourself to say. “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Jungkook. That’s not fair to either of us. It’s too much pressure.”

The words make your heart splinter, reaching a point you aren’t sure can be reassembled. Maybe the pieces will simply lodge in your muscle, bruising your insides each time you draw breath.

“I won’t pressure you,” Jungkook says, automatic. His frown deepens. “Tell me what this is really about, Y/N. Is this about sex? It’s fine if we don’t have it.” Stepping closer, he takes your hand and you let him. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

Somewhat manic, you shake your head – and then nod.

Sex is a part of the problem, but it’s not the root cause. Sex with Jungkook is unthinkable. You can barely remain in control when you kiss, let alone allow more. With your past partners, this wasn’t an issue, but your past partners weren’t Jungkook.

Never have you met someone able to scramble your thoughts with a kiss. Whose gaze melted inhibitions and tore down every wall. You have little doubt that with Jungkook, you’d lose full control, and the thought is terrifying. Already, your makeshift barriers are weakened.

Rain splatters against the window, and your stomach lurches.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Jungkook says, returning your attention to him. “What’s this about? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

He takes your other hand, and you realize how close he stands. “Is it work?” Jungkook asks, a crease between brows. “Is there… some reason you can’t quit? You can tell me, Y/N.”

An odd zing of disappointment goes through you. For a moment, you thought Jungkook had guessed your secret, and this could all be avoided. If Jungkook knew what you were and that you lied to him – well, he’d end things for you. Hesitant, you consider revealing that truth but can’t seem to form words. It would devastate you, seeing fear replace love in his eyes.

“Work isn’t the problem,” you say at last. “It’s us, Jungkook. Or – it’s me. I don’t want to be together anymore.”

Disbelief flashes across his expression, and you idly wonder what will happen if Jungkook refuses. Even as you think this though, his expression shifts. Jungkook takes a careful step backwards, dropping your hands entirely.

He’s never been good at hiding emotion. Jungkook is your opposite in that way, revealing every shift of thought and desire. You watch confusion become anger, then bitterness a moment before he turns away. The set of his shoulders is still, staring out the window as yet another train passes.

Restless, he turns to drag a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe you,” he declares. “This is so out of nowhere, Y/N. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m telling you everything,” you say, panic rising. “And this isn’t out of nowhere! I’ve been telling you for months I need to take things slow and this – well, this is the opposite of slow, Jungkook!”

Jungkook stares back at you, heated. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, the tension thick in between you. Eventually, you look away first and pull your bag tighter.

“Right,” you exhale. “Well, I should go –”

Striding forward, Jungkook reaches you to cup your face with both palms. Gently, he lifts your face towards him, and all thoughts cease completely. Gaze searching, his breath fans across your parted lips.

Jungkook’s gaze intensifies. “I don’t believe you,” he murmurs.

Adrenaline zips under your skin, stirring your magic into a deadly storm. Entire body tense, you suppress the urge to fight or flee. So often, you’re the one running but right now, you feel more compelled to fight.

A knife in you twists, knowing you’re a coward. If you were stronger, you could keep Jungkook. No matter how understanding he is, the fact remains that if he stays with you, Jungkook remains in danger. Each passing day only worsens the pain.

His face blurs. With a start of surprise, you realize there are tears on your cheeks. The furrow between Jungkook’s brows deepens, noticing as well.

“You’re not listening,” you blurt. “I can’t see you any longer, Jungkook. It’s in your best interest, I promise – I can’t do this. It’s too much.”

Reaching up, you remove his hands from your face and head for the door.

Jungkook follows close behind. “Which is it, then?” he demands. “You want me to go slowly, or you feel too much?”

Pressure weighs every inch of your skin, demanding you answer. Anything that comes out now will only make things harder. Reaching the door, you feel Jungkook’s hand on your shoulder. Caving, you don’t fight when Jungkook turns you to face him.

He’s too close to you. Too much and too close, his one hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Slowly, his thumb strokes the elongated line of your throat. You swallow, hard, and his gaze follows the motion.

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to yours. “You keep saying you’re no good for me,” he says, his voice low. “But what if I don’t care? Don’t I get a say in this decision?”

The force of holding in your magic worsens, becoming near impossible. Hastily built walls threaten to collapse, and reality blurs between one moment and the next.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, your hand searching behind you. “I have to go.”

Finding the doorknob, you twist and stumble backwards. Jungkook watches you go, the look on his face physically painful as you turn around. Each second that follows is pure concentration, trying not to break before getting outside.

The ocean is only a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment.

Reaching the harbor, rain pelts your face in a way that feels punishing. Magic makes your limbs tremble, escaping your body in wisps of fog and rain. The moment you arrive at the harbor, you shatter, collapsing forward to grip your knees with both hands.

Eyes pressed tightly shut, you hear the storm howl. Waves churn the harbor, sloshing over the sidewalk in an attempt to get closer. No tidal waves, you plead in an attempt at reason. No whirlpools, no water spouts.

Your magic listens in this regard, at least. By the time your eyes open, a curtain of rain mingles with tears on your cheeks. Staring out at the ocean, each inch of your body is numb.

Jungkook will never forgive you for this.

The thought banishes all the rest. You can’t say that you blame him. Slowly, you exhale as you lift your gaze. The chasm in your chest widens, becoming something unbreachable. This is all your fault. You wish there was some satisfaction in knowing this, but there isn’t.

Eventually, the rain dulls, and you push yourself upright. Your sneakers squish with every step, the silence all-encompassing as you ride on the subway. Entering the building, you remove your shoes and collapse on your bed, fully clothed. Thankfully, your roommate isn’t home, so you aren’t forced to explain the events of tonight. Seokjin would have wanted to discuss, and you aren’t sure you can without breaking down.

Burrowing your face into the pillows, you manage to cry yourself asleep. Rain doesn’t let up the entire night.

“Tell me again.” Taking a seat at the table, Seokjin spoons yogurt and berries into his mouth. “Why did you have to end things with your boyfriend?”

Cracking open one eye, you glare from where you sit, slumped forward. “You know why, Seokjin,” you grumble. “Not all of us can be air Elementals in perfect control of their magic.”

“You could be, though,” he says, pointing with his spoon. “If you put in like, five seconds of training and embraced your water powers instead of running away whenever things got bad.”

“I am not running.”

“No.” Seokjin lifts a brow. “You’re cowering, which is far less attractive.”

“I’m not cowering, either.” Scowling, you bury your head deeper into your arms. “I’m wallowing. Big difference.”

Scoffing, his spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl. Pushing his chair back to stand, Seokjin heads for the sink and turns on the tap. The water itches a spot deep in your chest, almost taunting.

“I can’t be too hard on you, though,” Seokjin says as he cleans. “You did get fired and dumped in one day – that’s pretty rough.”

“Does it count as being dumped if I did the dumping?”

“I’ll allow it.” He opens the dishwasher. “But only because really, you didn’t want to break up with Jungkook. You’ve just convinced yourself the world is better off without you – something I highly disagree with, by the way, but can’t fault you for feeling. It’s too sad.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, and close your eyes.

Two days have gone by since your decision to end your relationship with Jungkook. It hasn’t been great, to put things mildly. On Monday, you barely left your room and rain poured from the sky. When you did enter the kitchen, the weather person on Channel 9 predicted local flooding.

Seokjin arrived from his business trip that night, took one look at your face and helped stop the storm. You sagged with relief, falling into a fitful round of sleep that only lasted three hours.

Seokjin is one of the few Elementals you know who embraces their power. Both his parents are air Elementals, and he was raised to take over their magical consulting business. Said business does well, leading Seokjin to own a gorgeous, three-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. He got bored last winter, decided to post for a roommate and here you are. One of the few people in the city willing to room with an Elemental.

You don’t care what Seokjin does with his magic, although his laissez-faire attitude can occasionally be unnerving. You’ve lived your entire life with the assumption your existence is dangerous. All you need is a quick Google search to reinforce this fact. But then there’s Seokjin, living his life, seemingly none the worse for the wear.

He discovered your powers about a month into rooming together. Coming back from a trip, Seokjin opened the door to stare, slack-jawed, as plates washed themselves in the sink. Glancing up from your book at the table, you immediately sent two dishes crashing onto the floor.

Seokjin stared at this for a moment, then looked up. “You owe me new plates,” he declared and walked into his bedroom. After a moment, he popped his head out. “Hey – you think if we combined my wind and your water, we could create a waterspout but on land?”

“That’s… a tornado, Seokjin.”

“Right.” He slapped the doorframe once and disappeared. “Well, something to think about!”

Months later, Seokjin still doesn’t understand your avoidance of magic, but respects the decision enough to leave it alone. At least, until something like this happens and he’s again at a loss.

“Listen.”

Turning around, he shuts the dishwasher with his hip.

“Oh, no.” You grimace. “What now?”

Seokjin raises both hands. “Nothing, nothing. Far be it from me to comment on your mistakes. I’m sorry – did I say mistakes? I meant, ‘learned life experience.’ Through mistakes.”

“Was there a question in all that?”

“No question.” Loosely, he gestures. “Just wanted to say you can stay here, rent-free, until you figure this out. You know I’m only taking your money because you insist. I don’t need it. This place is already paid for.”

“Only because you frightened the seller so badly, they cut the price in half.”

“Listen.” Seokjin’s smile turns slightly sinister. “If they were willing to let their ingrained fear of Elementals influence their selling point, that’s on them. Not me.”

“Fair enough,” you sigh and sit back. “But seriously – thank you. This will give me some time to come up with a plan.”

Seokjin nods, tracing the rim of his coffee. Absently, he glances down the hall at the empty third bedroom. “You know…”

“No,” you say, automatic.

His right brow lifts. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to suggest I use this time off to work on my art.”

“Okay.” Seokjin shrugs. “Maybe you did know. But seriously, Y/N – why not?”

Weary, you exhale. “Because every time I try to paint, I get this… block. I can’t explain it. Watercolors used to be the one place I felt comfortable using my magic. Now… I don’t know. I can’t seem to use my magic anywhere. Even my art.”

Seokjin tilts his head, thoughtful. “How long has this been going on?”

“Don’t know – a few months?”

“Not long after you started dating Jungkook.”

Staring at Seokjin, you realize he’s right. That’s exactly around when you began dating Jungkook. The block happened not long after. Thinking about the early days of dating are painful though, and so you choose not to.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you declare with a shake of your head. “Right now, what I need is a job. And to earn money. Preferably in that order.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “Let me know if the order changes. I know a guy.”

Before you can consider his offer too seriously, your phone rings on the table. Glancing down, your heart constricts at your mom’s name. It isn’t that you don’t want to talk. It’s that if you do, Jungkook’s name will come up, and you’ll be forced to explain why you two aren’t together. Right now, you’re managing to cope by avoiding the topic. You aren’t sure what will happen if you’re forced to confront it.

Not to mention the very real possibility your mom will be happy. She liked Jungkook, but she always worries whenever someone new enters your life.

Also glancing at your phone, Seokjin scowls. “Don’t answer it,” he says, walking past. “Whenever you talk to your mom, things get even worse.”

Seokjin’s not wrong. Your mom means well – really, she does – but talking to her tends to leave you exhausted. Still, you know from experience it’s better to answer now.

“I know,” you sigh and stand up. “But if I don’t pick up now, she’ll just keep calling. Hey,” you say, pressing answer. “One second, mom.”

Ignoring Seokjin’s sad shake of his head, you scoop up your coffee and head for your bedroom.

Closing the door to your room, you lean backwards. “Hi, mom,” you say, lifting your phone to your ear. “Sorry about that. I was eating breakfast. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” your mom says, and you can practically hear her smile. “Same old, same old. The better question is, how are you? I saw on the weather there’s some flooding by you. Hope you’re alright!”

Grimacing, you move the phone to speaker. You should have known your mom would check in. Reading between the lines of her question, you can hear what she’s really asking. Your mom wants to know if you caused the flooding – an answer which is undeniably yes, but she doesn’t have to know that.

Setting down your half-empty mug, you flop face-first on your bed. Less information tends to be more with your mom. You’re debating what to say when she solves the problem for you.

“I know you haven’t had a slip in years,” she continues. “But if there’s another water Elemental in town, you should try to steer clear of them! Being around them could set you off – that’s what happened to Becky’s nephew, she said.”

Fighting an eye roll, you roll on your back. Becky Mayweather is your mom’s best friend in the entire world and one of your least favorite people. She’s the type to bake cookies, offer a shoulder to cry on – and then promptly turn and gossip to the neighbors about it. She fancies herself an Elemental expert because a few of her friends married them. Funnily enough, neither you nor your mom have met these friends in person.

“Oh?” you ask. “I never noticed.”

“It’s true! You know that I worry, Y/N. All alone in the city with another Elemental for a roommate…”

Annoyance spikes in your stomach. “His name is Seokjin, and I’m an Elemental too, mom. His mom could say the same thing about me.”

Seokjin’s mom could be saying that, but she wouldn’t because Seokjin’s mom and dad are both magic enthusiasts. The few times you met them, they were nothing but kind.

“Oh, Y/N.” Your mom sighs. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Watch your tone,” she says. “I’m only telling the truth. You work hard on controlling your magic. Your roommate, on the other hand, uses his magic willy-nilly. In broad daylight! You two couldn’t be more different.”

Your mom isn’t wrong about that, although not for the reason she thinks. Seokjin does use his magic freely, but you’re the one at risk of hurting others – not him.

“Seokjin is a good guy,” you say tightly. “He’s letting me stay here, rent-free, while I search for another job.”

“Another job?” Her voice pitches. “What happened to the job at that restaurant?”

Cursing yourself for your own stupidity, you close your eyes. “Um… I was let go. Difference of opinions with management.”

“Oh. Well. That’s too bad, Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s probably for the best – you don’t want to be working for someone you don’t respect, right?”

Some of your anger lessens at her genuine sympathy. It’d be easy to paint your mom as the villain but truthfully, she comes from a good place. You know that she loves you; she just doesn’t want to lose you the same way she lost your dad.

Exhaling deeply, you reach to grab a pillow. “I’ve been trying to paint,” you say. “It hasn’t been going well.”

“No?”

You frown at the obvious joy in her voice.

“Yeah,” you admit.

“Well…” Your mom draws the word out. “We always knew art was a risky hobby, Y/N. Painting. With watercolors. Something could easily go wrong and put you in danger.”

“I know, mom.”

“Actually,” she adds, her excitement growing. “Maybe this is a sign. Y/N – what if this means your powers are weakening?”

Your entire body goes still. “What?”

“Yes!” she says, oblivious to the panic in your voice. “You always loved watercolors because they made sense to you, right? Because of your… well, magic. What if a block means your powers are growing weaker? I wonder if other Elementals ever lose touch with their magic. I’ll have to ask Becky.”

Irrational anger surges within, and you hear the faucet in your bathroom turn on. Hastily, you work to turn it back off.

“You don’t need to do that,” you blurt. “I’ll research it myself. Actually, I should get going – I wanted to apply for some jobs this morning.”

“Oh, yes – good call, honey. You go and apply. Let me know if you need help. Becky has connections with the local university. I’m sure someone could help you update your resume – or even apply, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Thanks,” you say, although it absolutely does not. “That’s a nice offer.”

“Have a good day, honey – I love you!”

“Love you, too,” you say before hanging up.

Dropping the phone onto your bed, you hug your pillow tightly. It takes several long minutes to relax, wading your way through an anxious sea of thought. Although your mom means well, conversations with her tend to leave you feeling drained. Since you were young, it’s felt like your mom has an idea of the perfect child, and they aren’t you.

Eventually, you stand to bring your mug to the kitchen. Seokjin is busy making another pot of coffee, the delicious scent wafting overhead.

Passing him by, you eye this warily. “Isn’t that your third pot this morning?”

“And?” Seokjin reaches for his mug. “You’ve had three cups yourself.”

“Touché,” you sigh, collapsing on the couch.

Minutes later, Seokjin enters the living room and hands you a mug.

Staring into the drink, you say, “Thanks.”

Settling onto the sofa, Seokjin examines you over the rim of his coffee. You ignore him, taking a long sip of your drink. A summer breeze wafts through the window, and with a flick of his wrist, Seokjin sends it back out.

A stab of envy goes through you, although you know it’s irrational. Seokjin always makes magic look easy, but you’ve never found it to be so. Maybe when you were younger, before the crippling fear and anxiety had a chance to set in. The only time magic ever felt normal was when you painted and now, you can’t even do that.

Thinking about painting makes you think about Jungkook though, causing the dull thud in your chest to become a sledgehammer. You miss him. Miss the easy way Jungkook made you laugh. How he insisted on constantly touching some part of your body.

Cupping your mug of coffee, you take another sip and sink into the sadness.

“Far be it from me to dole out advice.” Seokjin interrupts your tiny pity party. “But I think you’re going about this the wrong way.”

Too exhausted to argue, you merely exhale. “What’s the right way, then?”

His head tilts. “I don’t know. But I find it weird your block appeared around the same time you started dating Jungkook. You’ve…” Seokjin hesitates, and you recognize his how-do-I-put-this-delicately face. “You’ve given up a lot over the years, Y/N. Maybe this time, you gave up more of yourself than you realized.”

Silently, you wonder whether he’s right. For too long, you’ve gone through the motions of life without really living. Too scared of letting people in, scaring them off, of being yourself. Perhaps giving up Jungkook will be the final straw. The thought doesn’t comfort you, and you have no response.

After a moment, Seokjin turns on the TV. The morning slips by, though you can’t help but think about his earlier comments – could you control your magic if you tried harder? The moment you think this, you instantly banish the thought. You’ve been attempting for months, and nothing has worked.

With this cheery thought, you allow yourself to sink further into melancholy. Only this time, the water rushing overheard isn’t your friend. You aren’t sure it ever was.

Wednesday morning, you leave the apartment in a haze. You thought that by today, things would be better but if anything, the situation seems to be worse.

Missing Jungkook is painful.

It hurts more than you thought, which might sound stupid, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When you and Elliot broke up, it was sad, but you knew it was for the best and that lessened some of the pain. Now though, each beat of your heart prevents the wound from closing. A tentative scab in one second, only to be torn open the next.

Jungkook always sent you good morning texts. Not because he was up before you, but because he went to bed so late, it was only an hour or two before you awoke. His words were the first thing you read in the morning, smiling sleepily at his rambling. Sometimes, Jungkook would include a late-night snack recipe. Always, he’d end with something he liked about you.

His silence is deafening. Something not even your favorite coffee shop can fix, although you try. Standing in line, you aimlessly flip through songs on your phone. Today, you promised Seokjin you’d attend at least two interviews. The first one is in an hour at a sushi restaurant. Before then, you plan to load up on caffeine and organize your thoughts.

When the line moves forward, you flip to your messages. No new texts. Unsurprising, but it rends the scab in your heart anew.

Facing forward, you remove an earbud to order. “Hi,” you say, mustering a smile. “I’ll have an iced americano with rose syrup.”

“Got it.” The barista barely looks up. “That all?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want a receipt?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.” She nods. “That’ll be ready soon at the end of the counter.”

Nodding your thanks, you replace the ear pod. Cranking your music louder, you wait for your coffee and lean against the counter. The coffee shop is tiny, empty for a weekday after the morning rush. Aimless, you glance over the clustered tables.

Your thoughts are on Jungkook before they can be stopped. You wonder what he's doing, what he’s wearing, whether he’s blocked your number yet from his phone.

A talented graphic designer, Jungkook works mostly on commission and on his own time. He does well for himself – enough to afford rent on his own place. Your mutual creative streak was something you had in common. Not your sleeping hours, that’s for sure.

Jungkook usually slept until nine or ten, then went to the gym before he made breakfast. You used to tease him about that, saying he couldn’t call it breakfast if –

Your heart falters. Jungkook must be on your mind since you seem to have hallucinated him here, at the coffee shop. You blink once, and then twice, but the mirage doesn’t fade, and you’re forced to conclude Jungkook is actually here.

Unfolding himself from a chair, he heads in your direction. Panicked, you glance at the counter, then back up. Your coffee hasn’t finished, which means that you’re trapped. Straightening, you do your best to seem natural and are certain you fail. Jungkook doesn’t just look natural, he is so as he approaches. At least, until you notice his hands in his pockets.

Jungkook does this when he’s nervous. Likely, he’s playing with the inside pocket lining. It hurts, knowing him so well, and not being his. When Jungkook comes to a stop, you stand mere inches apart.

“Jungkook,” you say, his name punched from your diaphragm.

He nods. “Hey.”

Uncertain, you glance down at the counter to check for your drink. Still nothing and, looking back, you tilt your head. “What are you doing here?”

Jungkook’s hands go deeper, if possible. “Getting coffee. Is that allowed?”

Your lips press together. “Sure. Theoretically, you can get coffee. What I’m asking though, is why you chose this coffee shop, five blocks away from your place. Usually, you’re not awake before noon.”

His expression is inscrutable. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

The silence between you lengthens, and not in a good way. You know why you’re quiet but can’t tell what Jungkook is thinking. You suppose that it’s possible he woke up early, forgot this was your favorite shop and went on a long walk for coffee – it’s possible, but unlikely.

At last, Jungkook exhales. “Alright, fine. I wanted to see you.”

“Y/N?”

Both of you turn at the sound of your name. Glancing between the two of you, the barista seems to pick up a weird vibe, dropping the cup to hurry away. Grateful for the interruption, you reach for your coffee and attempt to reset.

It’s not fair of Jungkook, corning you like this. You were already forced to end this once – unfair, making you do so again. Breaking up with him once was barely possible; twice is unthinkable.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?”

His voice interrupts your train of thought and, gripping your drink tightly, you turn.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Like, I don’t know.” His brow furrows, frustration obvious. “Anything, Y/N.”

Behind the counter, the barista fills a tea kettle to set this on the stove. You watch it instead of Jungkook, unsure how you’re going to do this again. The pressure of the water boiling is near tangible, mimicking the internal state of your mind.

Biting your tongue, you decide a safe exit is best. Jungkook will get the hint without you being forced to break his heart. Counting backwards from ten, you exhale and attempt to walk past.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” you say in a murmur.

You’re nearly past Jungkook when you hear a soft swear. Only one more step happens before his hand grips your elbow.

“Y/N, please,” Jungkook breathes, turning you towards him.

Your gaze lifts and you start at his obvious pain. Staring back, Jungkook searches your face for something unspoken. Whatever he seeks, he must find it, since determination enters his.

You tear your gaze away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jungkook.”

“I want to know if you were serious about breaking up.”

He’s still holding your elbow.

You must notice this at the same time, but neither of you move. Your gaze returns to his, drawn like a magnet and you realize your mistake when you can’t look away. Romeo’s line about Julie being the sun comes to mind, making sudden sense. You orbit around Jungkook, whether you like it or not.

In the background, a tea kettle whistles. “I meant what I said, Jungkook,” you say, forcing yourself to speak first. “I’m not good for you.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “But why,” he demands, frustration seeping through. You can hear in his voice the long nights of desperation, of little sleep in your absence. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Y/N. What did I do?”

A chasm in your chest opens, hating how easily he jumps to self-doubt. Before you can think better of it, you move closer.

“Nothing,” you say, one hand on his arm. “You did nothing wrong, Jungkook. I’m just not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

“But why not?” His gaze sharpens. “Everything was fine between us until Sunday.”

“Everything was not fine.”

Jungkook pauses, then barrels on. “When you say you can’t be in a relationship… what you’re really saying is you can’t be in a relationship with me.”

“With anyone,” you correct, although you aren’t sure that’s the truth.

Your magic has never been this temperamental. Possibly because this is the first time you’ve fallen in love. Dating someone not Jungkook would be safer, but the thought is abhorrent.

If you can’t have Jungkook, you don’t want anyone. That will be your punishment. Jungkook will move on, fall in love, and be happy with another person. Not you. No one else will compare, and if you can’t now, you doubt you’ll move past this crippling fear.

“You keep telling me that,” Jungkook says, growing heated. “But I’m the one you’re breaking up with, so it’s a little bit about me. You need to give me something, Y/N. Is this about your past? I know you don’t like to talk about your childhood, but I want to know.”

A loud buzzing fills your ears, gaze darting around. You haven’t told Jungkook much about your family, not wanting to invite questions about being an Elemental. The thought of him guessing sparks panic again, and the tea kettle on the stove whistles louder.

“People in my past hurt me,” you say in a rush. Magic itches beneath your skin, begging for escape. “That’s part of it, but not all.”

“What’s all, then?”

Frustration seeps past the wall, and several things happen. Your magic lashes out, a loud noise makes you jump, and the tea kettle shatters while hitting the floor. Water sloshes across the tile, steam hissing as the barista jumps back with a yelp.

Startled, you whirl around. One barista turns off the stove, another grabs a towel while a third finds a broom. Luckily, none of them seem injured – the tea kettle missed their skin. Taking a half-step towards them, you force yourself to stop. Although you want to help, that might make you seem guilty.

Already, the guilt within you is rising. You felt your magic overpowering you and chose to stay. If a barista had been hurt, it would’ve been your fault.

Turning back, you find Jungkook staring at the mess. He looks similarly shocked, twisting the knife in your gut. If he knew you caused this, he’d look at you that differently.

“You see?” you blurt, and he glances in your direction. “Everyone around me gets hurt. I can’t hurt you, too, Jungkook.”

Shoving open the door, you’re halfway outside when his words reach your ears.

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” he says softly. “You already have.”

The door shuts behind you, and you almost make it home before starting to cry. The skies open again above the city.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” you mutter, staring through the window.

The slightly dilapidated Ramen-rama tables stare back at you until the owner walks past. Catching you standing there, he motions you on.

Somewhat chagrined, you trudge down the sidewalk. Reaching a playground two blocks away, you collapse on a bench and attempt to be rational. Four different interviews. Spread across two different days. Each one ending the exact same.

One crappy interview, even two, and you’d understand. But four crappy interviews in the same way? Something weird is happening. Each interview, you arrived, greeted the owner, answered a few questions, and were thus informed the position was filled.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t gotten a job. It was that your interviewers seemed nervous, staring hard at your resume and never your face. They seemed relieved when you left, as though you were liable to break something for fun.

“Hey. Did you interview this morning at Ramen-rama?”

Startled, you turn and find a stranger beside you.

You don’t recognize him; certainly you’d remember if you met before. Dressed in a Ramen-rama t-shirt, his dark hair is gathered in a bun on his head. His hair makes your chest ache, since Jungkook used to wear his like that.

“Um, yeah,” you say, yanking yourself from your daydreams.

He smiles and nods. “I thought that was you. Listen – I overheard the manager talking this morning on the phone while I was unloading the truck. I think he was talking about you, so I thought I should tell you what I overheard.”

Concerned, you straighten. “Uh, okay. What was he saying?”

“He was talking to your old boss – Pierre? Apparently, he’s calling around and warning people not to hire you. Said that you stole from him, or something. Not sure if it’s the same story for everyone, or if he’s making up shit up in the moment.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” The guy’s smile turns wry. “I’m assuming none of it’s true. You don’t look like the thieving type, but the boss is running a business, I guess. Can’t be too careful.”

“Right.” You pause, then shake your head. “I didn’t steal, just so you know. A guest was an ass to me, so I dumped water on him – on accident,” you add.

Laughing loudly, the guy clutches his bicycle. “Wow, I’d love to hear that story. Especially the part about it being an accident,” he adds with a wink, sticking out his hand. “I’m Wooyoung.”

“Y/N,” you say as you shake. “So. Pierre is calling people?”

Brow furrowed, Wooyoung pulls back. “Yeah. Sorry I had to tell you like this. Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to know, but figured I should.”

You push yourself to stand. “I do appreciate it. Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.” Sheepish, he glances down the road. “I should actually get back if I don’t want to lose my job. Delivery,” he explains, nodding towards his bike. “Need the extra income.”

“Makes sense,” you say, forcing a smile. “Good luck.”

Wooyoung nods, then pauses in a way that feels familiar. He’s checking you out, you realize after a moment. Although flattering, it’s instantly followed by a rush of guilt. Wooyoung is cute and in another life, you’d say yes, but in every life, it’s hard not to want Jungkook.

Waving goodbye, Wooyoung climbs onto his bike and takes off. You head in the opposite direction, needing to put distance between you and Ramen-rama. If Pierre is shit-talking you across town, you’ll be hard-pressed to find another job at a restaurant. Owners are notoriously clicky and for how many restaurants there are, there are surprisingly few out of the loop.

Maybe you can ask the coffee shop if they’re hiring. Although you should probably avoid work with water for a bit. This drops your mood, your thoughts turning desperate. You’re so deep in an anxiety spiral, you nearly run into an open door on the sidewalk.

Jerking upright, you stare at faded, golden letters. Creative Courage is spelled in looping cursive over a frosted window. Art supplies fill a display case, while the other is clustered with art of all kinds. You spot sculpture, pottery, painting, and sketches before losing count.

Before you can chicken out, you push open the door.

Stepping in, tiny bells chime to announce your arrival. Soft, ambient light fills the space – a shop that’s two-fold, you realize now that you’re inside. The front sells art supplies while in the back stands a classroom. There’s a class in session now, several artists seated on stools before easels.

“Can I help you?” someone asks, stepping into your path.

Blinking, you focus. “Um, no – thank you! I was just looking.”

“Of course!” The woman beams, reaching up to arrange a clip in magenta hair. “That’s what we’re here for. If you do change your mind, let me know – we’ve got art supplies out front, and classes are held daily in back.”

“Classes?”

“Mhm.” Crossing her arms, the woman nods. “Mostly still life and figure drawing, but we’re hoping to add some more soon. Are you an artist?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

Immediately, you stiffen. “No. At least, not right now.”

Her lips twitch. “Not sure it works like that, unfortunately. Who you are can’t come on and off like a jacket. I like that, though,” she admits with a laugh. “Might borrow it the next time the muses aren’t singing.”

You can’t help but grin. “Exactly.”

Her head tilts, surveying you with unnerving intensity. “My name is Taryn. I co-own this place with my partner, Micah. They’re the one teaching right now.”

“Oh,” you say, somewhat wistful. “That’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Her smile widens. “So, what was your preferred medium? You know, ‘back when’ you were an artist.”

You can’t help but laugh when Taryn lifts her hands to use air quotes. Some people have a way of making you feel included in their jokes, and Taryn is one of them. She teases you in a conspiratorial way, letting you know she understands. People often call art a labor of love, which can be true but more often, it’s a complicated tangle of love, pain and frustration.

“Watercolors,” you admit. “And my name is Y/N.”

Her eyes brighten. “We’ve been meaning to add a watercolor class for ages. Some of our regulars have asked, but Micah and I are both hopeless. Potter,” she explains, gesturing at herself. “And Micah prefers charcoal. Sometimes sculpture.”

“Wow,” you say. “Those are very different.”

“You don’t say.” Taryn laughs. “Micah likes to keep things fresh. What about you? Have you ever taught be– hang on,” she blurts, her eyes going wide. “Did you say that your name is Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N?”

Your cheeks heat. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Whirling, Taryn hustles through the front room to duck behind a counter. Digging through several drawers, she pulls out a print to hurry back.

“Is this you?” she demands, thrusting this in your face.

Even cross-eyed and close, you recognize your most popular work. A watercolor series on the majesty and destruction of sea storms. Looking at this makes you feel raw, and so you look up.

“Yep,” you admit. “That’s me.”

Pulling back, Taryn looks at the print reverently. “You’re amazing. Micah was trying to do something similar but couldn’t capture the right feeling.”

Shuffling awkwardly, you shrug. You’ve never felt as though your work deserved acclaim, although it’s nice to know the series resonated with others. One of your favorite aspects of art is how it can be intensely personal but once shared, takes on a universal quality. You find it constantly surprising; how many people seem to share the same burdens.

“Seriously.” Taryn shakes her head wryly. “If you ever wanted to teach a class, let me know. We’d be lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you,” you say, stuffing both hands in your pockets.

You hadn’t realized your desperation was obvious. Or possibly Taryn is just incredibly good at reading others. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you stepped foot in the art world. Even before dating Jungkook, you felt your passion lagging. It’s been a long time since you wanted to connect with your inner voice, although merely the act of being here calls the tide in your blood.

Dangerous.

Recognizing this, you reinforce an inner wall. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’m not really looking for something right now.”

Taryn nods. “Sure. If things change though, just let me know – before next week,” she adds. “We try to publish our class schedule on the first of each month.”

“Will do. Thanks, again.”

“Anytime!” Beaming, Taryn spins to restock the next shelf.

Realizing your conversation is finished, you continue down the next aisle. The shop’s materials are superb, and your fingers are itching to reach out and touch. Reaching the front, you notice a quote painted over the register: Creativity takes courage – Henry Matisse.

You stare at this for a while, unsure why it hurts. Courage isn’t something you’ve thought about in a long time. When you were younger, you pushed people away because it was safe, but now you find yourself wondering who was that for – others? Or yourself?

Maybe the reason you keep yourself separate is because you are afraid people might leave you. Like Katrina. Or Elliot. Or even your dad.

Suppressing magic was hard at the start. Everything about it felt counter-intuitive but you reasoned doing the right thing often took effort. This is what you told yourself, anyways. It made said effort more bearable.

When you first began painting, the relief you felt was immense. After so long spent ignoring your emotions, you found a space to be free. Your series about the sea was oddly therapeutic, working through complicated emotions; your love for the ocean, coupled with fear of its wild beauty. Similar clashes within yourself about magic. And always, always, the desire for more.

For a few hours though, those feelings could be a part of you. Magic could be a part of you, so long as you remained in control – and with brush in hand, you were.

Only now does it occur to you that maybe, this wasn’t healthy. Maybe you shouldn’t feel the need to compartmentalize, as though certain pieces of yourself can only exist in certain spaces.

Tearing your gaze from the words, you exit the shop and gently shut the door. Pulling your jacket tighter, you head down the sidewalk and let your thoughts drift. Jungkook only saw you paint once, but the memory is hard to forget.

You had just started dating, barely past the stage of calling him ‘boyfriend.’ The constant influx of emotion was difficult to manage, and after a few weeks, you were exhausted. Most of your time spent without Jungkook was seated before your canvas. After one particularly frustrating session, you set down your paint to stubbornly stare at the canvas.

A throat cleared from behind.

Startled, you spun and found Jungkook standing there. His gaze moved quickly to yours, but you realized he’d been staring at your half-finished work. Normally, you felt panic at the thought of someone seeing a work in progress. That night though, the look on Jungkook’s face eased your concerns. Awe; pure and clear.

Yanking down giant, over-ear headphones, you hastily stood.

Jungkook lurched forward. “No!” he blurted, only to halt. “I mean – you don’t have to cover the painting. I liked it.”

He seemed flustered, which made you slightly flustered, but you took a slow step sideways. Eager, Jungkook’s gaze traversed the canvas.

Eventually, he looked back. “Sorry about that,” Jungkook said and walked closer. Warm hands found your waist. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“How did you get in?” you laughed, burying your face in his chest.

“Seokjin.” He paused. “Did he not say I was here? I texted you a half hour ago, but you didn’t respond. I figured I’d stop by, and Seokjin said to come up.”

Softening, you made a mental note to chastise Seokjin later. Tightening your arms, you lifted your head and smiled.

“So.” Jungkook glanced over your shoulder. “This is you.”

This sent a thrill down your spine. He spoke as though he’d known you before, but only on a surface level and now, he understood. Jungkook knew your art was part of you, as much as your heart or your soul. You had often felt the same, but never said so out loud.

Magic swelled, and you pushed it back down, but it was difficult. When Jungkook bent his head, you forgot to be scared and let yourself feel. The brush of his lips. The tightening of his hands. The current within you, swelling against your highest walls.

Loudly, someone knocked on the door. Breathless, you jerked backwards and found Seokjin in the door.

“Hey.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Wanted to let you know our dishwasher broke. Flooded the kitchen.” Pointed, Seokjin looked at you. “Everything is all good, but I’m calling a plumber tomorrow. Carry on.”

In a flurry of embarrassment, you abruptly ended the evening and sent Jungkook home.

Remembering how the night ended, you stifle a groan and walk faster. Once more, you couldn’t control your magic and put Jungkook in danger. Hardly the creative courage Henry Matisse imagined.

You always assumed suppressing your magic was the best choice. But the best choice for who? Certainly not for you, who lives isolated, inert and in fear of yourself. Your dad used to call your magic a gift, but it’s been a long time since you felt that way.

This memory brings with it a sharp stab of pain. Since your dad passed, fear has replaced any joy your magic brought. Fear of falling victim to the same fate he did. Of others’ rejection. Of failing to live up to your father’s example.

You have little doubt that if your dad could see you now, he’d be confused by your actions.

You push others away in the name of saving them. Again, you think of Jungkook and for once you allow it. The entire way home, you wish that he’d call.

He doesn’t though and eventually, you stop hoping.

By Friday, the threads keeping your feelings at bay are nearly worn through. Intrusive thoughts push against fragile bonds, threatening the haven you’ve carefully crafted.

With more force than needed, you toss clothing into the washer. Your usual laundromat was closed, forcing you to walk five blocks to the next one. Sweaty from suddenly sweltering temperatures, your arms sore from the hamper, the situation does nothing to improve an already crappy mood.

Wiping your forehead with one arm, you slam the door and press start. The machine whirs to life, laundry tumbling in a way reminiscent of your inner turmoil. Up, you did the right thing by ending it with Jungkook. He’ll swiftly move on and find someone else. Down – but you don’t want him to find someone else. You want him to find you.

Teeth gritted, you turn and grab your hamper from the floor. Placing this on the washer, you wearily tug your cell phone from your pocket. By the time you walked home, you’d have to come back, leaving you with forty minutes to kill. You could read more of the book you just started. Or submit your resume to a couple of restaurants.

After yesterday’s disaster at Ramen-rama though, the interview process has stalled. Instead, you’ve found yourself thinking more about Creative Courage. For a brief moment, you even walked into the third bedroom to paint.

You immediately walked back out again, but merely the act was more than you’ve done in months. The thought of creation brought mostly panic, since it’d involve you being honest. Something you haven’t been with yourself in a while.

Because if you were honest, you know what you’d find. You would regret breaking up with Jungkook. Maybe even find that, deep down, you want to be selfish. You want to keep dating him, even if Jungkook gets hurt in the end.

After all, you saw what loving an Elemental did to your mom.

Putting down your phone, you scan the laundromat and find your gaze catching on the person in the next aisle.

No. No, no, no – absolutely not.

The universe – or whoever’s writing your story – must be cruel and unusual, since standing beside you is Jungkook. You’d recognize his head anywhere. Straightening from his hamper, Jungkook turns to face you and goes still.

Eyes wide, he seems stunned until someone slams shut their dryer. Both of you jump, breaking eye contact and time seems to reset. Pressing start on his machine, Jungkook grabs his gym bag and hoists it over one shoulder. He strides towards the exit, halfway there when you spring into action.

Dashing towards him, you cut him off at the dryers. Footsteps slowing, Jungkook meets your gaze with visible confusion.

“Sorry,” he says, tugging his gym bag behind him. The thick, grey strap of it cuts across his hoodie. “I was just leaving. I can come back later if you want to finish your load.”

Again, he tries to move past you, but something inside of you snaps. You aren’t sure what possesses you, but somehow, find your hand gripping his sleeve.

Startled, Jungkook stares.

Equally swift, you withdraw. “I, uh…”

Head spinning, all your words seem to fly out the window. Nothing about this was planned. You have no idea what to tell Jungkook besides I’m sorry, and even this would be woefully inadequate without explanation. Which you can’t give.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” you say at last.

A singular brow lifts. “No? You didn’t seem to think that way on Wednesday.”

You suppress a wince, although you try your best to hide it. “I know,” you admit. “It’s just… this is your usual laundromat. I don’t want you to leave because of me. I wouldn’t even be here, expect the one near me is broken and –”

“Got it,” he interrupts, the words tight. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to be.”

Swallowing hard, you stare down at your shoes. You know you deserve this, but it’s just so hard to see Jungkook hurting. He deserves to be happy, not wasting his energy on hating you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your eyes start to burn, and you squeeze them shut to prevent a reaction. You absolutely cannot cry in front of Jungkook. Not when you’re the one who started this; the very last thing you want him to feel for you is pity.

“Hey.” Something in his tone shifts, and you hear Jungkook step closer. When you open your eyes, he watches you intently. “What’s wrong?”

A tiny fissure within your chest splinters.

Anyone else could have asked those words, and you would have been able to answer. For Jungkook to do so is unthinkable. You’re the one who ruined this. The one who hurt him, who ended this and still, Jungkook is concerned about your well-being.

“I was fired on Sunday,” you say in a rush. “Before I came to see you.”

He blinks only once before his face hardens. “Before you broke up with me, you mean.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, Jungkook glances away. His expression is taut, and you feel a sharp pang of envy. It’s so easy to read Jungkook. You’ve spent so long hiding your emotions, it strikes you as luxurious how easily he feels.

A muscle in his jaw tics. “Y/N,” Jungkook says, turning back. “What are you doing?”

“What… do you mean?”

Fear spikes your heart, wondering if Jungkook has finally pieced the facts together. Maybe he saw more than you realized at the coffee shop. Maybe he finally knows what you are.

“Why are you… torturing me?” he clarifies, a slight rasp to his voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You were fired? That sucks, but it doesn’t make this okay. It doesn’t make us okay,” he adds, gesturing to the air between you.

“I – I know,” you stammer, nearly blurting out something you’ll regret.

Like that you’re an Elemental teetering close to the edge. One who can feel every pipe, every spin cycle within the walls of this laundromat. All of them churning, pulsing, begging for your magic to release the water inside.

“You know?” Jungkook stares at you, incredulous. “Again, Y/N – what do you want from me?”

Since you started talking, you’ve moved several steps closer. Another breath, another reach and you’d be in his arms. Glancing down, you notice how quickly Jungkook’s chest rises and falls.

He’s afraid, you realize. Jungkook’s fear isn’t the same one as yours, though. He isn’t afraid that you’ll see him, but rather that you’ll destroy him.

Realizing this, a barrier within you crumbles. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, somewhat desperate.

“You keep saying that.” Determined, he steps closer and somehow, your hand entwines with his to press against his chest. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but you won’t tell me why. Won’t tell me anything, Y/N – you were fired, and this is the first time I’m hearing it.”

“I couldn’t tell you!” you blurt. “I can’t explain it, Jungkook, but I couldn’t tell you when it happened.”

His gaze sharpens. “Then, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we are better off broken up.”

Releasing you, Jungkook brushes past you and heads for the exit. You stare blankly at the wall before you, your whole world caving in as your head starts to spin. Magic seeps beyond your fractured walls, flooding your veins in desperate search for an exit.

“That’s not true,” you protest, spinning around. “I’ve told you more than anyone else in my life, Jungkook. I’ve let you in in ways no one else has.”

Jungkook stiffens at the door, his entire body taut. For a single, long moment, it seems as though he might reconsider but the longer you stand there, the more you watch the fight drain from the lines of his shoulders.

“I don’t doubt that’s true,” he says, hand hovering above the doorknob. “But that’s not the same as letting me in.”

He starts to go.

Everything around you becomes white noise.

When you were ten, you passed a famous dam on one of your cross-country moves. Your mom took you to see it, swinging your hand while entering the viewing platform.

The moment you saw it, you went wholly still. Trillions of gallons of water, trapped behind concrete, constantly pushing but unable to break. It felt like your magic. Raw, untamed power contained by a solid wall. You stared for longer than any other visitor, until your mom pulled your arm and said you should leave.

The entire way to the car, your mom was silent and once you were buckled in, she twisted around to see you. “Listen to me, Y/N,” she said, her voice serious. “That dam will only work if the wall holds. If the wall breaks, do you know what happens?”

Silent, you shook your head.

“The water will flood the whole valley. Everyone in its path, all the forest – they’d be gone. The wall can’t break, or bad things happen. Do you understand me?”

Solemn, you nodded because even then, you understood. Although your magical dam was intangible, it held equal importance. You had to hold in the magic, otherwise bad things would happen. So long as the wall was in place, you were safe.

Now though, you squeeze your eyes tightly as the wall starts to crumble.

Emotions break with the force of a tidal wave, racing ahead and drowning all in its path. Memories you thought were long buried continue to rise, crushing you further. Your walls are destroyed in a matter of seconds.

You remember your dad, kissing you on the head before leaving the house. Katrina’s stricken expression when the door shut in her face. Jungkook, asking you what he’d done wrong again.

Each memory drags you under, and you shudder against the onslaught. It takes everything you have to remain standing while your restraint dissolves.

Hands grip your arms.

Surprised, your eyes fly open to find Jungkook before you. His neck muscles strain, yelling to be heard over thundering water. You try your best to focus, to rein your magic back in – only to realize with horror, it might be too late.

The laundromat around you is in chaos. Several ceiling pipes have burst, water crashing down in torrents of water. Already, waves lap at your ankles. Noise filters back in, flickering before solidifying to something substantial.

People are screaming, abandoning their hampers in an attempt to get out. The door has stuck though, unable to open under the onslaught of water. Jungkook yells again, and this time you hear him.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, close to your face.

You stare upward, stupefied. Another pipe bursts, and you think that was you, but it’s hard to be sure. Hard to understand which parts are in control and which parts are not. What particular emotion is holding the reins at any moment.

Determination replaces fear in his face, and Jungkook bends before you have time to blink. In an instant, you’re tossed over his shoulder. A yelp escapes, upside-down but he’s already wading through the aisle of washers.

Jungkook shouts at people to move, but no one is listening. After a moment, you feel him exhale and surge forward. Although you can’t see, the people seem to be moving, so Jungkook must appear confident.

Grasping the door, he pulls on it, hard. Nothing happens. Exhaling, Jungkook grips your waist tighter and mutters, “Hold on.”

You don’t have time to ask why, since he yanks harder and the entire frame shudders. Jungkook does this again and another pipe bursts, drawing your gaze. By the time you look back, the door has budged an inch and water is pouring out. With a final wrench, Jungkook yanks open the door.

People shove past him, rushing into the street with the tide of water. Spinning around, Jungkook shields you with his frame from the wet crush of bodies. His grip never wavers, feet anchored to the ground as though they’ve rocks themselves.

With each breath, your pulse slows until finally, you locate the faint threads of magic. Before, you felt too much at once. The crush was overwhelming but now, you manage to breach the surface. For the first time, you see your panic influencing the tide.

Realizing this, you reach inward and try to – turn. With great effort, you identify the source of your power and disconnect. Water in the ceiling slows to a trickle, and then, nothing.

Exhaling against your neck, Jungkook’s hand moves lower.

You can’t help but shiver. “Jungkook?” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Could you… you know, set me down?”

“Oh.”

Somewhat sheepish, Jungkook lowers you to face him. He doesn’t step away, and neither do you. If this is the last time you see him, you want to be selfish and make it as long as possible.

He stares back at you, waterdrops caught between his lashes. In the background, water continues to drip from a pipe. The soft plink-plink echoes the thud of your heart.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Jungkook’s hands remain on your waist, his touch scrambling all semblance of sanity. You aren’t sure how to answer without being honest.

Truthfully, you’re not okay.

An okay person wouldn’t break up with their boyfriend and then, six days later throw themselves in their path. An okay person wouldn’t be hiding their magic, they wouldn’t be lying to the person they love and most of all, wouldn’t continue to place that same person in danger.

Silent, you survey the aftermath of your outburst. Deep down, your magic itches in response to your panic. Seeping outward, it seeks to mold to the fear, but you manage to stop it. Something about the wall being gone makes your power less alien. No longer an unknown variable, but a constant.

“No,” you exhale. Steeling yourself, you take a step backwards. “No, Jungkook, I’m not okay. I… this is exactly why you should stay away from me. Bad things happen, and I can’t control them. I’m so sorry.”

Again, you brace yourself for his anger, but it never comes. Jungkook is unusually quiet, head cocked to one side. He sees right through you, a sensation unnerving enough that you drop your gaze.

“I should go,” you repeat, stepping around him. Reaching your washer, you hastily unload your soggy clothing. “I have to go.”

Jungkook says nothing, although you feel his gaze on the back of your head. Hefting your hamper, you slam the door shut, and turn. The water level at your ankles has dropped, no more than a centimeter remaining in the room.

Sirens wail in the distance, likely on their way to investigate. Your stomach lurches, recognizing the cost of your magic. As soon as possible, you should reach out to Seokjin. His company might be able to cover the damage if the laundromat can’t.

Nearing the exit, you look anywhere but at Jungkook’s face. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, unsure what else to say. “Really, I am.”

Again, he lets you move past. Water rushes out when you open the door, seeking the street, then the gutter. Hurrying past, you can’t shake the feeling something has changed.

Not only with you and Jungkook, but with you and your magic. Silent, you prod the place deep within from which your magic stems. You’re used to a wall, feeling closed off but now, it seems your mom was right.

Once shattered, the dam can’t be rebuilt.

A weightlessness accompanies this that you didn’t anticipate. Despite the terror of your outburst, there was a moment near the end when you stopped it. When you felt what was wrong and controlled your outburst of magic. You haven’t done that before.

The thought is followed by regret, remembering Jungkook. When you broke up, it was supposed to save him. Instead, you’ve only put him – and yourself – in greater danger. Maybe because you’ve continued to see him. Everything would be fine if you moved or kept your distance.

But then, another part of you wonders if you were wrong from the start. Maybe instead of providing distance, you should have come closer. Should have allowed Jungkook to decide whether he wanted to stay. After all, today, he experienced the worst of your powers, and he didn’t run. If anything, he moved closer.

Suddenly exhausted, you hail a cab. The driver grumbles at your wet clothes but allows you inside, and you tip him extra upon reaching your place. What you should do is find another laundromat and finish your load, but there’s an itch in your fingers you haven’t felt in some time.

Dropping your hamper at the door, you shutter yourself within the third bedroom. Not allowing yourself to second-guess, you sit down at your easel and pick up a brush.

For the first time in a long time, you allow the magic to flow. You paint.

 © kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: thank you for reading so far! Continued in Part II, here.

[brunhielda]

Ok- so I have been scrolling through posts for Cinderella’s Castle like a crazy person. Like you do.

Most of the posts are people squealing over their favorite bit currently, or just in general how much they loved it.

However-

Every one in 20 posts has someone expressing disappointment, and finding it lack luster.

It seems like you either are salivating over how good it was, or bored, and annoyed no one else was.

The main complaint seems to be “the characters are flat compared to other shows.”

As someone obsessed with fairytale fantasy, I just needed to come on here and say…

No duh.

Fairytales are not about the character as a person. They are about the person as a symbol/theme. Any detail about them suddenly humanizes them and makes them that much more relatable. But they are never, I repeat, NEVER, a fully realized person. Even in more modern fairytale adaptations, you don’t come for the character, you come for the story as a whole, and stay for the character’s “vibe” that allows you to create elaborate back ground details in fanfiction. The whole appeal of a fairytale is “less is more.”

Ella was raised as a Lady. She likes to paint. She sees herself as brave and tough, and wants to stop evil even if it kills her. She is clever and kind and has dreams. She is utterly practical in accomplishing her goals. She loves her family and friends deeply.

That is all we know.

We don’t know her favorite color, or if she’s a jazz girl, or even what she wanted out of life before this all happened, only that she misses her family.

That is the POINT. Ella, the cinder girl, the girl of ashes, is EVERY YOUNG GIRL WHO IS RAISED IN ABUSE. That is why the tale of Cinderella exists. So grandmothers and mothers could instill in children the deep knowledge that they deserve more, can survive, and do it without letting it break them.

Cinderella is someone you know because she is not pinned down with details. She just is.

Every character in a fairytale is that.

The stepmother is the abuser.

The Troll is a ruling class not from here.

The Princeton a fairytale is an escape and a stamp of approval of your morals. Not his own person. He is Deux Ex Machina. The fact that he HAS a personality here and it is awful is a subversion and holding up Ella’s personal determination over higher approval. She doesn’t need someone else’s approval to prove she is doing the right thing- she knows it, and holds it like the starlight in her hand. And that is GLORIOUS.

The Griswald sisters are a show of how even when you are utterly destroyed by evil, the fact that you were bright, and good, and true MEANS SOMETHING and still helps make the world better.

The frog knight is kindness repaid, and to not judge by appearances.

The mouse squire is that willingness to do something, even if you don’t have the skills, is important. Is worth something. (I saw someone talking about Crumb serving no perpose because he did not effect the plot. Of course he didn’t. The point of him is that he was WILLING, and that alone made her life better. And whimsy. Sometimes in genre, a thing is just for “vibes” and that’s what makes it genre. You cannot have fantasy without whimsy. He be whimsy.)

Even Tadius is a newer symbol of the “faithful servant.” Who does he serve? The Prince? The people? By following orders, or by using his wits?

And the Fairy Godmother. There is so much happening there, I could do a whole TedTalk. But basically, the fairy godmother is Help. It is offered help. She offers it because Cinderella was kind and had an anger in her screaming for justice. The fairygodmother in any story shows up to reward a virtue that the mc takes for granted. They don’t feel worth of the help, are even inclined to turn it down. The point of Cinderella is you TAKE THE HELP. Pride be damned, self worth be damned, you take it and you USE it to make things RIGHT.

The point is this:

A fairytale is about the themes. It is ABOUT the message. It is ABOUT how older themes get changed to fit modern understanding and turn into new themes.

What they did with ash and fire and starlight was incredible. The fact that they brought Fairy Godmother back to the Fairy who is a Mother Goddess was breathtaking because it made Cinderella’s quest for justice holy, not just empowered.

These characters are not flat. They are given thier depth by their role and themes rather than by the plot or personal details.

If you were bored by this, you don’t like fairytales. You may enjoy some of the trappings, but would like it better in a fantasy styled romance or drama, which is not the same thing.

This is not “connecting to humanity by connecting to a character not you.”

This is “connecting to something deeper and more than all of us put together through the use of symbology.”

Maybe that ain’t for you. Maybe you prefer to explore all this plane has to offer. That’s totally an acceptable preference. But don’t come in here and call it a bad show. It’s just not your genre.

(Also, since ya’ll seem to call out Hatchetfield stuff too- maybe you just don’t like genre centric stories 🤷🏻‍♀️)

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Bandits

As a game of heroic fantasy that centers so primarily on combat, D&D  is more often than not a game about righteous violence, which is why I spend so much time thinking about the targets of that violence. Every piece of media made by humans is a thing created from conscious or unconscious design, it’s saying something whether or not its creators intended it to do so. 

Tolkien made his characters peaceloving and pastoral, and coded his embodiment of evil as powerhungry, warlike, and industrial. When d&d directly cribbed from Tolkien's work it purposely changed those enemies to be primitive tribespeople who were resentful of the riches the “civilized” races possessed. Was this intentional? None can say, but as a text d&d says something decidedly different than Tolkien. 

That's why today I want to talk about bandits, the historical concept of being an “outlaw”, and how media uses crime to “un-person” certain classes of people in order to give heroes a target to beat up. 

Tldr: despite presenting bandits as a generic threat, most d&d scenarios never go into detail about what causes bandits to exist, merely presuming the existence of outlaws up to no good that the heroes should feel no qualms about slaughtering. If your story is going to stand up to the scrutiny of your players however, you need to be aware of WHY these individuals have been driven to banditry, rather than defaulting to “they broke the law so they deserve what’s coming to them.”

I got to thinking about writing this post when playing a modded version of fallout 4, an npc offhndedly mentioned to me that raiders (the postapoc bandit rebrand) were too lazy to do any farming and it was good that I’d offed them by the dozens so that they wouldn’t make trouble for those that did. 

That gave me pause, fallout takes place in an irradiated wasteland where folks struggle to survive but this mod was specifically about rebuilding infrastructure like farms and ensuring people had enough to get by. Lack of resources to go around was a specific justification for why raiders existed in the first place, but as the setting became more arable the mod-author had to create an excuse why the bandit’s didn’t give up their violent ways and start a nice little coop, settling on them being inherently lazy , dumb, and psychopathic.   

This is exactly how d&d has historically painted most of its “monstrous humanoid” enemies. Because the game is ostensibly about combat the authors need to give you reasons why a peaceful solution is impossible, why the orcs, goblins, gnolls (and yes, bandits), can’t just integrate with the local town or find a nice stretch of wilderness to build their own settlement on and manage in accordance with their needs. They go so far in this justification that they end up (accidently or not) recreating a lot of IRL arguments for persecution and genocide.

Bandits are interesting because much like cultists, it’s a descriptor that’s used to unperson groups of characters who would traditionally be inside the “not ontologically evil” bubble that’s applied to d&d’s protagonists.   Break the law or worship the wrong god says d&d and you’re just as worth killing as the mindless minions of darkness, your only purpose to serve as a target of the protagonist’s righteous violence.  

The way we get around this self-justification pitfall and get back to our cool fantasy action game is to relentlessly question authority, not only inside the game but the authors too. We have to interrogate anyone who'd show us evil and direct our outrage a certain way because if we don't we end up with crusades, pogroms, and Qanon.

With that ethical pill out of the way, I thought I’d dive into a listing of different historical groups that we might call “Bandits” at one time or another and what worldbuilding conceits their existence necessitates. 

Brigands: By and large the most common sort of “bandit” you’re going to see are former soldiers left over from wars, often with a social gap between them and the people they’re raiding that prevents reintegration ( IE: They’re from a foreign land and can’t speak the local tongue, their side lost and now they’re considered outlaws, they’re mercenaries who have been stiffed on their contract).  Justifying why brigands are out brigading is as easy as asking yourself “What were the most recent conflicts in this region and who was fighting them?”. There’s also something to say about how a life of trauma and violence can be hard to leave even after the battle is over, which is why you historically tend to see lots of gangs and paramilitary groups pop up in the wake of conflict. 

Raiders:  fundamentally the thing that has caused cultures to raid eachother since the dawn of time is sacristy. When the threat of starvation looms it’s far easier to justify potentially throwing your life away if it means securing enough food to last you and those close to you through the next year/season/day. Raider cultures develop in biomes that don’t support steady agriculture, or in times where famine, war, climate change, or disease make the harvests unreliable. They tend to target neighboring cultures that DO have reliable harvests which is why you frequently see raiders emerging from “the barbaric frontier” to raid “civilization” that just so happens to occupy the space of a reliably fertile river valley. When thinking about including raiders in your story, consider what environmental forces have caused this most recent and previous raids, as well as consider how frequent raiding has shaped the targeted society. Frequent attacks by raiders is how we get walled palaces and warrior classes after all, so this shit is important. 

Slavers: Just like raiding, most cultures have engaged in slavery at one point or another, which is a matter I get into here. While raiders taking captives is not uncommon, actively attacking people for slaves is something that starts occurring once you have a built up slave market, necessitating the existence of at least one or more hierarchical societies that need more disposable workers than then their lower class is capable of providing. The roman legion and its constant campaigns was the apparatus by which the imperium fed its insatiable need for cheap slave labor. Subsistence raiders generally don’t take slaves en masse unless they know somewhere to sell them, because if you’re having trouble feeding your own people you’re not going to capture more ( this is what d&d gets wrong about monstrous humanoids most of the time). 

Tax Farmers: special mention to this underused classic, where gangs of toughs would bid to see who could collect money for government officials, and then proceed to ransack the realm looking to squeeze as much money out of the people as possible. This tends to happen in areas where the state apparatus is stretched too thin or is too lighthanded to have established enduring means of funding.  Tax farmers are a great one-two punch for campaigns where you want your party to be set up against a corrupt authority: our heroes defeat the marauding bandits and then oh-no, turns out they were not only sanctioned by the government but backed by an influential political figure who you’ve just punched in the coinpurse.  If tax farming exists it means the government is strong enough to need a yearly budget but not so established (at least in the local region) that it’s developed a reliably peaceful method of maintaining it.  

Robber Baron: Though the term is now synonymous with ruthless industrialists, it originated from the practice of shortmidned petty gentry (barons and knights and counts and the like) going out to extort and even rob THEIR OWN LANDS out of a desire for personal enrichment/boredom. Schemes can range from using their troops to shake down those who pass through their domain to outright murdering their own peasants for sport because you haven’t gotten to fight in a war for a while.  Just as any greed or violence minded noble can be a robber baron so it doesn’t take that much of a storytelling leap but I encourage you to channel all your landlord hate into this one. 

Rebels: More than just simple outlaws, rebels have a particular cause they’re a part of (just or otherwise) that puts them at odds with the reigning authority. They could violently support a disfavoured political faction, be acting out against a law they think is unjust, or hoping to break away from the authority entirely. Though attacks against those figures of authority are to be expected, it’s all too common for rebels to go onto praying on common folk for the sake of the cause.  To make a group of rebels worth having in your campaign pinpoint an issue that two groups of people with their own distinct interests could disagree on, and then ratchet up the tension. Rebels have to be able to beleive in a cause, so they have to have an argument that supports them.

Remnants: Like a hybrid of brigands, rebels, and taxfarmers, Remnants represent a previously legitimate system of authority that has since been replaced but not yet fully disappeared. This can happen either because the local authority has been replaced by something new (feudal nobles left out after a monarchy toppling revolution) or because it has faded entirely ( Colonial forces of an empire left to their own devices after the empire collapses). Remnants often sat at the top of social structures that had endured for generations and so still hold onto the ghost of power ( and the violence it can command) and the traditions that support it.  Think about big changes that have happened in your world of late, are the remnants looking to overturn it? Win new privilege for themselves? Go overlooked by their new overlords?

Art