#to me it makes perfect sense that some characters will just never be able to forgive her
Note
Apparently there was a roundtable with a senior narrative head at bungie about destiny
where he stated "don't expect to be allies with the hive. or even Savathun"
which to me seems like a weird choice to say right after deeps ending?
That's interesting. Honestly, valid comment to me. Here's the link to the article itself! The dev that made the comments is Robert Brookes. One extra quote that isn't in the tweet (goes in between the two in the tweet):
“It’s gonna be really hard to walk that back from anyone’s perspective. Even if that ever became a possibility, there’s a lot of ground to cover to make amends for that.”
We often forget about that, because obviously everyone deserves a second chance, especially in a situation where the Hive were literally manipulated into becoming what they did, but at the end of the day, their gruesome conquests that wiped out thousands of civilisations is not something that everyone can or has to forgive.
People are really eager to forgive Savathun, completely, which was always weird to me in a fandom that has gone ballistic over infinitely smaller crimes. And I get it, Savathun is an incredibly compelling character, fantastically written, absolute banger of VA work. She's such a crucial element in the whole setting of Destiny and is fascinating to read about her. 100% one of the best characters in the entire franchise, intriguing and complex beyond pretty much anyone else.
But the characters within the story itself can't view her in this way or it would be immersion breaking. To them, Savathun isn't a character that's well written, she's a monster who is responsible for some of the most horrific things across time and space. I can definitely see any alliance with her to be temporary, out of necessity and not exactly on good terms. I would love for us to eventually get together with the Hive and join forces against those that are responsible for their course in life, but I think it's definitely something that, within the universe in-character, is not something entirely realistic and would be difficult to justify.
Definitely an odd thing to say now though. Maybe it's telling us to temper our expectations next season? We need Savathun's knowledge, but I don't see us being besties with her in any capacity. I'm not sure what people expect from a season where we rez Savathun; there's probably a lot of people who expect a Caiatl situation.
Realistically, it might be an uneasy cooperation that will be very limited and possibly exploited by Savathun to get out at the end. Right now she's dead and she can't do anything and for as long as we keep her, we're safe. But now that we need her... We have no choice. We have to get her out and once she's out, she will not be bound by anything to obey us. It's a very risky move, one that we're looking at out of desperation, and the risks were nicely laid out by Saladin, Saint and Zavala in their conversation. That bit is definitely priming us to expect some heavy resistance to help from Savathun from various characters and this comment might be as well.
I can't wait for the next season's story though! Savathun talking to us again, in any capacity, is something I've been waiting for eagerly since the end of WQ. I don't doubt for a second that the conversations she'll have will be full of some heavy stuff and that she will not play nice with us and that she (and Immaru) will make most of the situation where we're desperate for her help. She will probably also genuinely want to get her revenge to the Witness, but not necessarily as our sidekick. I think that continuing with the animosity between her and us adds an extra layer of depth to the whole story with her and the Hive.
#destiny 2#savathun#long post#ask#to me it makes perfect sense that some characters will just never be able to forgive her#and that they will despise her even if she helps us#seen some people being confused about why saladin talked about caiatl being mad#and it's a good example: savathun is responsible for the fall of torobatl. yes it was xivu who invaded but savathun set it up#savathun spent years corrupting caiatl's trusted friend and advisor. savathun organised the portal to open to torobatl#savathun is directly responsible for the uncalculable uluran deaths. ofc caiatl is mad. and for a good reason#it's a nice recent example of how savathun's crimes are such that it just makes sense that people don't want to be friendly with her#even if she's helping us. helping us is the least she can do to buy our good will even if temporary#to some no matter what savathun does it will never be enough. and they're perfectly justified thinking that way#also i know she died and got rezed without memories and all. but she got them all back#if she just removed herself from her past life entirely and didn't deliberately seek out her memories then forgiveness would be easier#still not entirely guaranteed but at least somewhat easier. especially if she didn't still have a thing for fighting us
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omg can you make a chris version to the talkative fic? my english isn’t very good i apology if this doesn’t make sense!
Talkative- C. Sturniolo
pairing: Yapper!reader x Boyfriend!Chris
classification: SFW & NSFW headcannons
inspiration: request^^
warnings: some 18+ content, use of y/n, established relationship
summary: head cannons of Chris with a talkative, yapper girlfriend!
Talkative- M. Sturniolo (Matt’s Version)
Talkative- N. Sturniolo (Nick’s Version)
—
☆ SFW
You love to talk and that’s something Chris has loved about you from the moment he met you. He, much like you, is extremely extroverted, but every girl he’s talked to in the past has always found him to be too much. You’re his perfect match and although he also likes to talk, he loves to listen too.
☆ Chris never gets tired of hearing you talk, “Babe tell me the story about the teddy bear again.”
☆ You retell stories in such a detailed way that he can’t help but burst into laughter even if he’s heard it before.
☆ When you talk about your friends, it’s like you’re explaining their lore in full detail each time.
☆ “No, babe, that was Savannah. I’m talking about Teala,” or “Dude, I’m telling you that’s why they fired that bitch.”
☆ He has all the characters memorized, even categorizing their lives into arcs, episodes, and seasons.
☆ “Wow Teala is in her villain arc,” and “On this weeks episode of, Who the Fuck is Getting Fired!”
☆ He loves asking you questions because you somehow know the answer to everything.
☆ You’ll be eating dinner and suddenly a random question will pop into his mind, “Y/n, what does litigate mean? I heard someone use it today, sounded fancy.”
☆ You look up at him mid bite, slightly confused but also intrigued at a new topic of conversation.
☆ “I think it has something to do with the law, I don’t know, babe. But one time I heard someone say that on one of those court shows…” you drone on for a while.
☆ Chris always Googles the answers afterwards, not because he doesn’t believe you, but because he truly thinks you’re the smartest person on this planet and you haven’t been wrong yet.
☆ You’re both equally insane, you’ll laugh like crazy people no matter where you are.
☆ You tell the best jokes too, your mind works so fast that you’re able to create comebacks and quick, witty remarks to everything he says.
☆ Sometimes you’ll join him and his brothers on grocery trips, and the both of you wander off just completely in your own world.
☆ You’re the only person who can catch Chris off guard.
☆ You’ll say something completely unexpected and outlandish, causing him to pause whatever he’s doing and stare at you in shock.
☆ “Babe! No way you just said that.”
☆ “I said it, and I’ll say it again.”
☆ When you’re with friends, you tend to talk over each other and your friends almost break their necks switching their attention between you and Chris.
☆ To other people it might seem like you’re fighting each other for the spotlight, but in reality you’re able to bounce off each other’s energy and add on to whatever the other says.
☆ He knows what it’s like to be called annoying, so if anyone ever makes you feel uncomfortable for being talkative he defends you without hesitation.
☆ “Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t say shit like that about her.”
☆ Every conversation you have is full of inside jokes that no one else can keep up with, and it’s literally something new every week.
☆ Although other people are confused by the jokes, you and Chris understand each other fully, almost like you speak your own made up language.
☆ You make each other laugh so hard that your cheeks and ribs will start hurting.
☆ “Chris stop! I’m gonna pee,” you wheeze, rolling over on your side as you try to catch your breath.
☆ He keeps going though, making you laugh harder by making silly faces and funny voices through his story.
☆ After long days of filming and being away from you, he’ll cuddle up next to you in bed and murmur through the drowsiness, “Talk to me baby.”
☆ You know he’s tired so you don’t talk his ear off at a high energy, you just retell your day and play with his hair, kissing his face between sentences.
☆ He loves the sound of your voice, each word as sweet as honey, instantly lulling him into a peaceful sleep.
☆ You’re very opinionated and sometimes you say something he disagrees with, instantly creating a debate between the two of you.
☆ The debates always start off innocent, just you two going back and forth with opinions and the occasional fact.
☆ It’s not until it gets personal that Chris gets upset, giving you the silent treatment until you’re begging for him to talk to you again.
☆ “Chris, I’m sorry! Just talk to me, I’m so bored without you!” He tries putting on a tough guy act, but it never lasts long so he’s forgiving you within seconds.
☆ When you’re around older people, they always comment on what a nice, kind couple you two are because you engage in conversation with everyone.
☆ “What a nice old lady,” Chris says, slinging an arm around you as you both walk away.
☆ “Such wisdom,” you chime in, both of you falling into a fit of laughter. You could never take anything serious.
☆ NSFW
☆ Chris knows not to look too into your conversations with other guys, but sometimes he can’t help but get jealous.
☆ He’ll lose you at a party and find you talking to a stranger, an excited aura surrounding you as you jump from topic to topic.
☆ When he sees the guy becoming too comfortable and touchy, he makes his way over to you and inserts himself in the conversation.
☆ Later, he’s fucking you to teach you a lesson and clamping a strong hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, “This dirty little mouth of yours got you in trouble, Princess.”
☆ Other times he just gets turned on by your voice.
☆ He wants you to talk him through the sex and guide him on what positions you want.
☆ “C’mon baby, tell me how bad you want it.”
☆ Despite you both being talkative, there’s times when you’re so fucked out you’re speechless.
☆ The only sound that fills the room is skin slapping and Chris’s animalistic grunts, followed by your whimpers and small squeaks.
☆ He relishes in it, “This dick has you speechless, huh?”
☆ All he gets in response is a whimper, as you claw at his back for support.
☆ Chris loves when you dirty talk him, using your words to say filthy things to him.
☆ It riles him up beyond belief, and if you keep it going he’s lasting at least 3 rounds.
☆ Afterwards, he loves cuddling or spooning, both of you talking for hours about your future together.
—
MASTERLIST
A/n:
Happy birthday to me! (It was yesterday at this point)
Thank you for this request and NEVER apologize for your English/ grammar. I’m a bilingual education major and I firmly believe you don’t need to apologize for that EVER. I luv u!
Also I’m bilingual (English & Spanish) If any of yall ever want to send in a request in Spanish, go ahead bbys! LOS AMO 💋💋💋
Lastly, I’ll admit that this was harder to write than Matt’s version idky
- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗
—
taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07
note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐
#teapartyanonreqs✨💗#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo imagine#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo x reader#chris x y/n#chris#chris sturniolo oneshot#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo#chris x reader#christopher sturniolo#christopher sturniolo fanfic#christopher owen sturniolo#christopher sturniolo x y/n#Christopher sturniolo headcannon#matt sturniolo#sturniolo#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo headcanon#chris sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew x reader#matt x y/n#matt x reader
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Officially announcing my new series: Careful.
A limited multi-chapter series with Spencer Reid and Fem Reader, featuring angst, smut, and the trope of exes to lovers where Spencer finds out that he is a father four years after you have given birth to his child.
'When you and Spencer broke up, he tried to forget about you. He pushed all of those feelings for you down - until he sees your name on a list of potential victims being hunted by a man who kills single mothers.'
The series will be approximately 40k long in total (spread across six chapters) and will be posted every Friday, starting on March 8th, 2024, and continuing until ending on April 12th, 2024.
THE FIRST CHAPTER IS NOW POSTED!!!
(I am making a posting schedule, and I am gonna try really, really hard to stick to it this time guys.)
The series is already finished in my drafts - it just needs to be edited before posting. However, comments and encouragement are highly appreciated and welcomed throughout this process. The fic will not have a taglist (taglists are not something I do) - if you enjoy the concept or the preview below and you want to know when future chapters are coming out, then you will simply have to follow me here and turn on notifications for this blog, or you can find me on AO3 and subscribe to me there to get emails when this series and it's future chapters are posted.
Below is a short preview of the fic - so if you want to get a better sense of what the fic is about, click through and read it, and hopefully, you will enjoy.
Preview Word Count: 1,800
Warnings: typical Criminal Minds episode warnings; mentions of murder/killing; the reader character is being targeted by a killer and doesn't know it yet; the reader has a young child (a four year old son); the reader is a cis woman who uses she/her pronouns and a has a vagina; emotional angst between Spencer and the reader; the reader and Spencer had a romantic relationship around season 1/season 2 and this is meant to take place around season 6(ish) but you can picture any later version of Spencer you want; the reason that the reader and Spencer broke up is purposefully vague here but it will be fully revealed in the full story; the reader purposefully kept the pregnancy/Spencer's child away from him; Spencer didn't know he had a child out there in the world; there is some smut in this - unprotected penetration (a flashback to how the baby got here); possibly something that could be labelled as a breeding kink; making love/intense passionate sex; I believe that's in for this short part.
...
The team found themselves buried in paper, looking through the preschool applications for anyone who fit the UnSub’s victimology - praying that they would be able to pick out the next victim and get to her before the UnSub did.
“We’re never gonna get through these fast enough, are we?” Prentiss sighed, continuing to sift through the papers.
“We just have to go as fast as we can, and hope the UnSub sticks to his schedule.” Morgan replied. “He has to spend time stalking them, learning their routine. Even if he has chosen his victim by now, he won’t break into the home until he’s fully confident that he won’t be disrupted.”
“And the stalking helps build up the fantasy.” Reid added on. “He romanticizes them from afar, sends them gifts. It adds to his delusions of grandeur and forbidden love. The idea that he’s swooping in to become the perfect father figure for these ‘broken’ families.”
“Plus, most of these applications are from two-parent households.” JJ pointed out. “We can throw out anything with a second applicant on the form, because he’s only targeting single mothers.”
The conversation was easily drowned out for Spencer when he saw it.
It should have been just another page among the sea in his hands, but when he saw those words on the page - that name - it was like a punch to the gut that brought back a flood of memories he thought that he had locked away forever.
It was you.
What the hell were you doing applying for preschools?
Spencer rushed to tear this paper out from the others in the stack in order to read it more carefully.
You had a son.
…
When you answered the knock on your door, you were entirely lost for words, your mouth going numb from shock when you saw him.
The last thing you were expecting was to find Spencer Reid on your doorstep.
Your heart raced inside your chest, your body so overwhelmed so quickly that you couldn’t even decide on an emotion.
Happiness. Joy. Lust. Longing. Sadness. Relief.
Shock.
You lingered on shock for a while as you stared at him, your eyes locked on the sight of him - wondering what the hell he was doing standing on your porch. How did he know where you lived? Why was he here?
“Y/N,”
He said your name in that honey-sweet way, and it brought you rocketing back to that awful night all those years ago. Your stomach dropped, and you felt like you were standing in that apartment all over again, tears in your eyes as you faced down the crashing reality that the best relationship you ever had in your life was over.
This brought on a whole new wave of confusing emotions.
Anger. Rage. Sadness. Bitterness. Regret.
Like your brain was a spin-wheel, it whirled around for a few hectic moments, and then - you landed somewhere between anger and pure rage.
And that was when you finally spoke.
“Spencer Reid.” You hissed out his name like it was pure venom - immediately, Spencer’s features fell from looking at you with nostalgic fondness, and dropped out to fear. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Spencer opened his mouth, seemingly to answer this question, and the rage pumped harder in your system. You found that you didn’t want to hear whatever it was that he had to say.
You stepped through the door, easily stepping into his personal space as you came onto the porch, and you gave him a hard shove in the middle of his chest as you spoke your next words - much louder than you intended.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
You screeched, your emotions carrying your actions before any sense of logic or common decency could kick in. It was emotion that you had locked away four years ago - and apparently, it had been aging like wine, only becoming more potent with time.
“You think that you can just magically show up in my life again after I specifically told you not to contact me?” You added on with a howl. “Do you think that order has a fucking expiration date on it?”
You gave him another hard shove - perhaps expecting to prompt an answer out of him, or wanting to shove him off the porch entirely and get him out of your life once again. Which of those it was, you weren’t even sure.
“You better have a good fucking reason for showing up here!” You screeched, your voice becoming so loud that it wore out your throat.
“Look, Y/N, I-” He stuttered out.
“Don’t say my name.” You hissed, cutting him off. “Don’t say my name like we’re friends.”
You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest, and Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets, now finding himself utterly speechless.
He definitely was not expecting this kind of reception.
…
You hadn’t taken the news that you were potentially being hunted by a serial killer very well.
Although, strangely enough, that wasn’t even close to being the hot topic when JJ and Spencer got back in the car, watching you pull out of your driveway to attend to something you said was entirely urgent.
“What the hell happened between the two of you?” JJ asked, the question finally unleashing from her lips.
“It’s complicated.” Spencer huffed out in reply.
…
Eventually - you did sit down and talk things out with Spencer, calmly.
He had a lot of questions, and you tried your best to answer them.
“Can I ask you one more thing?” Spencer asked when it came to the forefront of his mind.
“Sure,” You sighed. “I think we have a few more minutes before you have to go.”
“When did you find out that you were pregnant?” He asked. “Was it - was it before? Or after?”
“After.” You told him. “It - it was about two weeks after. When I took one of those at home tests. And I had already made up my mind that I never wanted to see you again. So just - then and there, I decided that I was gonna raise the kid alone.”
“So - so do you know when-?” Spencer began, and you cut him off.
You already knew what he was going to say.
‘Do you know when he was conceived?’
“No.” You rushed to say.
But it was a lie. You knew.
You felt like you couldn’t tell him the truth about this. If there was one thing you couldn’t afford to do right now, with Spencer Reid sitting at your kitchen table, staring at you with his big, inquisitive, glossy eyes, licking his lips, with his firm jaw set tight in contemplation - you couldn’t afford to go reminiscing with him about the night your son had been conceived.
You had spent a lot of time during your pregnancy thinking. Doing the math. Trying to remember.
And you knew exactly when.
The night was so vivid in your mind.
…
He captured your lips in a smooth, knowing, passionate kiss - you didn’t hesitate to moan into his mouth, and Spencer echoed it right back. He had missed you so much during the day; even though he had seen you less than forty-eight hours before this, he felt decades of yearning in his heart.
When he felt the bare head of his cock bump up against your entrance, smearing your wetness over him, he moaned even harder against your mouth. He pulled away from the kiss with a huff, moving his hand to your hip then as he asked a very important question.
“Do you have a condom?”
It broached the front of his mind, then, that he hadn’t brought one with him.
“You don’t need one.” You breathed out in reply, combing your hand through his hair, raking your nails across his scalp in a way that made his hips unconsciously buck forward.
When he felt more of that warm wetness smear across him, his cock just barely dipping into your heat - he didn’t entirely care to decipher the meaning behind your words. He simply trusted you.
“Please, Spencer.” You begged quietly. “I need you. Just you.”
(Later, when he was looking back on it, he would have guessed that you meant you were taking your oral birth control consistently. But looking back on it now - it was the only time within those last months of your relationship that the two of you didn’t use a condom. You were urging him on, and maybe, at the time - a baby truly was what you had in mind.)
He wasn’t one to deny you anyway. And he certainly wasn’t going to deny himself of this.
He reached down and used a hand around the base of his cock to help line himself up, and gently guided the length of his cock into you.
This was always his favorite part.
The gasp - the lilting moan you let out when his cock first slid into you, the way your thighs flexed around his hips - it was all so perfect. But it was even more perfect without the barrier of a condom in the way.
It was perfect. It was so easy; it all came so naturally between the two of you. It was a perfect rhythm between your bodies that came from knowing each other so well, feeling so at ease with each other.
It wasn’t just out of the visceral need to have him inside of you; it was the pure yearning to feel close to him, to have him as physically close as possible.
With you, so tight and beautiful around him - he didn’t last. He couldn’t.
“Y/N.” He warbled out your name, almost as a warning.
“It’s okay.” You breathed back. “Cum for me. Come on, please.”
Spencer couldn’t resist - not when you said ‘please’.
The sound that came from his chest could only be described as a cry, and any fleeting thought he might have had about pulling out left his brain in a millisecond when he felt your tightness fluttering around him, his hips unconsciously fucking deep into you, his body loving the feeling of being held tightly there while your cunt milked him for all he was worth.
He certainly didn’t miss the sweet moans you let out - the bright eyed awe you started up at him with as you felt his cum fill you up for the first time.
…
It was one of the last good memories you had with Spencer - one of the most perfect pictures you had of who he truly was before he came home from Georgia such a different person, and you had no clue why.
Spencer could instantly see the lie in your body language - how closed off you became, how quickly you rushed to cut off his words. Along with the intense heat reflected in your eyes. You were thinking about that night.
He thought he knew exactly which night you were thinking about, and he was going to call you out on it, make you admit in your own words how perfect that night was, even if the two of you were ruined now, a shadow of what you once were.
But he was disrupted by the sound of his phone ringing.
#sundrop writes#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid#dad!spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you
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hii i was talking about this on twitter so i think i will just copy paste it here cuz i’ll probably delete it there at some point <3 twitter frightens me but i love my mutuals here we are all insane about flowey in the same way
i think saying “you’re the type of friend i wish i always had” is a really important thing for asriel to admit... this whole time asriel has dealt with so much grief and guilt about chara that it separated the actual person chara from the idealized version of them in his head who he has never stopped grieving. its a huge part of his character that hes unable to view them as they were because that’s just how his ptsd and guilt affects him. as someone who went through a similar thing that kind of grief can mess with your head and how you view yourself and the person who’s gone really badly. the pacifist route, for flowey’s character specifically, is a really good example of how grief and ptsd can make you feel disconnected from yourself, everyone around you, and like if only the person you lost was back everything would be perfectly fine again. the fact that he can admit they weren’t perfect and that he made the right decision is a huge character development that we don’t get to see in the no mercy route because he’s still convinced that this idealized version of them birthed from bereavement will make everything okay. similarly to how he believed toriel might have been able to fix him, he wants to believe there’s someone out there that could somehow return him to who he was before being traumatized, but the reality of it is this is just who he is.
his grief and trauma is a huge part of who he is like it is with real people, but it doesn’t have to be all of him. i think the emphasis the fandom puts on whether chara was Good Or Bad completely misses the point that it doesn’t really. matter i guess?? they were a kid people loved and now they’re gone. we're seeing people deal with the grief this brought and we know so little of who they are because there’s also a degree of separation about who they are to the people they loved as well. idk i hope this makes sense i think a lot about how chara is a kid who hated humanity and calls themself a demon. to me that just shows an EXTREMELY traumatized child with self hatred. i don’t know why there was ever this huge moral argument about chara when they’re literally just a kid with issues. they weren’t taught how to deal with how they felt and likely held themself in lower regard compared to the dreemurrs. its the same thing with asriel, he feels responsible for them being gone and his own trauma. he just wants a friend who can teach him to understand his grief or someone who can at least let him view the situation for how it really is
i just think. flowey is so well written but not understood very well by the fandom because the type of thing he’s gone through is kind of hard to grasp. it’s a weird situation that doesn’t have a completely black or white Is He Or Chara At Fault kind of answer. they were children. people are complicated and want someone to blame when something goes wrong and flowey directed that at himself. hes such a fascinating and well written character i love him dearly i hope u guys understand how insane he makes me <3
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The Spitting Image | Part 1
Summary: Years passed since last time you saw your ex-boyfriend and father of your son. Fate decided the perfect moment for you to reconnect was after the end of the world.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f! Reader
Warnings: swearing, threatening, someone is punched, mentions of violence, mentions of doing harm to children (none of the characters, it’s just a thought), walkers, mentions of injuries, a little angsty. Minors do not interact. (If I forgot anything let me know)
Word Count: 4,419
A/N: It was supposed to be a one shot, but it was getting too big and I wasn’t in the middle of it, so I’ll make a mini series of it.
The reader’s son is 17 yo, so if you don’t feel comfortable reading something self insert having a kid this age, it’s up to you.
Here I’m supposing Daryl is in the beginning of his 40s when they get to Alexandria to make sense the age of his son.
Also, I have no idea how are the laws in the U.S.A. To register your children, so if it’s not possible to register a kid with the name of the father without the father, let’s pretend in this universe it is.
Series Masterlist Part 2
Main Masterlist
It had been days that you were out there with Aaron and Eric, you had found a possible group to invite to Alexandria. While you and Aaron was observing them from afar in the road, Eric was in a nearby city waiting for you.
That group seemed like a good group, they took care of each other and shared. They also had a kid and a baby, it needed to mean something. As a mom, you could clearly identify with their struggles and want to protect every kid you came by, unless it was a psychopath kid that wanted to kill you and your son, then… you had no empathy.
United and righteous people were exactly the kind of people you needed for Alexandria. It seemed as they were hungry and thirsty you had some supplies you could give them to help. Hiding on the trees you could only observe them using binoculars as you needed to remain far from them because of safety. You had never zoomed to observe them this much before, but there was something intriguing you and you didn’t voice it to Aaron yet. He was one of your best friends back in Alexandria, but you had to make sure.
There were a guy, all wearing black. He had a sleeveless black shirt that showed his toned arms, he seemed to be tall and had really broad shoulders and a relatively long hair. He carried a crossbow, and even though he was as tired and week as everyone else, he tried to not let it show. You only knew a person like this, but it had been so long since you last saw him that you thought this was your mind playing games with you. You were so young back then, you changed so much… he probably did too, probably you even crossed paths before the world ended and you didn’t recognized each other. But you had to make sure it wasn’t him so just your mind would relax and you could control your anxiety.
That’s why you were zooming the binoculars to the maximum and focusing solely on him, expecting him to look to a side so you could clearly see his face. He did, and when he did your heart stopped for some milliseconds and you thought all the air was drawn from your lungs. “Holly shit!” Was the only thing you were able to say, so glad now you could openly curse, because there wasn’t any child around.
“What’s it?” Aaron asked curiously and you passed him the binoculars unable to say anything. He looked at it, zooming out and couldn’t see anything extraordinary. “I don’t see anything. What did you see?”
You rested your back on the trunk of the tree that you were both sitting on its branch. You tried to breath in and out, just like your therapist had recommended you when you started to treat you’re anxiety.
“Y/N, what happened?” Aaron asked again turning his attention to you and holding your hand, which you accepted gratefully.
“I… I think my ex is in this group.” Oh my God. You were freaking out! It wasn’t as if you had ended bad, well it depends on the point of view, but seeing him after all this years, after all that happened, after…
“You think?” Aaron asked one more time, if it was your ex why you sounded like you were not completely sure.
“Yes, it was a long time ago. We were barely adults, so we changed a lot, but I’m 98% sure the archer is him.” You said continuing your exercise and taking your canteen with shaking hands to drink some water.
“Oh… let me check him out and see if you have good taste in men.”
“Aaron!” You protested the most silently you could. “Well, you may surprise a little when you see him, he is…”
“… DJ’s father! Holly crap!” He looked at you as if he had seen a ghost as the man looked exactly like the teenager boy he knew back in Alexandria, of course the man was way older than the boy. “Do you have an uterus or a copy machine in your belly?”
“Ok, if even you can see it’s totally him.” You said and you didn’t know if you were relieved or anxious, probably both at the same time.
“Ok, so… is he a good person to take with us?” He had to ask, even though you were good friends, you never talked much about him, it seemed to hurt you a lot, so he never pushed.
“Yes, of course. Don’t think I’d have named my child after him if he wasn’t.” You answered. It wasn’t his fault or yours, you just had to blame people like your parents that thought they were better than everyone else. “It’s just that it has been so long after last time we saw each other, I’m just nervous to meet him again.”
You tried approaching them by letting water and food as a gift for them on the road, but they just rejected everything, they were suspicious, they probably went through a lot of shit. You don’t blame them, you’d react the same if it was you. A heavy storm caught you by surprise, you needed to find shelter and protect yourselves. Once you saw the group entered a barn, you decided to go back to your RV and wait the next day or the storm pass before approaching them more directly this time.
The next morning the weather had improved, so you left again to where they were. At distance you saw two women near to the location of the barn, you approached them and presented yourselves and minutes later both of you were on your knees, hands behind your heads and an angry man in front of you. But before the said angry man could do anything or ask anything, the archer came from the shadows and your name left his lips. “Y/N”
“Daryl.” You replied a smile on your face, you wanted to keep a more straight face don’t be so pathetic about how you were happy to see him there alive, older and hotter, but you couldn’t, because it had always been like that, you’d see him and you wouldn’t be able to control yourself. You’d open the biggest smile at him and would have your heart racing with excitement and anxiety.
“Do you know each other?” The angry man asked Daryl, but you replied. You couldn’t hold your tongue, you were anxious and when it was like that, you’d say even what you weren’t meant to say.
“We dated.” You answered, also you knew that Daryl would die of shyness if he had to say you dated or anything like this. That’s if deep inside him he was still that boy.
The man you came to know the name was Rick Grimes shot you a look that said ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ and then looked back at Daryl in hopes he would confirm it or not. “Yeah, it’s true.”
“If she’s his ex, she’s no good. We should better don’t believe them.” You saw a ginger man with a big mustache speaking.
“Listen here, Obelix. You better not bad mouth me again or I’ll beat you so hard your mustache is going to end on your ass!” You were normally sweet and polite, but you’d never let anyone judge you, or anyone that you loved, especially this person that doesn’t even know you.
“Definitely related to Daryl.” An asian man said and couldn’t contain a small laugh, even in the state the group was.
Daryl had a smirk on his face and you couldn’t read what it meant. The Rick guy didn’t took it easy on you just because Daryl knew you, he argument people could change and he wasn’t wrong. Most of the time he hold the conversation with Aaron and you were glad about it, Aaron was better at this than you were, even though you could bring a sense of comfort most of the times when you approached women or groups with children, this wasn’t a situation where Aaron actually needed you. Unless they decided to kill both of you or something else, then you’d have to play the last card you could with them and that could only be used with them, because of Daryl. You’d need to use your son to convince them to let you go, and you’d hate to do such thing. Using your son to blackmail someone was never something you’d like to do.
You remembered the day you first had the courage to talk to him, you had always thought he was cute and cool, but you never had the courage. Until a day your “friends” excluded you and you didn’t even got to know why. You were 16 and they were so immature to do such thing, so yeah, it was their loss you thought. That’s what you tried to say and convince yourself you were better without them.
At lunch time having no table to sit, you went straight to his table, that was it, your opportunity to get to know him. “Can I have a sit here?” You asked in front of him.
“ ‘m not the owner of the chair.” He said, eyes on his plate. “But ya won’t want to be seen with me sweetheart.”
“Thanks.” You put your tray on the table and took the chair in front of him. “I’m Y/N.”
“Daryl. We already know each other. We had a subject together. Once.” He remembered! You were ecstatic, of course you’d remember him, you developed a huge crush on him since you had to pair up, but you didn’t expect him to remember you. You didn’t think you were as cool as the other girls to be remembered. “Ya still have time to maintain the integrity of yer reputation and leave.”
“I have no reputation to save, my friends simply decided I’m not cool anymore, so… fuck them, gonna make whatever I want.” He snorted, he never thought he’d live to see you cuss. You never looked like one to do so. “What’s funny?”
“Thought you never cussed.”
“Well, there are a lot of things you don’t know about me Dixon.” You replied and from this time you started to pass more and more time together, starting a strange friendship that was the commonest thing for both of you, but people outside loved to judge.
Most of the time they were discussing, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. It was as if you did, he’d disappear into thin air. In the end Rick sent a group to your RV to confirm if you were telling the truth and threatened killing you if they took too long to comeback. After they came back, Rick agreed to go to Alexandria but they would drive and you should tell them where it was, and then started again another drama.
“How are we supposed to trust you? Maybe you got another group and a radio and you’re going to attack our place. We have children and elders, we can’t risk.” You tried to reason with him, even though you knew you were in a small number and you’d never win this ‘battle’.
“Don’t you trust Daryl?” Rick threw this card. Really?
“How am I supposed to when you didn’t believe me and he did nothing to tell you were wrong and I could be trusted?” He knew you were right, not even for a second you thought Daryl wasn’t the same, but you had a point and even he knew it.
In the end you had no option but give in to their requests. You took them to the nearest city so you could take Eric too and while fighting against walkers he got his ankle hurt. Not longer after you got back to the road and in direction of Alexandria. While going there you tried to make some small talk with them, but most were not very open to it.
“What’s her name?” You asked Daryl that had a beautiful baby in his arms.
“ ‘s Judith.” He answered, he looked at her with such adoration. It was adorable to see such a big and rustic man being so tender with a baby in his arms.
“She’s so pretty.” You always wanted a baby girl, but of course you were more than happy with your baby boy. It was just a silly girl dream to have a daughter so you can play doll with them. “Can I hold her a little? There’s a long time I don’t get to hold a baby.”
Despite the common silent agreement of the group to not trust you just yet, he trusted you and was sure you’d do nothing against his ‘lil ass kicker’. So he let you have her a little in your arms and she continued to sleep peacefully. Carl observed you with the eyes of a hawk, ready to end you if you did anything wrong against his little sister, but you didn’t.
“Is your family with ya?” Daryl drawled by your side while you were mesmerized by little Jude. He wanted to know if your asshole of dad was still around and also your mom, but he couldn’t ask it like this, he didn’t know how your relation with them were after everything, he didn’t want to offend you.
“It’s just me and my son, but he’s not this cute anymore and I no longer can carry him in my arms like that.” You replied, wishing he’d have curiosity about DJ, but also afraid of where this curiosity could take you in this moment.
“What’s his name?” He asked trying to be polite, but deep down it hurt him that you had another lover and had a child, he couldn’t control this, but it was painful anyway.
“DJ.” You simply said, god you didn’t want to reveal at this moment your baby was Daryl Dixon Junior. Before he could ask the name and not the nickname, you threw another question at him. “Did you get any of my letters?”
He was taken aback. You tried to keep contact with him. You tried to reach him out. “Did ya send me letters? I… Ididn’t know. I left with Merle shortly after what happened. Probably old man got them.”
By his surprise you believed he really didn’t know. He never read the letters. He never ignored you or pretended your son didn’t exist. Deep down, you knew he’d never do that, but you never could confirm it, because you never got to see him again. Until now.
A little after Carl took Judith from your arms, you already had enough. He couldn’t let you more than you were supposed to with the baby. While your mind wandered to the past, Daryl’s were a turmoil trying to decipher what could be the name of your son, since you gave no detail.
The day prior he had warned you ‘wear sneakers tomorrow, you asked why and he just repeated what he said before. So you did. There was almost a year since your friendship with Daryl Dixon started and at that moment, he was your best friend. Sometimes he’d stay with you studying in the library or just hanging out around the city. You trusted him.
Next day, you arrived at school and found him next to an old blue truck. “What’s that?”
“A car.” He answered the obvious.
“I know dumbass! But where did you get it?” You asked curiously, he had never gone to school in one.
“I borrowed it from Merle without telling him.” Which means he stole his own brother, at least for some hours. “I’m returning it later, probably won’t even know about it. He’s knocked out in his bedroom.”
“Ok, if he catch us, I’m telling it was all you.” You played with him, but you knew Merle would never catch you, at least not before Daryl arrived at home with it.
“It actually was.” He shrugged. “Also, no way he’d believe a sweet thing like you helped me in any of that.” You instantly blushed, it wasn’t always that Daryl would throw sweet words or compliments at you, so every time you’d not fail and blush. “Did ya wear sneakers?”
“Yep.” You put one foot in front of you to show your sneakers.
“Pink? Really?” He teased you, he knew for sure you’d wear at least one thing pink and you were always wearing sandals or any other more delicate shoes.
“I don’t have many sneakers, so… yeah.” You retracted your foot to stand close to the other again.
As soon as the bell rang you entered the school and went to your classes. In the end of the day, you got together at the parking lot ready to spend your day together. “Where are we going?” You asked curiously.
“Get in the car and you’ll see.” He replied going to the driver’s side.
“Ok, Dar. I’ll let you be all mysterious while I die out of curiosity.” You dramatically entered the truck and took the passenger sit.
You drove for some time and even got outside the city. You knew he was familiarized with the forest, he told you he’d hunt, but you never thought he’d bring you someday near it. “You know I know shit about hunting, don’t you?” You asked while the car stopped close to a small trail.
“Yep, dun worry. I didn’t bring ya here to go hunting. It’s something else, wanna show you a place.” He slightly touched your hand reassuring you and you could swear it sent a delicious tingling sensation all over your body.
He got out of the truck, took a bag in the truck bed and waited for you so you could start the trail. There was 5 minutes you were walking when you tripped and almost fell down, leading to the boy to hold your hand until you arrived at your final destination.
It was a waterfall, a beautiful one, with a small lake. The water was a beautiful green surrounded by big rocks. You got all excited with the sight and gave your biggest smile to him, which made his heart flutter and stole a small smile from him.
You took your sneakers off and both of you sat on a rock where you could put your feet in the cold refreshing water. There was the shadow of a tree that made it bearable to be outside there in the warm weather. You loved how Daryl was relaxed and just enjoying the place and your company, you could talk a lot or talk nothing and it would be perfect for him.
You don’t know what made you do that, but the moment just felt perfect to speak your mind to him, actually speak with your heart. “I like you, Daryl.”
“Yeah, we’re friends of course ya do.” It was obvious if you didn’t you wouldn’t be around.
“No, I like you in the way I’ve been crushing on you for years and just now I have the courage to say, yay…” you said, trying to be a little funny so the moment wouldn’t be so embarrassing, but it would be already too embarrassing if he just rejected you at that moment.
He looked at you impressed and thinking how you could like him for so long if everybody in the school, no, in the damn city thought he was a sore loser and a scumbag. “Are ya sure?” He double checked, just in case.
“I wouldn’t put myself in this embarrassing situation with risk of you rejecting me and losing your friendship if I didn’t.” You turned to look at him and were struck by his deep blue eyes that seemed to see your soul every time you looked into it. “It’s ok if you don’t feel the same, I’ll…”
Before you could finish your apologetic sentence, his lips crashed on yours and his hand held yours one more time, and that was the first of many kisses you’d come to share in the following years.
You woke up startled, the RV came to a stop. You were finally at the gates of Alexandria, you and Aaron got off first and the rest of the group followed you and once the gates were open you could see that at the same time they were cautious they were also impressed with the place. You entered the gate and Deanna came to welcome the new people. Aaron took Eric to the infirmary and before you could excuse yourself and go home take a good bath and spend some quality time with your child, you saw the tall teenager in his 17s running in your direction. You suddenly worried, he would see him. Both of them would see each other. You smiled at your baby boy that wasn’t a baby anymore, and he hugged you tightly even taking you from the ground. He had became so tall in the last years that it was funny to see the difference of his height to his mom’s.
Daryl was frozen in place, when he saw the young man running in your direction it was as if he could see his younger self in the past, but he wasn’t hallucinating or anything like that, because that boy that looked so much like him had also many features from you. The group looked surprised at the boy, probably thinking the same thing Aaron thought when he landed his eyes at Daryl. A million thoughts ran on the hunter’s mind, this kid just could be his… he had too because no way someone could look so much like the other and don’t be blood related, especially being the son of your youth lover.
“How are you baby?” You asked cupping DJ’s face with your hand and checking his face to see if he was healthy and well.
“I’m ok mom, are you good?” He asked back observing you, he had always been such a good observer.
“We need to talk…” you started to say but couldn’t finish because the boy’s eyes landed on Daryl some meters behind looking at both of you.
DJ knew, you told him before how he looked so much like his dad. So he knew when he looked strictly to an older version of him. He put you aside and walked strong steps on Daryl’s direction, you yelled his name but he just ignored you and before you could stop him, he punched his father right on his jaw.
“DJ! No!” You put yourself between both of them.
“No? Mom! He never cared about us and now he just shows here like this? He ignored all the letters you sent and the pictures of me, and…” he bursted the feelings trapped on his chest all those years. He had the perfect speech on his mind, he elaborated it for years just to end his father and make him ashamed of what he did, but now he didn’t even say half of it and the rest stayed stuck in his throat unable to come out as tears accumulated in his blue eyes.
“It’s ok. I probably deserve it.” Daryl said from behind.
“Honey, it’s not like this. We don’t solve anything like this. You don’t know the whole story.” You rested your hands on your son’s shoulders.
“You mean the edited version of how he never cared about us, or looked for us? I know you never told me everything, I’m not stupid. And I also know men are bastards that don’t care about discarding pregnant women!” Shit. Shit. Shit. Things were getting out of control the boy was causing a scene.
“Listen to me, Daryl Dixon Junior! I’m your mother and I’d never name you after your father if he was this kind of bastard!” You firmly told him, there were so many years that you didn’t call him by his whole name that he knew he would be in trouble if he didn’t obey you at that moment. “Now, apologize, go home and wait for me.”
“Fine.” The young man said teeth greeted. “I’m sorry for punching you because you’re an asshole.” With that he turned around and left before you could lecture him one more time in front of everyone.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Daryl asked. Obviously not talking about the past, it was clear to him that you tried in the past.
“I wouldn’t dare use my son to bring you to safety. I know you’d come if I said, and your group… I know this kind of bond, you’re family. I didn’t want to be selfish and make all of you come because I used DJ to convince you. I wanted you to come because you wanted, because you trusted what Aaron and I were offering.”
He couldn’t understand well about it, he wasn’t a father till some minutes ago… even though he wished he was one long before, the kid really had a personality, reminding him a lot about himself and even about Merle. But he could try to understand, to listen to you and if he stopped to think, it didn’t made a difference if you told before or now, he would still have the same feeling of anxiety, excitement and lost, lost for all the years and everything that he lost not being around his son.
“I’m sorry you had to discover like that.” You apologized even though you knew in no way it would be less shocking for him. “We have a lot to talk, the three of us… of course, if you want to.”
“Yeah, we need to talk. I wanna know everything and I wanna know him, if ya allow me and if he wants.” He was quick to answer. God, how could you even give him a choice? He had to do it.
“Great. So… I’m gonna let you finish solving things with Deanna, when you are free, come to my house. It’s the one with the magenta pink doormat.” You give some steps backwards, eyes still on him.
“Pink, hugh…” he knew everything with you needed to have a little of pink and for sure with the end of the world you could not afford pink acessories, at least you’d make sure that one thing in your life was.
“Yes…” you almost murmured. “I’ll see you later.”
“See ya…” he replied.
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#daryl dixon#the walking dead#the walking dead daryl#twd#twd daryl#daryl x reader#daryl x y/n#daryl fanfiction#daryl imagines#the walking dead daryl dixon#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon fanfic#daryl#daryl x you#deansapplepie
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It's 8 PM. I am listening to Frank Sinatra. And Jing Yuan makes me emotional therefore, I need to write some shit down. When will I ever write for any other HSR character that's not him???
Jing Yuan, a long living species, who falls for a regular human. A short living species.
He is a man who is able to play the waiting game, he is that kind of person who can and is willing to analyze every single possible move his enemy, or ally, can and is willing to make. Centuries of long and hard battles have desensitized him to certain brutality. Now, he is not some beast who is not capable of compassion but when you've lost so much, it's only natural for your heart to harden.
That is why the realization that he cannot play the waiting game with you dawns on him.
You may stand by his side now but where will you be in the next 10 years? The next 50 years? A century means nothing to him. It will all go away in the blink of an eye, forgotten and unnecessary.
His heart sinks at the thought of you not being with him. The way in which you coo after him, it gives him a reason to actually enter his office and leave it with a smile on his face. Who will be there for that cheeky little Cloud Knight of his when he's feeling pouty? Who will be there to smack Jing Yuan back to his senses as he takes yet another unnecessary nap?
One day, you will grow old and he will stay the same as he is. He will hold you in his arms and weep as he watches the life leave your eyes for good. Jing Yuan will be forced to watch the final piece of his heart be ripped away from him, stolen by cruel destiny. He could already taste the blood in his mouth as he bites back a scream of pain.
Curse the Abundance. Curse the entire Universe for taking you away from him. Curse your silly mortality, curse the fact that you were so perfect to begin with.
That is precisely why right now, he must have you. He takes you away and locks you in some private estate, where you can be safe. The thought of making you a long living species is tempting but he is not sure if he's willing to play that card.
You scream sometimes. You weep and cry to please let you go, that you love him but that this is not alright. And Jing Yuan can do nothing but to kiss your forehead and mumble sweet nothings in your ear.
He may perhaps even marry you in secret. If he does, his wedding ring would never come off his finger, not even after your passing. This sparks so many rumors on the Lofu but Jing Yuan does not acknowledge them. He is the only one who needs to know the true meaning of the ring.
Jing Yuan is not ready for your death. He may try to prepare but really, who is ever ready for something so painful?
He sits quietly next to you, the sheets beneath you all silk and perfection. The room reeks of medicine and flowers but it is missing the bright sound of your laughter. You are gone. Jing Yuan bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks of funeral arrangements.
But it's so hard to concentrate if his vision is filled with black spots.
Jing Yuan stands up, his feet shaky, his soul shattered. His heart is either dead or dying because you took it with you, wherever you may be. The General can feel the walls around him tightening, the air in his lungs knocked out as the floor is suddenly covered in golden leaves.
Ah, they look pretty. You would have liked those indeed. Jing Yuan reaches towards them, a long, ink black talon gently picks it off the marble floor as his long white hair covers his face.
Odd, he thinks to himself. His hands never looked so black before.
A nearby caw of a raven breaks him out of his trance as Jing Yuan looks to his left, where a massive mirror hangs. He is greeted with something that should horrify him, something that should make him weep but he has no tears left to shed.
The Mara is taking over him. It is too late to fix him.
Maybe, just maybe, the General of the Lofu does not want to be fixed. Perhaps he can be slain in battle and be reunited with you in the afterlife. Would you be happy to see him? Would you hold him in your arms, play with his hair and sing him songs in the quiet evening?
Perhaps you wouldn't show him such kindness. After all, he has hurt you in so many ways. He does not deserve your love. But he can't help but to reach out for it.
A final tear cascades down his pale cheek as Jing Yuan smiles at his reflection. A maid opens the door behind him and lets out a loud scream, her eyes shaking in fear as she witnesses the General transforming into the same kind monster he swore he would keep in check. Jing Yuan sighs as he feels his heart beat, for the final time.
He was coming to see you. He was going to see you again. He was ready to grovel and beg as much as necessary, if it meant that you would be by his side. Yes, that truly was a pleasant thought. You and him, together as the sun sets. He can still see the faint glimmer of the golden ring on his finger, his eternal promise to you. It shines like a lonely star in a massive galaxy, with no way to protect itself.
However, not even stars can live forever.
And just like that, the world goes dark.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yancore#yanderecore#yandere aesthetic#yandere male#jing yuan x reader#jing yuan#yandere jing yuan#honkai star rail#honkai jing yuan#hsr x reader#hsr x you#hsr x y/n#yandere hsr
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Genshin Mens with an S/o that always so happy and bubbly from the outside/public but at home they are actually tired and secretly crying in the bathroom while the shower is on so hoping that They wont hear the reader crying
I have been waiting to write this oh my gosh!! Love this idea, but just in case you're feeling like the reader, know it's okay to cry and if you ever need to talk to someone you're welcome to talk to me and I'll do the best I can to comfort you <3
─⊰⊹ฺ🎃𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⊹ฺ🎃
{༻~All alone~༺}
CW: Angsty: Hidden emotions, crying, depression, some slight yelling in Xiaos and worried characters! Modern AU! (Pet names: Lyney: My love, Zhongli: Darling, Xiao: Flower, Kazuha: Honey, Neuvillette: Mon amour)
(Includes: Lyney, Zhongli, Xiao, and Kazuha!)
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
𑁍༄Lyney:
Lyneys knuckles gently tapped against the wooden door of the bathroom, his voice sweet and filled with love "Mon amour, you alright? You've been in the shower awhile" ...although if you listened closely, you could hear the undertone of worries in his words. No matter how well you hid it in public, he could always sense you were off, he knew when smiles were genuine and yours rarely was anymore and no amount hiding in the bathroom could make your pain less noticeable to him.
Meanwhile you were on the other side of the door, knees pulled close to your chest and tears rolling down your cheeks as you tried to breath in the mist filled room, the sound of the shower drowning out your soft sobs to the best of its abilities. You sniffled, trying to make your voice sound normal despite the emotions that were tugging at your throat, "Yeah honey! I'm fine! Just wanted to pamper myself a little!"
The magician sighed, slowly sinking to the floor... he wished so desperately you'd just let him in, let him lighten the burdens you were carrying, " Mon amour...I know that's not true. Please, let's talk.." You could barely hear him over your own mind screaming at you...worries and images of your issues dragging him down with you, drowning any ideas of actually accepting his offer to the bottom of your heart.
"I'm fine."
𑁍༄Zhongli:
You laughed out loud, others laughing along with you like everything was absolutely perfect...while Zhonglis yellow eyes saw otherwise, his gaze never leaving your sweet face. He could see it in your eyes, the way your laughter no longer sounded the same....the way you held yourself differently when others were around compare to when you were home alone with him. He just didn't understand why you weren't talking with him...why you were hiding your feelings.
Of course he wouldn't pressure you, he'd do his best to encourage you to lean on him...rest when you looked tired, do his best to show you how much he loved you, but it didn't seem to stop. You'd still disappear into the bathroom, shower running while he paced back and forth outside the door, wishing he knew more about human emotions, wishing he could just do...something.
"Darling, I'm here if you need me...I love you."
"Just taking a shower!....love you too!"
𑁍༄Xiao:
Xiao was panicking, all his life he'd never found love till he met you and now you were hurting in a way he didn't know how to solve. He thought you were happy, smiling and laughing like usual...but overtime he would notice that something had changed. You no longer laughed till you cried anymore and even when you seemed at your highest...you still had dark bags under your eyes, sadness clinging to your words.
Now he'd caught you crying behind a closed door, sobs barely audible over the sound of the shower running and breathing messy...uneven, you sounded like your heart was shattering. He couldn't stand hearing you sound so broken, standing there doing nothing to help you when one of the things he loved most was protecting you, so he teleported into the room..hoping you'd forgive the intrusion.
He was shocked at first, to see you curled up by the door crying, barely able to breath as you rocked back and fourth...he wanted to run to you, pull you into a tight hug, tell you he'd make it all okay if you asked, but he didn't want to startle you and make the situation worse, "Flower...I'm here...can I help?"
"Xiao?!? What a-are you doing in here!? G-get out!"
"I'm worried about you, you're hiding your emotions and pretending like your okay when you aren't...I just want to help you."
"You're not one t-to talk! You hide what you're f-feeling all the time! Just leave me alone!!"
"No, I'm not leaving here until I figure out what's going on. I haven't waited thousands of years to find love and let it slip away because I didn't offer comfort when I should have!"
You covered your ears and opened the door, "THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE WAITED L-LONGER!"
𑁍༄Kazuha:
Kazuha sighed, humming against the doorframe while he thought of your wonderful smile that always made his heart race...and your bubbly personality that contrasted so well with his calm collected one, but lately things hadn't had the same magical loving feeling they used to, even his poems barely made a glint in your eyes, you just seemed so put out. Even after sleeping, when he'd try to hold you close and make sure you rested comfortably in the morning, you'd almost instantly pull away...leave to take a shower.
"Hey honey, you doing okay in there? I don't want to bother you...I've just noticed you seemed to be feeling down more often. I guess I just...worry about you. I love you and I want to make sure you're happy..." The shower flicked off as he finished his sentence and for a split second he had hope you would talk with him, but when the door opened, you stood in front of him wrapped in a towel...eyes red and puffy, and that same fake daunting smile on your lips.
"Kazuha honey, what're you doing outside of the door? Were you talking to me? I didn't hear anything..."
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
◥(•̀￦•́)◤☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 ☾𖤓~Have a nice day~*.✧
#genshin impact#genshin headcanons#genshin#genshin fanfic#genshin imagines#genshin x reader#genshin scenarios#genshin x you#lyney x reader#lyney headcanons#lyney x you#lyney angst#lyney genshin#zhongli angst#zhongli headcanons#zhongli x reader#zhongli x you#zhongli genshin impact#xiao angst#xiao x reader#xiao x you#xiao headcanons#xiao genshin impact#kazuha x reader#kazuha x you#kazuha angst#kazuha headcanons#kazuha genshin impact
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recontextualizing this story through the lens of buck/eddie and what it means for them, is like. it's so interesting because recently, i got an anon that asked me (paraphrasing) if i thought 9-1-1 would actually "go there" with buck and eddie as individuals, and that three main characters discovering their queerness would be "too much" for the general audience. and, like, not withstanding that it's actually true to life — that queer people can and do naturally gravitate toward each other even when we aren't out / passing / aware of our sexualities at the time — it's also just like. the belief (or disbelief) that 911 wouldn't "go there" with their stories also comes with this inherent assumption that there's only one way to tell a queer discovery story.
like. when michael came out in season 1, he was already at the end of his journey. he had already walked through the self-hate and forced closeting and came out on the other side to self acceptance. when we meet michael, he is a queer man, a gay man (because the word is important), who has already stepped into self actualization and is ready to live his truth. this is not the story 911 is telling with buck.
and then with eddie, you have this character that is introduced with the idea of being perfect, as ryan said, of having it all together, only for the audience to realize he's not. only for the audience to realize that he's broken and cracked on the inside and that a lot of it stems from war. but most of it? most of it doesn't. most of it stems from his father, and from how he was raised. raised to shut it down, to swallow things whole even if they hurt, even if they make him bleed. he was told to keep it all quiet, repress repress repress. and so. i know this is an unpopular opinion, but to that end, i don't think an explicit queer discovery storyline is necessary for him, in the sense that, subtextually, i think it's already happened. season 5 was very much eddie's unrepression arc. we dug deep into the things that make eddie diaz, eddie diaz. and a lot of that was war. violence. chaos."warzones are my thing." but if that was all that his arc was meant to be, why have it end with a conversation with his father? they could have played that arc out in so many different ways.
for one, they could have had mills still be alive. they could have had her and eddie reconnect. they could have had her and eddie have a conversation where she shoulders some of the weight that eddie's been putting on himself and have him settle into the peace of the realization that he's not alone in this specific thing, that he never has been, that other people survived what he did and that he can find solace in them. but the writers didn't do that. they took it back to his childhood, to the root of where eddie diaz began and they said, this is where you need to go. this is what you need to address before you can heal and move on. so that conversation with his dad that culminated in him choosing wellness, in him choosing happiness, in him choosing safety in his body for himself has very much always read to me as queer acceptance even if not explicit (due to the assumed barriers that were placed on that story at the time).
eddie has always been with women, eddie has always liked being with women, so i'd be shocked if he's ever even thought about the nuances of his sexuality. but his unrepression in season 5, to me, has always made him open to the possibility of falling into whatever comes next, whatever that looks like.
this is also not the story they're telling with buck.
(as a side note, i'd just like to say that queer subtext is still queer existence. subtext is how our stories have been told for generations, well before we were able to take up space on the page, and subtext is still a wholly valid and beautiful way of telling a queer story. please don't forget that).
so then, finally, we get to buck, and he's so very new at this. so very green he may as well be a blade of grass on a country club golf course. and so, despite the fact that there have already been two queer storylines prior, this is the first time in 9-1-1 (and tv!) history, that we have ever gotten to see an unplanned queer character discover who he is at this intimate, detailed level. we get to see buck's story unfold in real time, we get to learn about who this actualized version of himself is, as he is realizing it, and we get to know and dissect the layers and nuances, the ebbs and flows of his sexuality as he's taking himself apart and seeing what's underneath.
friends. this is the story they've always needed to tell.
and so, when i think about buck and eddie, and i think about their progression toward a romantic relationship and what that would look like, realistically and in the eyes of the audience, buck has really always been the missing key. we've talked about it before — who he is, who he was, has in no way been ready for eddie on multiple levels. whether it was because of his insecurity, his lack of place in the world, etc, buck has always been (for lack of a better word) too immature for eddie. eddie is a single father. he doesn't have time to play games, and though he will always love and reassure buck when he needs it, he doesn't have time to heal buck for him. nor should he. so buck was the only one who canonically, canonically, needed to be yanked from point a to point z.
and. it's like everyone's said, even before the season began — buck has been on a hamster wheel, buck has been stuck in a rut, yadda yadda yadda, which means that, as far as the audience was concerned, what always was for buck (women) is what always would have been. and there was nothing in canon, nothing concrete to disprove them from believing so. so we needed him to fall into something, not just radical, but sometime new.
and when i think about buck, and when i think about eddie, and when i think about their stories both as individuals and together, buck has, realistically, been the only real stopping point. at least with eddie, when the time is right and buck/eddie go canon, we, the audience, can go back in time and we can look at the way he came into himself and settled into his identity as a person, as a man, and say, like, oh okay, this is the moment. you know? we don't need the writers to take our hands and guide us through the same processes buck is experiencing because eddie's already had his ah moment, he's already experienced the moment where he decides that his life and his needs and his joy and his liberation are just as beautiful and valuable and worthy like everyone else's.
so when people ask, like, "would 9-1-1 really go there with three queer discovery arcs?" it's just like. well yes. they already have. we've already there. in fact, we're well into the third and final act. buck, eddie, and the audience, are almost ready — as in, actively ready — for each other. and yes, sure, even after the meat of this arc has passed, there will still be some things buck and eddie need to learn — specifically, they will need to learn that, not only do they have feelings for each other, but that feelings for each other is actually an option — but. for all intents and purposes, this is the crescendo before the final chord. this is it. and the thought that we've been here, that we've witnessed these three beautiful queer storylines unfold with these three beautiful characters (two of which are gentle, loving, present men of color) makes me entirely too emotional for words. tbh.
#what 9-1-1 is doing ... what they have done — despite this long ass post — it goes beyond articulation. it really does.#to comprehend that we are standing on the precipice of something so uniquely raw and life-changing in the way queer stories are told — it#doesn't get much better...more surreal than this. i know it's been said but the level of care and intention that has gone into telling these#stories is in itself a rarity. and the fact that we get to witness it — that we get to spend this time together — with a cast and crew that#loves these stories and loves these characters as much if not more than we do? its powerful as hell. what a surreal experience this has been#thinking many thoughts and crying many tears#tv: 911#jack.txt#meta#long post
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i've been poking at this too long to care how visually appealing it is anymore. My headcanons for the main characters' sexualities, based on canon information! (has no bearing on ships.) Canon speculation below the cut.
marcille (bi): fascinated by romance and loves romance. we only see her show explicit interest in a male (fictional character (General Halleus from the book series she loves)), but i don't think she's fully straight.
falin (aro? ace? lesbian? genderqueer?): falin's only interest in relationships in canon is 'she considered accepting shuro's proposal because she was afraid nobody else would want her, but felt it'd be unfair to him because she had no feelings for him'. i consider whether she's aroace or a lesbian or maybe bi/pan, and she also seems like she might have some genderqueer feelings, based on some of her discomfort with her body and wearing certain types of femme clothing. (Also the fact that she‘s part male dragon.) Since she ends the story going on a journey for herself, it feels like she'll finally get the chance to figure out what she wants.
laios (pan, demi): he hasn't shown explicit interest in men, but similar to marcille, i don't feel he's fully straight. He’s aesthetically attracted to monsters, at the very least, so gender probably doesn’t factor in for him. romance/sex just don’t seem to be much of a high priority to him in general, but he did think his ex-fiance was cute and didn't seem uncomfortable with the idea of marriage (just seemed unhappy with being trapped in his hometown), so i feel like demisexuality fits him well.
About his succubus: He was very noticeably not stopped in his tracks by it like Chilchuck and Marcille, but that could possibly be because it just….looked exactly like Marcille, not an obvious fantasy. He started blushing and stammering heavily when it turned into a monster, which like….this boy is definitely a furry/monsterfucker, if anything, but that doesn’t speak on his attraction to actual humans.
I think it speaks for something that the succubi are able to literally read minds and craft the perfect fantasy for their specific target. And for Laios, it wasn’t just “his friend Marcille”. It was a version of his friend Marcille that wasn’t grossed out by monsters, didn’t think he was weird for wanting to be one, and was able to turn Laios into one. It was a Marcille who understood him at his deepest level that made him become a blushing, stammering mess to rival Chilchuck. Which is why I think he’s Demi, and needs a strong emotional connection with someone before he finds them attractive.
kabru (pan): his special interest is people, and he's bold enough with his sexuality to kiss rin despite not being in a relationship with her. so being pan/bi feels appropriate.
chilchuck (bi): he has a wife, and they were childhood friends, so he's definitely allo. but his comments and behavior towards senshi makes me suspect he might be bi, and just never considered the possibility due to being in a committed relationship.
senshi (gay, ace): this is 90% off of vibes. he keeps to himself in the dungeon and doesn't seem to have any need for social company, he's a complete hermit. Being ace makes sense to me, but so would him just having a low social drive. His succubus was 'a woman he hadn't seen since he was a child', but his journal implies it wasn't a romantic/sexual attraction.
namari (bi/lesbian): she is at the very least attracted to women, given her behavior with kiki, but she does make a point to say that kaka is also attractive to her, and her friends at the bar tease her about Kaka being her “new” boyfriend (implying previous boyfriends).
shuro: the token straight (in love with falin, asked her to marry him). i love you shuro <3 (but i can also see him being into men. there's no evidence to the contrary)
izutsumi: aroace. literally no question. her succubus is her mother.
#dungeon meshi#dunmesh#delicious in dungeon#namari#chilchuck tims#senshi of izganda#marcille donato#laios touden#falin touden#kabru of utaya#izutsumi#my doodles#dm marcille#dm falin#dm kabru#dm shuro#dm izutsumi#dm namari#dm senshi#dm chilchuck#dm laios
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Love is a Laserquest | choi san
☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?
☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)
☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope
☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex
(female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!
☆word count: 16.5k
☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha
☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3
☆☆☆☆☆
And do you still think love is a Laserquest?
Or do you take it all more seriously?
I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had
But you’re always busy being make-believe
Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys
☆☆☆☆☆
The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.
Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.
Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.
There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.
You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.
Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.
Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.
It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.
You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.
It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.
Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.
You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.
Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.
You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.
“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.
Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.
He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.
“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.
He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.
“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.
He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.
You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?
“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.
“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.
So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.
“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.
For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.
He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.
“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.
He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.
You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.
“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.
It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”
You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.
“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”
He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”
You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.
You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”
“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”
His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.
As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.
“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.
Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.
Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.
“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.
“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”
Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”
He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”
He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.
“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.
He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.
The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?
“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.
“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”
His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”
You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.
When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.
His choices had been proof enough of it.
You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.
Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.
If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?
He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.
“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.
You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.
“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”
He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”
You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.
“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.
He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.
“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.
And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…
Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?
You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.
“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”
“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.
“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.
All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.
Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.
“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.
He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”
He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”
He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”
There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.
“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.
He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”
You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.
“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.
It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.
It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.
You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.
Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.
You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.
But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.
“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.
“I can’t…”
An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.
Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.
You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.
Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.
So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.
“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.
“What?” he asks.
“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”
San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”
It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.
“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”
He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”
You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.
He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.
He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.
“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”
You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.
Like all those years ago, you reckon.
“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.
Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?
Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”
“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”
Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.
You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…
“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”
If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.
“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”
“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”
You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.
“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”
He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.
Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.
“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.
You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.
Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.
“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.
You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.
He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.
Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.
“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.
As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”
You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”
“No,” he replies, features fully serious.
You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.
“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”
You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.
“Where can we stop?” you ask.
“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”
Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.
“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.
You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.
He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.
“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.
“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”
You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”
He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”
You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.
You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.
It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.
Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.
You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.
You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.
When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.
“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.
He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”
“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”
He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”
“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”
He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”
Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”
He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”
“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”
The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.
“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”
Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.
When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.
And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?
You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.
Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.
You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.
“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”
“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”
He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.
You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.
A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.
You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”
He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.
San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.
You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.
“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.
As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.
Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.
You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.
“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”
His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”
You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.
You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.
You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.
San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”
A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.
Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.
He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.
“Fuck,” he curses.
“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.
You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.
You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.
You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.
San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.
Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?
You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.
“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”
He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”
It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.
“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”
“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”
You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.
There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.
“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”
He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?
“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”
You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”
He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.
You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.
You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.
“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”
He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.
For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.
But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.
As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.
You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.
It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.
When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.
This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.
He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.
You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.
One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.
Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.
When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.
It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.
As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.
You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.
When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.
If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.
Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.
You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.
You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.
It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.
He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.
Maybe you could have opened his eyes.
You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.
*****
“You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”
He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”
You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.
“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”
“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”
“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.
You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.
“I can’t.”
You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.
“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”
He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”
You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.
Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?
"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.
There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”
His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”
“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.
But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.
The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”
You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”
“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”
“Go away.”
A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.
He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.
*****
The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.
There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.
There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.
But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.
You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.
All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.
You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.
The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.
The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.
When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.
Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.
From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.
You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.
Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.
You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.
He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.
“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.
You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”
“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.
That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.
“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.
You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.
“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.
He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”
You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.
You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.
“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.
You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.
“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.
You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”
He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”
You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”
He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”
“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”
You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”
You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.
“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.
“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”
You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.
“So?” he asks.
“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”
He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”
You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”
You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.
As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.
You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.
You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…
It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.
He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.
His gun.
“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.
“Sorry.”
“San, I’m so sorry.”
He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.
“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”
He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.
You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.
The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.
“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.
You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”
He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”
You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.
“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.
Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.
“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”
It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”
“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”
That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”
It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”
His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”
You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”
“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”
You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”
You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”
He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”
“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”
His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”
You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.
“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”
He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.
“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.
You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”
Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”
He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.
“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”
“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.
“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”
He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.
Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?
“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”
You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.
It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.
“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.
His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.
“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.
Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?
“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”
You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.
It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.
“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”
“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.
“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”
He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.
Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.
“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”
You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”
Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.
You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.
You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.
*****
The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.
You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.
“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.
You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.
“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.
You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”
“Angel…”
The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.
“I’m no angel,” you breathe.
“You saved me.”
You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.
“You deserved saving.”
His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”
“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.
As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.
“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”
You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.
Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.
When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.
For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.
You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.
You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.
“How?” you ask him when you pull away.
Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.
“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.
You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.
You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.
“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.
Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.
From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.
“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.
“What?”
“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.
You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.
“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.
“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.
Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.
He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?
So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.
You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.
So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.
You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.
San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.
The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.
He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.
Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.
When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.
“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.
He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”
You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.
“Don’t.”
You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”
His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.
Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?
“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.
You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.
“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”
You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.
“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”
And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.
“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”
“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”
You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.
“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”
He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”
“Did you?”
His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”
You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.
“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”
He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”
There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.
“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.
Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.
“As far away from here as I can.”
“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”
Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”
And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.
*****
Seven years later
The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.
To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.
But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.
You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.
You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.
The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.
I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.
You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.
You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.
You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.
Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.
In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.
It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.
But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.
You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.
You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.
At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.
In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.
You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.
A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.
He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.
☆☆☆☆☆
Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think!
All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate
Taglist:
@btsborahaee
#outlaw: the project#love is a laserquest#choi san#choi san smut#choi san angst#choi san fanfiction#choi san fanfic#choi san fic#choi san x reader#choi san x you#san#san smut#san angst#san fanfiction#san fanfic#san fic#san x you#san x reader#not bts#ateez
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mistki's the land is inhospitable and so are we (2023)!! as edits featuring mine and some of my friends ocs 😁 had a lot of fun with this project... rough explainer of how/why each song corresponds to each character/s under the cut because i love symbolism and talking! sorry it is long
bug like an angel - sapphire
without spoiling too much of her story and arc... sapphire's life is not easy. she's hurt by people she cares for and who care for her, although inadvertently, and in turn hurts people who she cares for and who cared for her, also not by her own volition. it's kind of a terrible truth that you will harm and be harmed by the people you love, even when you and they truly don't want to. it's up to you how much you're willing to take and deal. you can't keep every promise you make and you can't right every wrong. but you have to keep trying anyway. that's sapphire's strength, and the core of her goodness and why i personally consider her one of my favourite ocs. i chose to depict bug like an angel in mitski's more positive interpretation here and in that light i think it works best for saph
buffalo replaced - heiya
well first and foremost the vibes of the song fits heiya perfectly fhgjk but also lyricism and tone... yep. quick breakdown of heiya's background since i doubt i'll ever be able to do it properly she's an interesting character for me because she like a lot of my other characters has lost. everything. she had a wife and a child and they were both killed and she had to leave her home again and again and unlike how some of my others would have taken this she has never flagged in her unwavering dedication to preserving hope. for herself for her people for the future etc etc. which is a very fucking difficult thing to do! the world changes faster than you can keep up with it sometimes but for heiya she will not let herself tire and be swept away in it all. people rely on her. she's a guiding star as much as she is a woman. she's a lover and a fighter and thats what buffalo replaced means to me! so
heaven - vinny and caleb
i feel like of all my oc couples so far they have like. the sweetest most kind of simply mutually trusting dare i say straight forward love. they just love each other so much and thats all. the world could end around them when theyre together and it'd be okay truly. also yeah vinny is ostensibly in heaven now bye angel i feel like this one was pretty self explanatory. me and who WHEN
i don't like my mind - sunny
he just like me fr (said in denji voice) anyways wow ha. unstoppable unending guilt due to past actions that haunt your every waking moment? throwing yourself into any and all distraction just to take your mind off it, filling your time with other shit so that past sin doesnt for once echo in your awful and hollow brain? this song is perfect for sunny honestly just that sentiment also the "please don't take this job from me".... sometimes the coping is worse. you can be proud of something because you can do it better than anyone else even if that thing is terrible
the deal - wolfgang munch by @gunthermunch
Wolfgang Amadeus Munch. umm this will make more sense later on but it still kind of makes sense now i think. he doesn't want to be himself he keeps . leaving and moving and running away from his own memories his own self in reaction to others. if he could pawn it all off he would. if he could be better in an instant without having to feel every agonising second of change he would! but thats not how the world works. or is it. read munch by gunthermunch thats an order
when memories snow - lilian
i feel the older you get the more your past kind of swells up and trails behind you... at least for lilian that is shes very linked to the different versions of the girl/young woman she used to be. for her its a double edged blade, a lot of her own strength is drawn from who she was and what happened to her throughout her life. they haunt her but she's haunting it back in her own way
my love mine all mine - saige, bellona, ari
stares you down okay so usage of this song very much almost verges into spoiler territory but uhm. uhm. starts twitching basically the whole dynamic here is . sometimes when you love you will sacrifice. and while that is usually a good thing sometimes it is not but sometimes it still is. sometimes you pay your dues for love and sometimes someone else has to pay for your love as well. and whether that is worth it to them remains to be seen. but it's all about love still. whether that's a worthy cause is up to you i suppose
the frost - yoshiki and hikaru from hikaru ga shida natsu
fun fact (or not so fun fact since i had it listed as such) this slot was originally meant to be taken up by a gojo/geto edit and while it still works for them frighteningly well i swerved to do another black and white haired doomed gay pairing gfhjkl; i really recommend yall to read hikaru ga shinda natsu/the summer that hikaru died because honestly it speaks for itself! it's SO good i love it so bad
star - ari and luca by @anjitrait
wow these two did not deserve the horrors the narrative (me) slammed down onto their heads. they're kind of the most married of all time to me but like of course under pressure even the strongest most loving of bonds will warp. they've been together for roughly a decade and a half now. they know and love each other as totally as you could possibly imagine. despite it all i am yours, no matter. are we picking up what i'm putting down chat
i'm your man - nayef and sióar by @lucidicer
after the album dropped like at least 3 people swung into my dms with a ?this you?? about this song which. i mean the fucking dogs that start barking halfway through the song. are you kidding me. but anyways sioyef and devotion. sioyef and putting yourself in your lover's hands and looking to them like they are a god. this is super self explanatory. you know
i love me after you - redacted and ophelia
HM.... all i'll say here is that sometimes the homoerotic tension filled high school friendship where both parties have something very wrong with them but in totally different directions can be. scarring. bad. sometimes love just isn't enough when you don't know what you're meant to do with it and when you've lived in survival mode all your life. but that once the dust clears you can scrape yourself off the ground get up keep going and that isn't gonna be the end for you there. or for love, even. sometimes shit just ain't meant to be and thats ok
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・❥・DICTIONARY OF LOVE
♡ — Reader: GN
♡ — Characters: Albedo, Ayaka, Kazuha, Tartaglia, Wanderer (Scaramouche), Xiao
♡ — Synopsis: love through their eyes.
♡ — Content: fluff, very very light angst(?)
♡ — Warnings: spoilers for some characters' backstories
♡ — A/N: honestly, I'm kind of proud of the fact that I was able to keep each part relatively concise. Also, one of these parts is just me being down bad for one of the characters (I'll leave who it is to your imagination hehe). Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy the fic!!
To ALBEDO, love means patience. He's well aware that he's not the most energetic or expressive person. There are moments where his social battery is low, and he needs to immerse himself in his own world more than anything. Whenever this happens, you sit in the snowy landscape of Dragonspine, watching Albedo as he drags a brush across a canvas, causing inky strokes to bleed across the intricate composition. You wait in silence, intently peering at him, observing every movement of his arm and flick of his wrist. The frigid air stings your cheeks, but Albedo's presence is enough to cease the chills that threaten to wrack your body. Once he finishes, he turns to you and smiles softly. Albedo thanks you for waiting for him. Your understanding means the world to him, and despite the fact that you insist you need nothing in return, he still feels the need to reimburse you by taking you back to his camp in Dragonspine where he cuddles you until you feel warm again.
To AYAKA, love means acceptance. After long days of being surrounded by people who idolize her instead of seeing her as a friend, your presence makes her feel like a human being instead of some faultless goddess. Although she appreciates the individuals who think highly of her, she loves how spending time with you feels so easy in comparison. With you, she has no image to maintain. Formalities and etiquette are thrown out the window when she is with the one she adores. Despite the fact that you know she's not a perfect person, you're still hers, and that makes her feel secure. You're special to her because you accept all her flaws instead of ignoring them, yet you love her nonetheless.
To KAZUHA, love means tranquility. After all the storms he has encountered in his lifetime, he needs someone who can help him calm the raging tempests in his heart, and that someone is you. Peace — it's a feeling reminiscent of the serenity that courses through his veins when he basks in the last ephemeral rays of sunlight with you by his side. It’s a sentiment that is evoked by the gentle lapping of waves on sand as the two of you walk along a pristine shoreline, hand-in-hand as the sun sinks below the horizon. And most importantly of all, it's found in the sense of stillness that settles over him each night as he falls asleep with you in his arms. The moon acts as a witness to your love, curiously glancing down at the two of you as Kazuha holds you close and whispers sweet nothings into your ear until you drift off into slumber. When he is finally left alone with his thoughts, Kazuha wistfully gazes overhead and thanks every star in his sight for leading him to you.
To TARTAGLIA, love means war. He is a fighter by nature, so needless to say, he will fight as many battles as it takes to protect you. He knows it's not easy nor safe being romantically involved with one of the Fatui Harbingers. Numerous foes have tried to take you hostage and use you as leverage against him. However, Tartaglia is always there to protect you whenever his enemies try to strike from the shadows. His love for you and his contempt for those who attempt to hurt you fuel a fiery rage that urges him to show no mercy. By the time he is finished with them, he is certain that they will never try to harm you again. In Tartaglia's eyes, loving you is like fighting a war, and although the prospect is unappealing to many, Tartaglia is different. The thrill of battle fills him with adrenaline, and at the end of the day, he finds that it is all worth it because you're still by his side.
To the WANDERER, love means eternity. It is a concept he is all too familiar with — after all, the deity who embodies the principle is the one who created him just to cast him aside, initiating the first of several betrayals to come. All the fleeting moments of warmth he has experienced in his lifetime have left him raring for more, but no one ever quite quenches his thirst for intimacy before they abandon him. He wants something lasting, but he's too afraid to voice his desires due to the dubious thoughts that riddle his mind. If the God of Eternity’s affection for him was as transient as the vibrant maple leaves that adorned his birthplace, then who would ever be willing to love him indefinitely? His burning questions are all answered when he meets you. You are able to look past his harsh exterior and see him for who he truly is: someone afraid of the impermanence of tenderness, so when you finally confess your true feelings to him, you make it clear that you plan on staying by his side forevermore. When you make your vow to the Wanderer, he feels a gentle heartbeat thrumming to life in his once-empty chest. Perhaps this time, eternity will last forever.
To XIAO, love means subtlety. It is difficult for Xiao to verbally convey his admiration for you, so instead of expressing his infatuation in a straightforward manner, it is instead a sentiment he administers through lingering touches and shy acts of service. His love is quiet. Subdued, yet passionate all the same, and he will forever be grateful that you never fail to pick up on what he is discreetly trying to say to you. A heartfelt "I love you" is hidden in every small moment, no matter how insignificant it seems. And the way you reciprocate his gestures by preparing his favourite dish, shyly taking his hand while you're sitting together on Wangshu Inn's roof, and inspecting his body for any injuries in what you think is an inconspicuous manner makes his heart race time and time again. To Xiao, love is not something that needs to be in-your-face; it is found when you read between the lines.
Au revoir, mes amis. Also, all of these were supposed to be wholesome, and then Childe came along, and I just said VIOLENCE. I wonder if anyone can tell which one of these characters is my favourite. (Any guesses? /hj)
#r.archives *ೃ༄#albedo x reader#kazuha x reader#scaramouche x reader#wanderer x reader#xiao x reader#tartaglia x reader#childe x reader#ayaka x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin fanfic#genshin x reader#genshin imagines#genshin fluff#genshin headcanons
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You constantly portray Katara (in your posts and in your "dissertation") like some damsel in distress who is in a codependent relationship and does not defend her opinion in front of her partner, to the point that she allows him to mistreat her children. But the basis of her character is that she will never tolerate any shit from anyone. She always defends her opinion, and she does not oppose Aang precisely because their values are basically the same with Aang. You cannot agree with this, because then you would either have to admit that Aang is not the terrible person you paint him, or that Katara is not the perfect girl you want her to be. That is why you are forced to humiliate her and completely rewrite her character, just not to admit that she is in an equal relationship with Aang and their values coincide.
In addition, such a "katara" makes even less sense for zutara, because if her character has a tendency to codependence on her partner and a willingness to tolerate shit from him, then their relationship with Zuko would not be healthy, since Zuko is prone to self-pity, selfishness and outbursts of anger even after his redemption and he does not show even a tenth of the maturity that Aang has by the end of the show (and even if you do not agree with this, I hope you understand that if there is a tendency to codependent relationships in a person's character, then this tendency is realized in any relationship, regardless of the partner. And any such relationship will be unhealthy).
well i lost braincells reading this so i expect reparations for that, but i'm in a nice, salty mood today so... sure anon, i'll bite.
She always defends her opinion, and she does not oppose Aang precisely because their values are basically the same with Aang.
you must really dislike katara, because saying that the only reason she never challenged aang is because she never disagreed with him, rather than that her idealization of him blinded her to his flaws is... so much worse. are you telling me she thought it was right for him to recklessly burn her? or yell at her in the desert and abandon her to take care of sokka and toph alone? or kiss her without her consent? or give their airbending child preferential treatment over their other two children?
because katara doesn't hold aang to account for any of the things on that (non-exhaustive) list, and if your explanation for that is that she agreed with him, then we both know who here is really bastardizing katara's character.
do katara and aang share certain core values? sure. they're both kind, compassionate and hopeful people. but saying that katara's morals are "basically the same" as aang's is objectively untrue when they clash in both the southern raiders and sozin's comet over their personal moral codes on the sanctity of life and whether taking one can ever be justified.
neither of these conflicts are ever truly resolved, even by the end of the show. katara and aang never come to any sort of understanding or middle ground, or even raise the subject ever again, despite it being clear that they don't share the same perspective. katara even explicitly rejects aang's creed of blanket forgiveness by stating that she did not forgive yon rha and never will. i don't know about you, but that feels like a pretty major difference of opinion to me.
additionally, the fact that these are the only two times in the entire show that katara actually pushes back against aang's beliefs and decisions - and stands firm on it - proves my point, because she's only able to do so when she has absolutely no other choice. it's only the trauma of her mother's murder and the literal fate of the entire world that forces katara to challenge aang rather than excuse and coddle him. and that is unhealthy both for aang and katara, because an equal partner should be able to call you out on your flaws and mistakes without first having to be backed into a corner to do it.
That is why you are forced to humiliate her and completely rewrite her character, just not to admit that she is in an equal relationship with Aang and their values coincide.
i really adore this recent trend in atla fandom of insisting that it's zutara shippers who are responsible for adultifying katara or humiliating katara or any and all problems that exist within katara's narrative as if we personally wrote the show instead of just... pointing out what already exists in canon.
i'm not the one who robbed katara of all agency in her relationship, or refused to give her arc equal narrative space with aang's, or turned her into a subservient trophy wife with no legacy or voice. you can go take that up with the creators.
believe me anon, i wish i could manipulate canon for my nasty zutara agenda, but alas you can't have everything in life.
Zuko is prone to self-pity, selfishness and outbursts of anger even after his redemption and he does not show even a tenth of the maturity that Aang has by the end of the show
zuko didn't throw a hissy fit because the girl he liked didn't like him back, pressure her for an answer, force a kiss on her, or be preachy and judgemental towards her during one of the most difficult times of her life - but hey, whatever floats your boat.
(thank you for providing no evidence, by the way. saved me a ton of time reading more batshit insane misinterpretations of canon, or lies, or both.)
In addition, such a "katara" makes even less sense for zutara, because if her character has a tendency to codependence on her partner and a willingness to tolerate shit from him, then their relationship with Zuko would not be healthy
I hope you understand that if there is a tendency to codependent relationships in a person's character, then this tendency is realized in any relationship, regardless of the partner.
i'm genuinely bamboozled as to why you seem to think that i called katara codependent, because i didn't. i don't think katara and aang are codependent, and i have never once said that. but i understand that sending anonymous, bad-faith arguments is a difficult, underappreciated job, so let's take the hypothetical and assume i did to help you out.
fictional characters are not real people, and so it is possible for them to have different dynamics with different characters. that's why i can ship taang or zutara or mailee but not kat.aang or mai.ko. because each of these relationships are written to fulfil different narrative purposes, the characters involved are not doomed to repeat the same patterns of behaviour in each relationship as real people might be - and the difference between the zutara and kat.aang interactions in canon proves it.
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Can you write more Dilf!Toji please? 😭 I really appreciate your writing 🫶🏽
★ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐘. + 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎
masterlist. / taglist. / any request?
synopsis. you come around and make Toji so tempted, no matter what broad he's bagging all he can think about is you: his fucking nanny .
─── ☆ notes. number one dilf toji defender here, i’m in my Anderson Paak phase as well as i’ve sadly (i know im disappointed too) fallen for a man to the point where this boy has invaded my DREAMS y’all…this is embarrassing and this fic is me coping with having an actual crush so i give you full permission to call me a simp over this .
─── ☆ length. 2.6k (23 mins) .
─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni, nanny au, dilf!toji, angsty start, fluff, minor character death, hints of depression, hookups, pining, black coded reader, you got brotha STARVING, megumi and tsumiki are toddlers in this, someone give toji a hug, vent-fic, hurt/comfort, age gap, height difference, it's always Gojo’ fault, masturbation, jealousy | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍
Toji would say that after becoming a parent, he could read body language pretty well. Maybe it was just part of being a single parent and having to detect when your toddlers were sprouting nonsense just to stay up later knowing it was bedtime.
From the times he believed that his little Megumi was being the perfect angel and finally grew out of his tantrum phase.
Only to turn his back and realize that he had used craft scissors to chop a chunk out of Tsumiki’s hair and was playing nice to soften his punishment, to school beatdowns and playing dumb, Toji had decided he was just a master at decoding anyone’s bullshit.
Everyone except for his own that is.
Being a single parent came with its perks, Toji loved his two little demons, and it sort of helped that Tsumiki made the most of her mother's common sense.
But dealing with his ex-wife's abrupt death, being sprung into the life of lone fatherhood, and being a successful businessman were starting to take their toll on him.
His friends were not much help. Sure, Gojo did all he could to be seen as the cool uncle, but leaving his two hyper children with a man that refused to say no to anything that they asked was like signing his children up for their possible deaths.
Geto wasn’t much better, having his own marriage and kids. You would think that the father would grow to have a bit more compassion for the children's safety. Yet every time Tsumiki and Megumi visited their brass uncle, they would always come home with new scars sprouting about how they were practicing wrestling moves with their cousins for the last ice pop.
Waking up to something different, never being able to just fill in the gaps with a routine was starting to become a bit stressful.
Not to mention going to work and having to push himself to his limits, knowing that just because he was friends and business partners with Nanami didn't mean he'd be lenient with him.
All paired with the weight of some bold secretary that he had a one-night stand and never got the clue that every time he would brush her off for paperwork didn't mean he was singling her to cling onto him more. It was bad business hooking up with one of his employees Toji knows.
If anything, the woman had taken him at just the right opportunity when he was at the lowest moment of his life. Right after his wife's death, he had fallen behind on just about everything to the point where he would lean into any sense of comfort that reminded him of that faded memory he wanted to keep dear to his heart.
So there he was after hours with a woman's thigh over his shoulder moaning out his name as if it were a prayer, and he had realized that right after it was all a mistake, which was kind of a shitty thing to note as she was standing right in front of him pulling up her panties.
He just can't do it again, out of respect for her but also for himself. The last thing he wanted to do was entangle himself in another situation that would take more time away from his kids.
Not that he considered the woman to be pestering, but he wasn't a teenager anymore. The last thing he wanted to do was handle his stress by sticking his dick in the first woman he considered attractive, all because he had trouble bottling up all his emotions.
Toji's hatred for all the lingering eyes in the office—sure, Toji thought himself handsome—the proof was the number of relationships he had in his younger days.
There was something wrong with people finding him attractive and wanting something from him when he genuinely felt like his entire world would collapse on top of him if he stopped moving.
As if he stopped overworking himself that he would be like one of those sharks that had to keep swimming or else they would fucking die. It was ironic how stupidly afraid Toji was at the thought of leaving his children alone in the world with both of their parents gone.
It was fear, having that parental fear for something every waking morning worrying every second that something could happen to children all because he could notice one little thing or he hadn't paid enough attention.
Sure, he was being a hovering parent—call it what you want—but Toji would rather be that than a father who would spend his free time sleeping around with several different women. Never wanting to have to explain to his children that none of the women he slept with could compare to the relationship he had with their mother.
So he didn't. No more attachments. No more romantic anything, let alone bringing a woman home.
It was the secretary's fault. She was a beautiful woman with long hair and a cute, petite figure, and she allowed him to fold in any position that he wanted against his desk.
All that just makes Toji feel more guilty, or more worried, as if this choppy relationship that he had with this poor woman, whose name he would always forget yet who would practically scream out his, would just blow up in his face.
What if she wanted something more serious?
What if Nanami found out that he was banging one of the employees?
What if he got fired because he couldn't keep it in his pants?
What if he lost his main source of income and couldn't provide for his kids anymore?
All of those worries were just added stress, crowding his plate until he couldn't carry it anymore, and after a few years of bottling it all up until he couldn't anymore, he finally decided to reach out for help.
Little by little, of course, he would actually tell his friends how he felt when they asked, spend more time letting Megumi and Tsumiki be actual kids, letting them hang out with their friends, and worry just a bit less whenever they would visit their younger cousins at Geto’s place.
He had even accepted Gojo’s idea of hiring a babysitter, but of course, the blonde’s intentions for such an offer were dual-minded.
Thriving on about how he should hire some smoking hot lady, to have some eye candy around the house to fuel some busting fantasies to break his dry spell.
Toji was quick to dismiss that idea for a variety of reasons, one of which was that he had hired you. You were a clumsy young girl who just needed a side hustle to pay for some of your college classes, accepting his twenty-dollar an hour ad despite the fact that it was the lowest pay sandwiched between the obviously more wealthy families looking for someone to look after their kids so they didn't have to on the boogie nanny seeking website.
At first, the idea of leaving his children alone with you was a terrifying thought. The impression that you gave him during the interview was more than enough to fuel his worries after seeing you stumble out of your car and get your jacket in the car door, dense to the point where you had face-planted into his back during the house tour, too busy gawking at the many bathrooms to pay attention to where you were supposed to be walking.
Your genuinely bubbly personality around the children is what saved you from going broke. Sure, you were a little naive when it came to some of the things that you lied about on your resume, but the thing that Toji liked about you was that you just seemed to handle yourself so well despite not knowing at all what you were doing. If anything, he admired how you had managed to keep yourself alive despite running through life so differently than he would.
You were quick to gain his trust, in fact, quicker than anyone has ever in his entire life. He felt his feelings were mostly biased given that his kids had practically attached themselves to you throughout the months of being their nanny.
It was only natural for them to grow so close to you with how much Toji had to work, but what Toji hadn't expected was for you two to form some sort of friendship as well.
It started off pretty odd, with Toji coming home to find you have the kids tucked in for the night and spread out on his living room couch watching so many movies on his HBO Max account that he forgot he even had.
You were a pretty chatty person, and he had learned to notice how you could go from being so silent that he would forget you were even there to the point of talking about anything within your wide range of interests that Toji had never heard of.
In all honesty, Toji loved that about you—how you could introduce him to new things that he hadn't gotten around to understanding all because he was too busy being a workaholic.
His new favorite part about coming home was just to talk to you, or at least listen to your rant about some silly little show, or make him listen to one of the new songs you had become obsessed with.
And before he had known it, Toji actually felt warmth in his household again, all because of some kind-hearted nanny who had managed to break down all of his walls.
It was almost strange how someone so opposite to him, someone so minor, could have managed to make his life change for the better.
And then it got a little bit more strange.
Life had been going so well for him that sometimes those days would just blend together. There would be times at work when he had wished for his entire office building to crumble to dust just so he could get out of work early for the day, but even after those shifts, he would come home to you, and suddenly that swallowing dark hole in his chest would actually start to feel whole again.
He had just gotten so used to using you as his personal happiness dispenser that when you managed to wiggle into his life more and more, he even introduced you to his main group of friends. His mood was ruined when he saw Gojo's eyes practically glow at the sight of you during Tsumiki's birthday party.
Toji hadn't understood why it had bothered him so much, seeing his best friend become too chummy with you.
If anything, knowing Gojo’s history of charming the pants off of any attractive woman, he could have prepared him enough to know that you too would soon enough fall victim to at least one of his friends, but there was just something so uncomfortable about hearing Gojo drown you in compliments.
It was as if something had clicked, and suddenly you weren't just the full-time nanny anymore, but the beautiful young woman that he had suddenly noticed was so pretty, and that alone made Toji feel like such a fucking creep.
Maybe it was because you were closer to his children's age than his or the fact that every time you would change your hair every other month, he would imagine his hands tangled in your braids, how he would think about holding the locs away from your face to get a better view of you between his legs.
It was all so fucked, your now normal image of him all screwed over all because of Gojo and his ability to turn anything sexual. Toji had felt just a little better pinning the blame on someone else, thinking that maybe it would ease his guilt for getting so hard thinking about you late at night.
You would be just downstairs asleep in the living while he laid down on the other side of the house in the comfort of his four walls, pressing his face into his pillows with an erection hard enough that he was convinced it was harder than bricks.
For the first time in a while, it wasn't anything work-related taking up all of his attention, but instead the fucking nanny he hired. The pretty nanny who was in college, who was closer to his children's age than his, the nanny with the glossed lips that he had to hold back from wanting to taste which flavor it was she was wearing now.
His lovely nanny, whom he wished to strip naked piece by piece to pay close attention to every dip and curve in her figure. He wanted you naked as the day you were born, spread across his mattress, lips parting only to say his name and his name only.
It was a dangerous thought, one that often led to Toji revealing himself with a rabbit hole of thoughts about you in any situation his mind could imagine.
It was even more crude—wrapping his hand around his dick and thrusting his hips up into his hand, thinking about the same woman who was just a staircase away, masturbating as if he were a teenage boy and not a man with two kids asleep in just the room across the hall.
He blamed everything on Gojo, it was all his fault that you have suddenly seemed so fucking unforgettable. How could you suddenly be all he could think about with all his sanity thrown out the window for some nanny?
His pretty nanny.
You were so beautiful, with full lips, a dark complexion, and brown eyes that managed to look so appealing despite being so boring. Your expressions make you so easy to read.
The way your brows would pull together whenever you were confused, how the ends of your lips would quirk with every joke, how your personality managed to be so welcoming.
You stood tall, your head just below his shoulder, average height but so short in comparison to his towering figure.
How bad Toji just wanted to scoop you up into his arms and bury his face into your neck, the same neck where he wanted to leave as many marks as he possibly could against your brown skin.
The thought doesn't help Toji’s aching dick at all. How bad he wants to suck little marks into your soft flesh, leaving dark little marks wherever he can against your body.
It was a possessive thought, having you covered in his teeth marks and love bites, waiting for the next guy to dare to even make a move on you.
He wonders how soft your thighs feel and how nice they would feel wrapped around his waist. He lets his hand do the majority of the work, his fingers rough around his length, causing a groan from the friction.
Toji’s fantasies about you play out quite beautifully in his mind, so perfectly, in fact, that he struggles to keep himself silent.
Which was a new thing for him given that Toji wasn’t usually very vocal during sex, not even the best blowjob that he had ever gotten would he give anything but a few grunts yet there he was fisting into his fist to keep himself from whimpering out so pathetically.
Humping his hand to the point where he had to cover his own mouth, he finished all over himself, strings of cum shooting all over his chest to his shirt. He was too caught up in his own bliss to care about the sad mess he created.
Toji thought you were beautiful. He thought you were so perfect to the point where even the simple thought of you made him so happy.
You, his nanny, were the realization that settled in his mind after his high.
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#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ]#toji fushiguro#toji fushiguro smut#toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji smut#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut
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getting this off my chest
I really, really love writing for this fandom.
I think I haven't felt like this in years.
Astarion is such an enticing vessel for my creativity and has rekindled my joy for writing and putting it out there.
Alas, imposter syndrome really gnaws at my nerves more often than I care to admit.
"But Ruby, you have so many people who like your work. Why do you doubt yourself?"
Because I grew up being told I was never enough. That I was the worst at what I did best, which back then was learning English and surrounding myself in the language, hence why I sought comfort in fanfiction.
My sister, whom I love dearly, is an English teacher. She would be so harsh on me, and I know she meant well. She really did. But it was so hard back then. I would come to her with creative writing in English and she would just roll her eyes and tell me I wasn't good enough.
Nowadays, she acknowledges that I am more proficient than her and more at ease with the language, and even tells my nephew to study English with me instead.
But back then, I needed someone to believe I could do better.
So, there is a part of me that is proud that I am able to deal with real-life fatigue by writing and finding enjoyment in this hobby. But a much darker part of me tells me I'm not worthy and that I simply got lucky.
The Arrangement means a lot to me. I tend to dive right into fandoms and start writing for the character that caught my eye.
But I couldn't do that for Astarion... I am still unsure why. For those of you who have been here from my Miguel O'Hara days or when I first started posting about Astarion, you'll know The Arrangement was the first thing I ever posted for him.
Took me 2 weeks to get the first chapter out because I kept thinking I couldn't find a voice for Astarion. One that felt like him. After all, I'm always a step behind because I am not a native speaker. There will always be that looming feeling that I can't convey this story properly.
Even if you now know me for my Astarion smut, that wasn't even the driving force of my love for him.
It took me 2 months to feel comfortable writing smut for him. Why? I don't even know.
But The Arrangement feels different.
I love writing it and I love taking my liberties with the plot.
It's my opportunity to fully showcase my love for him.
I know not everyone likes it. I know some of you have dropped it. Some of you will drop it. But some will walk along this path with me, and I can't stress enough how your feedback and love help keep these negative thoughts at bay.
It's an internal work, though. It is not your job to validate my writing skills. This is not what puts food on my table. I am not looking to be published. I am looking for an escape. And it's so frustrating when my mind tries to rob me of joy even when it comes to a hobby.
"If this is a hobby why does it matter what others think or if they like what you write? Just have fun. Write for yourself."
And I do write for myself, but I share my work because I am hopeful my words can make someone's day. I seek that connection I never had growing up. Perhaps it sounds silly, but it's what makes the most sense in my head.
The Arrangement should be my pride and joy even if not perfect (nothing ever is, I suppose). And I'm exhausted of not feeling proud of it. I'm tired of this vicious cycle of self-doubt.
Don't get me wrong. I love writing smut. I think that's what I'm best at (well, in my opinion). I love exploring Astarion this way, too, but...
I don't know where I'm going with this... if anyone has made it this far, thank you, and sorry for the word vomit...
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Nails
wc: 883
warnings: some adorable bf eddie
“Your room is so cute.” Eddie sighs happily, cuddling into your pillows. You watch him from your seat at your desk, smiling at his antics.
“It’s pretty normal babe.” You grab your nail polish remover, beginning to take off the two week old polish from your nails. He slides off your bed and grabs his bag and starts taking out all of his things.
“What are you doing?” You ask, turning to watch him as you rub the acetone-coated cotton on your nails.
“Painting dnd miniatures.” He smiles, setting up and tying his hair back into a bun. The sight always makes your heart flutter. His bangs have been getting in his eyes recently and you make a mental note to trim them for him.
“I didn’t know you do that.” You grab your nail polish materials and sit across from him on the floor.
“I like to touch them up so they look extra nice!” They look even tinier in his hands, using a tiny paintbrush to gently paint the little statues.
“Which one are you painting now?” You can’t help but be curious. Even though dnd was a big part of Eddie’s life, you could never get into it. You knew he didn’t mind but you know he likes being able to talk about it with you.
“This is the female wizard. I actually based her character off you. She’s so beautiful that it causes the characters to get distracted during battle.” Leave it to Eddie Munson to be incredibly romantic while talking about dungeons and dragons.
“That one looks really pretty.” With the polish off your nails, you let yourself focus on Eddie’s skillful hands painting with a tiny brush.
“I’m glad you think so.” He kisses your forehead quickly before going back to painting. His tongue sticks out as he focuses. You lay on your stomach next to him, propped up on your hand.
“Do you paint all of these?” You hold up another one and he takes it, cleaning off his brush and starts to paint it.
“Pretty much yeah. It’s actually really relaxing.” It’s so precise that it almost makes you nervous, but he does seen happy.
“That makes sense!” You stay quiet for a while after that. It’s honestly nice to just sit and be with Eddie in silence. He always liked to be talking while doing something with his hands, which was always. But he was so focused that he was quiet, and it was nice to just watch and admire how pretty he is.
“There! Done!” He finally sets the last one down, jolting you awake.
“Th-that’s great babe!” You yawn, curling up in his lap. He smiles and runs a hand over your hair.
“You can’t fall asleep on the floor babe.”
“I can’t fall asleep. Have to paint my nails.” You pout, not nearly in the mood for an activity requiring that much effort.
“I could paint them for you?” He offers, ever the gentleman.
“You don’t know how to paint nails babe.” You peak an eye at him to see him look at you with a funny look on his face.
“I just painted like 20 tiny statues. I think I can handle your nails.” He grins as you sit up against the side of your bed.
“That makes sense…let me file them first yeah?” He nods, handing you the metal file and watching as you shape your nails, blowing them off when you’re done.
“Can I paint them now?” He’s very eager, already opening up your bottle of red polish.
“Sure babe just make sure not to put too much.” He wipes off some of the excess paint, taking your hand and precisely painting your nail. His first try is practically perfect, the coat of paint looking as good as they do in the salon.
“Wow baby you’re really good at this.” He only hums in response. When it came to you, Eddie never left things half-finished. Honestly, you had expected him to get bored halfway through but he painted every nail with incredible precision.
“Is that good?” He asks once the first coat is on. Sure enough, it looks better than ever.
“It’s perfect babe. Now we just let it dry!” You smile, finally able to squirm into his lap. He grins as he pulls you close.
“How long does that usually take?”
“Well it isn’t too thick so shouldn’t take longer than 20 minutes. But until then I can’t touch them, or the polish will smudge.” You keep your hands extended as you relax against his chest.
“Okay baby. Hey did I tell you about what happened today at work? This dude came in-” He launches into an animated story but the warmth of his arms has already begun to lull you to sleep.
An hour later and Eddie’s back is really starting to ache from sitting on the floor. But wow you look adorable when you sleep. He reaches out to inspect your nails, touching them gently to check if they’re dry. Sure enough they are and he smiles, kissing your forehead.
Maybe painting all those miniatures paid off.
#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson smut#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson imagine#stranger things 4#stranger things imagine#stranger things blurb#stranger things fic
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