#Crisse Trigger

[sandrabullockthehedgehog]

a parent emailed me at 11:35 am on friday, then followed up yesterday morning on monday at 9am. that is around 5 working hours. thats the same as emailing someone at 9 am then following up at 2. insane.

[flowersforbucky]

higher than heaven

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.5k - my masterlist

summary: bucky's first time smoking 🍃 since the 40s. bucky finds you smoking alone one night, leading to two of you growing much closer.

warnings/tags: use of marijuana, language, brief use of alcohol, nightmares, ptsd, anxiety, pining and tension, heated kissing, friends to lovers, pretty fucking fluffy, no use of y/n, fem reader, 18+ only

author's note: no smut? gasp! everything else i've written for bucky has contained smut so bare with me, i just wanted to take a break for some fun and fluffy (but still tension-filled) toking.

a/n 2: bucky and reader smoke in this, but i wouldn't say that's the main focus of this fic, just something that brings them closer together. i tried not to focus too much on that aspect, and also tried not to give too vivid of descriptions of being stoned so hopefully readers who don't smoke 🍃 can still enjoy this fic for the fluff and feels. however, if this is a triggering topic for you in any way, please be careful and read at your own discretion 🖤

The Avenger's compound truly has everything you could ever need. A state of the art gymnasium and training center, indoor and outdoor pools, beautifully maintained grounds with walking trails and lake access.

And, one of your favorite things, no shortage of secluded smoking spots.

Tonight's choice? The roof directly above the living quarters. This is likely the spot that you frequent the most, out of sheer convenience.

You keep a couple of extra folding chairs stashed in the stairwell, for the rare occasions that you can convince Natasha or Wanda to relax enough to join you.

Tonight, like most nights, you're by yourself. You don't mind - you enjoy this alone time. You usually come up here after missions to unwind before passing out in your bed.

It’s a chilly night, with temperatures finally dropping down into the low fifties as the early days of fall approach. You're bundled up in an oversized hoodie, sipping on oolong tea to warm you from the inside. In your left hand you clutch the warm mug, and with your right you pinch the tail-end of a burning joint between your thumb and index finger.

You've been up here long enough to have already burnt through one joint, and you now take slow, heady hits of a second as you wait for the meteor shower that's expected to begin over the northeastern United States any minute.

The creaking of the large metal door that leads to the roof startles you, causing you to break your gaze away from the stars littered above you in the New York sky. All the times you've come up here to watch the sunsets over the lake, no one has stumbled upon you. You're surprised by who emerges from the doorway a second later.

Bucky freezes in his tracks when he notices you sitting just a few yards in front of him.

“Oh, sorry,” he pauses, seemingly glancing around the roof to see if there's anyone else here with you. “I didn't expect - I didn't think anyone would be up here right now,” he stutters out.

“You're good,” you smile at him over your shoulder before turning your attention back to the sky. “Trying to get a good view of the meteors?”

“Yes, actually,” he says, surprised. You hear his boots scratching the pavement of the roof as he walks closer to you. You look up at him when he comes to a stop right next to where you're sitting.

“Well, you've come to the right place.” You gesture towards the scenery in front of you - the endless inky sky overlooking the lake next to the compound. “There's some extra chairs stashed in the stairwell, if you'd like one.”

“I didn't know that you smoke,” he says curiously, eyeballing the blazing joint still clutched between your fingers. He visibly sniffs a couple times, as if to confirm that he is indeed smelling what he thinks he is. He doesn't acknowledge your offer of a chair, instead choosing to sit directly on the cement, criss-crossing his legs at the ankles.

“Are you going to tell on me?” You ask as if what you're doing isn't perfectly legal and your friends don't already know.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he smirks up at you, eyes flicking between you and the joint.

“Want a hit?” You offer, extending your hand towards him. He hesitates, uncertainty blooming across his features.

“I haven't smoked since the forties,” he starts with an awkward laugh. He reaches up, carefully taking the joint from you and pinching it between his own two fingers and inspecting it. “I still remember the last joint I smoked before finding out that I had been drafted. If I had known it was going to be my last, I would've appreciated it a lot more.” There's a hint of nostalgia in his words.

You picture it - baby-faced Bucky, in his early twenties, with glossy blue eyes and a lazy, content smile. The thought makes your cheeks warm, and a small, sad smile spreads across your own face. That was a literal lifetime ago, and you didn't know if he had felt as carefree since then.

“Well,” you begin after a sip of your tea. “You're no longer property of the United States Army, or HYDRA, or any organization. So if you want to smoke, then smoke. And if not, that's okay, too, but give me my joint back because you're burning perfectly good weed right now.”

He chuckles at your scolding before bringing the joint up to his own lips and taking a slow, long puff. There's a sharp inhale before he erupts into a coughing fit, smoke billowing out in a cloud in front of him. You give him a few awkward pats on the back while he works through the burn that he is undoubtedly feeling in his esophagus.

“Damn, I've missed that,” he sighs once he has regained his composure. He holds the dwindling joint back up to you.

You shake your head. “Finish it off,” you insist. “I've already had one tonight. It’s all yours.”

You expect him to argue but to your surprise, he takes a second hit. And a third, and fourth, while you sit next to him in an amicable, comfortable silence. Soon, there's nothing left but a small roach that he stubs out against the cement next to where he sits.

“How're you feeling?” You ask, knowing that his tolerance has to be in the negatives if he hasn't smoked in over seventy years.

“If twenty-two year old Bucky knew that I was this stoned off half a joint, he'd never let me hear the end of it,” he says with an amused smile, propping back on the palms of his hands to stare up at you.

“Well, I think one-hundred and six year old Bucky is doing just fine for himself,” you muse. “Twenty-first century weed has got to be more potent than whatever dirt weed you were smoking in the forties, so cut yourself some sla–”

“I did not smoke dirt–”

“Look!” you exclaim, cutting him off as you point up at the sky. He goes quiet, following your gaze.

You both watch in awed silence as flashes of bright white-blues and purples begin to dash across the sky above you. At first, there's a bolt here and a bolt there - but before you know it, there's dozens - too many meteors to count, here and then gone in the blink of an eye. Where one disappears, another takes its place.

You lose track of how long the two you sit there, on the roof, under the shower of the shooting stars - and it has nothing to do with being stoned. They are just that mesmerizing.

“I think we’re supposed to make a wish,” you murmur after a long while, remembering the old legend about shooting stars. You watch the last few meteors as they burn out, and then the sky goes dark once more. When he doesn't respond, you glance down at where he sits to find that his eyes are closed.

You smile to yourself - you didn't actually plan on making a wish, and you definitely didn't expect him to. You figure that he is just humoring you, but you can't help but think how adorable it is nonetheless. You can't stop yourself from snorting a laugh, causing his eyes to snap open and up at you.

“What? Did you make your wish?” he demands, his tone serious.

You hum. A familiar, glowing warmth grows from your lips and down to your toes despite the chilly night air as you stare at him. You tell yourself it’s a physical effect of the marijuana.

“I think I’m good, actually.”

••••••

Every year, a different member of the Avengers chooses a charity to hold a gala in honor of.

Sam's choice last year, Homes For Our Troops, build specially adapted, custom homes for severely injured veterans. Natasha's choice the year before that, Children of the Night, is a non-profit organization dedicated to rescuing and rehabilitating children who have been victims of prostitution.

Always funded by the Stark Relief Foundation, always held in the most high-profile and illustrious venues that money can buy, and always filled to the brim with every philanthropist and major news reporter in the state of New York.

This year, for the first time, it was your turn to select a charity. You decided on Women For Women International - a noble and worthy cause that you are proud to raise awareness and donations for. However, now that three hours into the gala, you are fucking burnt out. From the moment that you and your teammates arrived at the venue, guests and reporters began forming lines for their chance at interviewing you or getting their picture taken with you. You feel like you’ve talked to every person in the building, except for the one person that you truly wanted to. Add in a ten minute long speech addressing five hundred plus guests, you are drained. Physically, mentally, and socially drained.

“You did incredible with your speech,” a soft voice says from behind you. “All that worrying for nothing.”

You're exhaling a sigh of relief at the familiar voice before you've finished turning around to meet his dimpled grin and deep blue eyes. You think he might just be as ready as you are to get out of here with the way he's already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his tux. His hair is tousled - though you haven't had a free moment to speak with him since the car ride over here with Sam and Steve, you have no doubt that he's ran his fingers through the short locks a few dozens times throughout the evening - a habit that flares up every time he's out of his element. With this being the first gala he's attended as an Avenger, and possibly the first gala he's ever attended, you're surprised he has any hair left.

“I wouldn't say for nothing,” you turn back to the bar in front of you and wave a singular finger to the bartender, signaling your desire for another drink. “I stuttered at least eight times, and lost my place on the page twice. I felt like I was going to puke shrimp cocktail and espresso martini all over the podium.”

You can see him grimace from your peripheral vision. He pulls out the barstool next to where you stand, and then takes a seat. You're pinned between the chair on the opposite side of you and his thigh, the cool silk of his pants tickling the bare skin of your leg where your dress cuts off just above mid-thigh. Close enough that you can feel warmth radiate from him and smell the essence of his piney aftershave. Subconsciously, you relax for the first time all evening.

“You are your own worst critic,” he reminds you, repeating the sentiment that he’s been saying to you for the last few weeks, anytime the gala or your speech would come up in conversation. “No one else noticed if you stuttered. They’re all too full of liquor, or too concerned with getting their photo op with Iron Man or The Hulk..” he trails off, glancing over his shoulder at where Tony and Bruce are both striking signature poses for some selfies with guests.

“And what about you? Have any of your fangirls begged you to take a picture with them?” You smirk at him as the bartender slides your martini across the countertop. You angle your body so that you’re now turned to face him, leaving practically no space between the two of you.

“More than I can count,” he exhales, and you force a laugh to not roll your eyes - not that you were surprised or that you could blame them for wanting their picture taken with him.

“Well, I’m glad that we were able to raise so much money,” you sigh into your drink. “But I would be lying if I said I’m also not glad that it’s over with. I’m ready to get these shoes off, submerge myself in a hot bath, and then sleep until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Always the introvert,” he murmurs, a sly grin appearing on his face. He carefully tugs the lapel of his jacket to the side and reaches his flesh hand inside, pulling out a tin of wintergreen Altoids. You look at him curiously as he gives the small container a shake. It makes no sound, seemingly empty of mints. You cock an eyebrow at him, about to ask him what the deal is, when a familiar, earthy scent wafts towards you.

“What’s in the tin, Buck?” you ask rhetorically, as if the odor isn’t a dead giveaway.

“Just a little something I’ve been saving for when I could finally get you alone tonight,” he shrugs, slipping the tin back inside the interior pocket of his jacket. Your heart skips a beat at the possibility that maybe he’d been wanting to talk to you, see you, spend time with you as much as you had him.

“I’m just happy to see that you finally have your own weed,” you tease, trying to polish off the remnants of your drink so that you can get the fuck out of here. “Now you can stop smoking all of mine.”

You’re just giving him a hard time, of course. You’d lost count of how many times the two of you have smoked together since the night of the meteor shower just two months ago, and you were more than happy to share your supply with him - he gives you a lopsided grin that tells you he knows you don’t actually mind.

“Hence why I have pre-rolled three joints just for you,” he quips back. “One for how much time and effort you put into this event, one for conquering your fear of public speaking, and one for how much of your weed you have let me smoke.”

Your cheeks warm at the thoughtful gesture. You swallow the last swig of the brown liquid and slide the glass back across the bar.

“What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go get a cab.”

Half an hour later, you and Bucky are in the backseat of the taxi that drives you away from bustling downtown Brooklyn and towards a park that Bucky had instructed the driver to take you to. You didn’t object, trusting that he knows this area of New York better than you do.

The driver comes to a stop next to a nearly desolate sidewalk that appears to lead to a waterfront walkway. Bucky hands the driver a handful of cash, tells him to keep the change, and hops out of the cab before extending a hand to you as you scoot across the seat to follow his exit. You mumble a quick thanks to the driver as he helps you onto the sidewalk and shuts the door behind you.

You pull your coat tighter around you, attempting to shield yourself from the chill of the November air. Fall is now in full swing in New York, and the short cocktail dress that you wore to the gala does little to protect you from the night air.

“Me and Steve used to come to this park all the time,” he tells you as he pulls the Altoids tin and a BIC lighter from his jacket. “I vividly remember having to break up a fight he got into just past that fountain when we were teenagers,” he motions towards a large granite fountain ahead of you, “when some asshole stole a kid's frisbee.”

You laugh as he passes you a joint and the lighter, able to picture the memory he describes clear as day. It's far from the first time he's told you about a time that he had to get pre-serum Steve out of trouble.

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you mumble as you pinch the tail of the joint between your lips, inhaling as you hold the flame up to the opposite end. A wave of smoke instantly fills your esophagus and lungs with a familiar, comforting burn and you pass the blazing joint back to him. “He’d still do the exact same thing, too,” you add as you exhale the thick cloud of smoke that mixes with the cold air. “Only difference now is that he can handle any fight that he gets himself into.”

“Some things never change,” he says before bringing the paper up to his own lips. You follow as he guides you across a small grassy area and to the walkway that runs alongside the river. Truthfully, it’s too chilly to be on a park stroll at this hour in your current attire, but with Bucky’s body heat radiating from directly beside you and the buzz you feel from the weed, you’re surprisingly comfortable.

“One thing that has changed however,” he continues as you’re inhaling a second hit, “is how well I’ve started sleeping on the nights that we smoke together. On those nights, I don't wake up over a dozen times. Hardly ever even have nightmares anymore.”

Your skin tingles at his admission - a whole flight of butterflies erupting in the pit of your stomach that you push down. You know that he means this because of the weed, not because of you, but for some reason - maybe it's the way his arm keeps bumping against yours or the way the moonlight reflects in the pools of his blue eyes as he glances over at you - you let yourself believe, even for just a split second, that you're aiding in bringing him peace on those evenings spent together. On the roof above the living quarters right before bed, or at the edge of the lake's water when you stop after a late run to watch the sunset, or -

“I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful that I found you up on the roof the night of the meteor shower,” he continues when you don't respond, his voice now possessing a nervous edge. Your mouth suddenly feels dry - the worst cotton-mouth you've ever had times ten. “For more reasons than one.”

You both gradually slow until you've come to a complete stop in front of a boat dock. Between the martini you had before leaving the gala, the effects of the marijuana, and the way he's looking at you while standing so close, you think it's a miracle that you haven't tripped in these ridiculous chunky heels and fallen into the East River. You clear your throat, hoping that you don't sound like a lovestruck teenager when you speak.

“I'm really glad too, Bucky.”

••••••

You stare down at the picture displayed on your phone screen as you and Natasha take the elevator up to the compound's living quarters.

Rolled and ready for you to be home reads the text attached to the picture of the joint pinched between the thumb and index finger of his flesh hand that Bucky had sent you ten hours ago, before your flight from Arizona to New York was supposed to depart.

Our flight has been delayed due to a thunderstorm. No current ETA your reply reads with a frowny face emoji at the end.

Now, at 2:16 in the morning, you are finally back home hours later than originally expected.

You were sure that Bucky was asleep by this point, and you didn't blame him. You wished you were asleep right now, too. Natasha slept the entire plane ride back to New York.

You, on the other hand, may or may not have spent the plane ride reading back over recent text messages between you and Bucky and zooming in on the picture he had sent you because for some reason you really like his hands. Both of them.

You were acting like a goddamn fifteen year old.

“What are you grinning at?” Natasha's voice snaps you out of your trance. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your duffel bag.

“I'm not grinning,” you lie, but it's Natasha - of course she sees right through you.

“You were grinning,” she shrugs with a knowing smirk. “But it's okay. We'll chalk it up to sleep deprivation.”

“I am sleep deprived, actually. Someone snored the entire flight back home.”

“For someone who wasn't grinning you sure are being defensive right now,” she retorts with a shit-eating grin as the elevator dings and the door slides open. You roll your eyes as you both step out into the hallway that leads to the living quarters. You turn to the left, towards your bedroom, and she takes a right but then comes to a sudden stop, calling your name. You freeze, turning to look at her with a raised brow.

“For what it's worth, I think you should go for it. It's obvious to everyone around you two.” She looks at you expectantly.

“Get some rest, Nat,” you huff a small laugh under your breath, and try not to smile. She doesn't press the subject any further.

Before reaching your bedroom, you pause at the door to Bucky's room. You don't knock, but wait to see if you hear any movement from inside. All that you hear is a loud static from his white noise machine.

Although you expected him to be asleep at this hour, you couldn't help but feel a small pang of disappointment that you hadn't been able to get back earlier. You knew you would see him tomorrow (well, technically later today), but you hadn't gone this long - a mere three days - without seeing Bucky since the two of you had become close months ago.

You quietly make your way into your bedroom and toss your duffel bag onto the end of the bed before stripping off the dirty, sweaty tactical suit that you'd been wearing since the early hours of the previous morning.

In your bathroom, you turn the faucet handle to the hottest setting and watch as the small room fills with steam before stepping under the showerhead.

You think about what Natasha said as you scrub your body clean and let the harsh but satisfying stream of water relax your aching shoulder muscles.

You wanted to go for it. Goddamn, you wanted to go for it. Every time you are alone with him - whether he's helping you train with target practice, or you're paired up together for re-con, or you're just simply eating breakfast together in the common area - you want to go for it.

All you have to do is stare at his stupid, pretty pink lips for a split-second too long and you're thinking about going for it.

But for so many reasons, you don't.

Though your heart wants more, you love your friendship with him, too. And you would be devastated if you tried for more and it didn't work out and you lost that friendship altogether.

You also don't know if Bucky wants more. Natasha says that everyone around you sees it, but he's never directly said it. You know there's an undeniable chemistry, but what if you're the only one experiencing it?

You watch the last few suds of your body wash go down the drain and turn the shower off, deciding that it's too late and you're far too tired to be thinking about this right now.

You speed through your post-shower routine, desperate to feel the silk of your bedsheets against your clean, freshly moisturized skin as you drift off to sleep.

You're rolling some deodorant under your arms when a deep, loud cry thunders from somewhere outside of your room causing you to let out a shocked gasp. You drop the object in your hand immediately and it falls to the floor as you rush out of your bedroom, wearing only thin cotton shorts and a matching tank top.

As soon as you step into the hallway, you are able to identify where the screams are coming from. Pained, booming yells originate from behind the door directly across from your own.

Bucky’s room.

You don't hesitate to twist the doorknob, letting yourself and shutting the door behind you.

The pale orange glow of a small table lamp in the far corner of his bedroom illuminates the room enough for you to make sense of what is happening. The sight before you makes your heart sink to the floorboards.

He's asleep - his eyes pinched shut and his brows furrowed together in obvious agony. He's shirtless, and his skin looks pale and clammy with thick beads of sweat littered from his forehead to his torso.

There's a meek voice in the back of your mind that tries to remind you that you don't know what you're walking into, as you've never encountered Bucky while he's having a nightmare before but he looks so fucking pitiful that your only concern is alleviating him from whatever prison of torment his mind is currently trapped in.

You rush over to the side of the bed, nearly tripping on the comforter that he's apparently through to the floor in his sleep. Both of his hands form tight fists, his knuckles strained pale. He lets out another guttural yell that causes you to instinctively flinch away.

“Bucky,” you say, attempting to keep your voice from breaking. “Wake up, Bucky. You're having a nightmare.”

He gives no indication that he can hear you, his head thrashing violently and fists slamming down against his mattress as he makes a pitiful whimper.

“Bucky,” you repeat, leaning down to perch on the few inches of free space on the side of the bed. You reach out to place your hand on the flesh of his bicep, about to attempt to gently stir him awake, when he shoots straight up in his bed. You flinch again, but don't move from your position next to him, firming your grasp on his bicep in an effort to ground him. His blue eyes are as wide as saucers and his chest heaves as he takes in his surroundings.

“You're okay,” you assure him in a soft, uncertain voice, rubbing your thumb in circles against the skin of his flesh arm. “It was just a bad dream. Everything is–”

“I could have hurt you,” he interrupts you, his voice faltering on the last word. “I could have–”

“You didn't hurt me,” you interrupt him back. “You're okay, and I'm okay, too.” He nods, and you can tell he's trying to convince himself that the words you say are true.

You quickly glance around his room until you find what you're looking for. Strewn on the floor next to his bedside table, you see a black t-shirt. You reach over, picking it up. You hesitate for a moment before slowly extending the fabric to Bucky's face, where you delicately wipe away the thin layer of sweat that glistens on his forehead. He relaxes into the movement, his eyes closing until you pull away.

“I'm sorry that I woke you up,” he murmurs after a moment of heavy silence.

“You didn't wake me up,” you assure him quickly. He watches you with something akin to guilt across his features. “I had just gotten out of the shower. We didn't get home until half an hour ago.”

He glances down, noticing your attire. You suddenly feel naked in only the thin gray shorts and tank top. You awkwardly clear your throat, reaching to place the t-shirt on his bedside table when something catches your eye. Bucky follows your gaze to the joint laying on his bedside table.

“I tried to wait up for you,” he exhales a soft laugh. “Ended up passing out around midnight.” Your whole body warms at his admission. The idea that he tried to force himself to stay awake just so he could see you when you got home makes you feel dizzy despite the fact that you're sitting down.

“Do you want to now? To help you sleep?” you ask, gesturing towards the joint. You don't even care that it's three in the morning and that you're borderline delirious from lack of sleep.

He takes one of your hands in between his own and brings it closer to him, giving it a tight squeeze as he shakes his head.

“No, I know you're tired. But could you just..” He trails off, bringing your hand clutched between his up to his mouth to rest his lips against the skin of the back of your hand. It's not quite a kiss, but it sends goosebumps across your flesh nonetheless. You're holding your breath without realizing it. “Could you just lay with me for a while?”

You nod your head in agreement without even thinking about it. “Yeah - yeah, of course,” you answer, hoping that you don't sound too eager while simultaneously knowing that your voice has risen several octaves.

You lean over once again, grabbing his comforter off of the floor as Bucky scoots towards the middle of the king sized bed to give you room to crawl in beside him. He extends his flesh arm away from his body, a clear indication that he wants you to lay in the space between his arm and his chest. You lay down, tucking your head under his chin so that your cheek rests against the mildly clammy but soft skin of his chest. He helps you tug the thick blanket across your bodies before bringing his arm around your abdomen, pinning you to him.

Luckily, you’re far too tired, and he’s far too warm for you to overthink it.

“You smell really good,” he murmurs into your hair and you hope that his preternatural abilities don’t pick up on the way your heart skips a beat. “I probably smell like sweat.”

You hum a laugh against his chest, sniffing the skin next to your nose without thinking about it.

“You don’t smell like sweat. You smell just as good as you always do, somehow,” you assure him, reveling in his unique scent of vetiver and something citrusy.

You’re both quiet for a moment, sleep threatening to overtake you at any moment when he brings two metal fingers to the underside of your chin and gently tilts your face to look up at him. Your breath is trapped in your chest at the close proximity of your lips and his.

“Remember the night of the gala, when I told you that I’d started sleeping better and having less nightmares since we’d started smoking together before bed?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to answer verbally. He’s so fucking close, you can smell the spearmint of his toothpaste from when he’d brushed his teeth hours ago.

“That was true,” he continues, looking down at you with an indiscernible expression. “But what I’m now realizing is that I don’t think it has anything to do with the weed,” he pauses, a small smile forming across his face. “It’s just you.”

You can’t stop the smile that blooms in return, just as you can’t stop what you do next.

Closing the distance between your lips and his own, you kiss him as you’ve thought about doing for months now. You’re hesitant at first, worrying that you’ve crossed that line that you can never go back over - but then he’s moving his mouth with your own in a synchronicity sweeter than you could have dreamed.

His arms dart under the comforter, wrapping around your body and pulling you even tighter against him. You bring one of your hands to cup his face as he sweeps his tongue along the swell of your bottom lip. You open up for him, letting him inside your mouth as you move your hand from his jaw to his hair - lacing your fingers through the short brown locks as he explores your mouth. Your thigh hooks around his, and it takes everything in you to hold back - to not swing yourself over him and lay the full weight of your body flush against his.

He’s just had a nightmare, and it’s late, and you’re tired, and you don’t want to move this sweet, special thing that you have too quickly.

He pulls away, and you fight against whimpering at the loss of the sensation of his soft lips.

“The night of the meteor shower,” he starts, his voice strained and his pupils dilated. “You told me to make a wish, and I did. Now that it’s come true, I can tell you what it was I wished for,” he pauses, running his metal thumb across your kiss-swollen bottom lip as you look at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. “I wished for as many moments like that as I could possibly get with you.”

Your heart swells in your chest. You're convinced that you're asleep because this is something straight out of your dreams. You remove your hand from his hair, placing it directly above his heart to make yourself believe this is real.

“Speaking of meteor showers,” you start as you trail the tips of your fingers over the defined planes of his chest. “There's supposed to be a cool show at the planetarium in Manhattan this weekend. Do you want to go with me?”

His answer is a soft smile before attaching his lips to yours once more.

thanks so much for reading! as always reblogs and comments are extremely appreciated. i hope you enjoyed 🩷

other recent works by me: love language • delirium • it's nice to have a friend

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt (Should I be numbering these?)

Clark knocks on the glass of the Watchtower. It's a futile gesture in the vacuum of space, but the movement catches Phantom's eye and he drifts inside, slipping through the glass.

"Hey," he murmurs, not quite making eye contact.

"Hi," Superman says, resting his hip against the conference table. He pats it beside him and Danny floats down, criss-cross apple sauce. Clark wonders not for the first time if Danny died at 18 or if this is just the body he inhabits, not unlike Connor.

They both look out at the vast wonder of space for a moment.

"We made you uncomfortable," Superman says quietly. "I'm sorry."

Danny is quiet for a moment. He doesn't deny it.

"I thought Kon-El was your son," he says softly.

Superman blinks. When Danny blanched beyond his norm and flew from the room the group had assumed CADMUS' invasive experiments had struck too similar a chord to the GiW's actions. "Do you take issue with cloning?" he asks, feeling deeply hypocritical all things considered. That self awareness gentles his tone but Danny still shoots him a glare at the not-quite accusation.

"No," he spits out. He sags, an awareness in his own eyes. "No, of course not."

His eyes are far too telling and Superman takes a hard seat on the table beside him.

"Oh," he says. He just barely keeps the horror from his voice. He is a grown man, but Phantom lies somewhere between the ages of 4 (his first dated appearance in modern time) and thousands of years old (his first recorded appearance) and his visage is too young for Clark to ever be comfortable assuming the latter.

"Yeah," Phantom says, staring down at his lap.

"Then...why?"

"You act like you're Kon's father," Phantom says. "I never thought about it like that."

"It's complicated," Superman offers, because it's all he can say, because it is not appropriate to demand details, to potentially trigger trauma, no matter how badly he wants to punch someone. Not right now at least. And because while some part of him has healed enough to find warmth in the title, his early actions will never truly make him worthy of it. "In some ways he's more like my brother. Jon considers him an uncle. My parents...they stepped up when I did not."

"But biologically he is your child," Danny says sharply, and the sharpness is not directed at Clark. "He is of you, and she is of me." Clark's inhale is distinct but Danny continues on without acknowledgement. "And I always felt strange about it, I always felt like I treated her differently, but I never put a name to it. I let it be and I let her go." He presses a hand to his chest, to the right of where his heart would be. "But she was mine. She is mine."

"Danny," Superman says quietly. "What do you want to do?" And how can I help?

Danny looks up at the vast wonder of space, and then his eyes flick down and Superman realizes he has not been looking at his lap at all. He's been looking at Earth.

With fear. With anxiety.

With hope.

"I want to find my daughter."

[kyeomyun]

2:01 AM

pairings: dad!jeonghan x gn!reader

genre: FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFF :((

warnings: none... you might lowkey go through baby fever :)

word count: 0.8k

synopsis: jeonghan would do literally anything to stop his baby from crying, even if it included being dolled up.

::note: WELL- yes ik now those jewels on jeonghan hair are indeed stickers and not hairclips but YK WHERE I WAS GOING WITH THIS. also hello strangers :). it's been a fat minute since I have actually written something down so if this seems a little dry... just know I haven't written anything since august 🧍🏾‍♀️but i do hope you enjoy this absolute brain rot I wrote last night at 2 in the morning 😍

network(s): @kflixnet

If there was one thing Jeonghan absolutely despised, with his whole entire being, it would be seeing someone who he holds, oh so dearly to his heart, cry.

He knows crying is a trigger for intense emotion, don't get him wrong, he knows very well it was common with toddlers. Including his. But that does not eliminate the huge tear he feels in his chest when the salty crystalline drops roll down his wife or his daughter's cheeks.

And he would do about everything (except cook the pot roast dinner that you LOVE that takes almost 5 hours to make and Jeonghan could not, for the life of him, stand on his two increasingly aging feet for more than 2), to make his loved ones stop crying. Even if that included doing something he thought he would not fit..

"Almost done, darling?" Jeonghan asked softly, careful not to make the tire of his voice get the best of his tone.

It was 2 AM, and his daughter, Yoon, had a rude awakening with cold sweat and vivid memories of a nightmare that she did not want have the guts to relive with her father. Which the father could understand, reliving a nightmare is not fun at all and he did not want to force that scenario onto his precious girl.

"Nu-uh," She clipped another hair clip onto Jeonghan long hair, humming in approval watching her masterpiece come to life in front of her eyes. "You said I can put a lot, daddy!" She pouted, hands flowing through the overload of bows: baby pinks, baby blues, even ones with sparkles and stars dazzled upon the long strands of freshly washed hair. Messy? Yes. Did Jeonghan care? Just a little tiny bit. "I have to make you really, really, really, pretty!"

"I did say that, did I?" Jeonghan said that more to himself, his words playing back on him tremendously. His eyes were drooping, fighting back the wondrous dreamland he was in before he was awoken by a frightened 4 year old. As much as his body wanted to shut down, his mind was stuck on one thing and one thing only.

Well maybe 2.

How long will it take to take these hairclips out and how is his miniature him doing?

"Mhm!" She clipped glittery pink hairclip on a randomly selected portion of her father's hair. "But at least daddy will look extra, extra pretty!"

Jeonghan butt was staring to numb, sitting on the carpeted floor of his daughter's room criss-crossed and Yoon standing up behind him with the next 2 hairclips awaiting their home on his head. But his heart filled rapidly, an intense feeling he has always had at moments like these. Ever since Yoon was born, this feeling was almost... unexplainable. Too immense to be just happiness and too extreme to be just love. It could be a mix of both but those 2 words are just not enough. No words could ever be.

Oh, he is down bad...

The smile that stretched upon his poorly chapped lips was one worth describing though; a smile that held so much value, love, adoration, did he think love?

"One more, daddy!" Yoon announced enthusiastically, a pretty baby blue butterfly, clipped on a strand near the front of Jeonghan head. A small giggle was heard as the little girl admired her work, grabbing ahold of the mirror and giving it to her pretty caregiver. "Is it pretty?"

Jeonghan took the mirror, its weight light but enough to slightly tilt his hand a bit. This motion was able to show the awaiting face of his daughter, who too stared into the mirror and tried to read her father's face. But he obviously had his answer.

But he still pretended to contemplate, his pointer finger tapping his chin in wonder. "It's not pretty,"

That cute pout adorned her lips again, her fragile heart clenching painfully. "You... don't like it? I thought–"

"It's beautiful, baby," Jeonghan looked behind him, and nothing, absolutely nothing, could match the cuteness of seeing his other half, his small angel, puffy cheeks bunch with joy. A smile that could kill many, Jeonghan being one of millions. Billions.

"Yay!" The excitement was barely contained in her small body, slightly bouncing in her place she stood in for almost 30 minutes before her stubby arms wrapped around the neck of her father. "Do you think uncles will be jealous?"

"Very," Jeonghan stared back in the mirror, his smiling bundle of joy warming his heart to the greatest. "Very, very jealous."

A kiss was planted on his cheek, and now he was conflicted about what his members will actually be jealous about.

His marvelous creation on his head, hairclips and bows that were placed in no particular pattern, or the creator, that shined her crooked teeth and eyes shining just as bright as she went back to slightly messing with the butterfly hairclip that hung just barely in his peripheral.

Ok, definitely the creator.

did you enjoy your order?

if you did, please reblog, like, (pls) comment, all of that jazz :>

have a good day, sweets ^^

tagging: @wheeboo @etherealyoungk @rubywonu @trblsvt @icyminghao @idubiluv @odxrilove @stormyjisung @slytherinshua @fairyhaos @gyu-effect @hannieheartuu @jaehunnyy @luvhyun3 @lvlystars @mesanthropi

[lowkeyrobin]

NEWT ; the night we met

summary ; newt is new to the glade & you're there when he regains his name

warnings ; language, alcohol, very pre-thomas era (about three or four years)

track ; the night we met ; lord huron

word count ; 1.3k

masterlist

Newt, with his arrival to the glade in the box, was a frightened little Greenie. He was merely fourteen years old, about 5"7, with dirty blonde hair just barely hiding his eyes. He seemed awestruck, as usual Greenies were, and obviously scared and confused.

Alby sadly didn't have any answers for him, many, at that. He just had the rundown of the Glade to give him and the rules and to introduce him to the other Gladers out and about. He wouldn't be able to introduce him to you or Minho, seeing as you were both running the maze right now.

The second the poor boy heard the word maze, he nearly had a panic attack. It was like something in the back of his brain had been triggered, reminding him of something he couldn't remember.

But as the cool, green forest faded into an orange-y warm fire, the sun set above, leading you and Minho back to the Glade to join the monthly Greenie bonfire. There was work to be done, tasking you with business before you could join.

The fifteen year old Minho begged you to hurry up, but you had to map out a new section of the maze. There was no fooling around for you at the moment. So, he leaves without you, curiosity stabbing him as he jogs back into the main Glade, away from the Deadheads.

You, finally, were able to join around eleven or so, the moon nearly centered in the dark sky above.

You had a cup of Gally's secret juice in your hand as you rest your back against a tree, a nice view of both the fire and the little fight-circle. You take your time to enjoy the peace and intoxicate yourself, ridding yourself of any worries.

You lay your eyes on the new Greenie, a light, inviting smile as he looks back at you. He was standing all alone, staring at the fire like he was trying to think long and hard about his past. He joins you, seeing that you were also alone, watching the fire and the other boys talk and have fun.

He sits criss-cross next to you, an awkward little hi slipping from his mouth.

"Know your name yet, Greenie?" You ask him, taking a sip from your cup.

He shakes his head, a slight twinge of sadness twinkling in his eyes.

"Don't worry," You pat him on the shoulder, "You'll get it back soon"

He nods, basking the two of you in a calm silence, listening to the fire crackle and the boys cheering and whooping a few yards away. He speaks up after a few minutes, having been conjuring up a question for you.

"How long have you been here?" He asks, question and curiosity dripping off his tongue.

You shrug, "Seven months. Same thing every day, all day. It's nice after a while, I guess."

He nods, watching Gally and Alec tussle and shove each other around the fight circle. He looks down at the mason jar in your hand, seeing you cringe as you feel the sour taste hit your tastebuds.

"What's that?"

You deviously smile, "Gally's secret concoction." You hold out the glass for him, giving him a look to try it.

He looks between you and the glass jar filled with the dark yellow liquid, seeking approval in your eyes. You nod, silently urging him to try it.

"It's good for the nerves"

He's silent for a moment before he takes it in his hand and takes a quick swig of it. He cringes as he hands the jar back, coughing up a fit as he rubs his mouth with his wrist.

You lightly laugh, watching his dramatic reaction.

"Good for nerves?" He repeats, smacking his lips to try and rid the taste from his mouth. "What is that, bloody hell!"

You giggle, setting the jar down in the grass with a little twist so it'd stay. "Dunno, ask Gally"

"Which one is Gally? Good God" He lightly coughs, "It tastes like piss!"

You stand up, a hand out to help Newt up. "I'll show you around, hm?"

He nods, taking your hand as you walk around the bonfire.

"Y'know Alby and Fry, right?"

He nods.

"Cool. Well, that's Minho, my best friend. He's a runner, as am I. He's Keeper of the Runners, though, very down to Earth and stuff. There's Gally and the other builders. They're strong but dumb." You shrug. "Winston is Keeper of the Slicers. He and that whole crew are wonderful. Zart and Jeff are the Med-Jacks. Go to them if you have a splinter or a cold, they'll help you out"

The blonde nods, following your gaze and finger as you look to and point the others out.

"And those are the Track-Hoes. They're gardeners, very sweet, that's Sam, Keeper of the Track-Hoes" You finish, giving him a warm smile as you look back at him.

He goes silent for a moment, looking dazed and zoned out before you snap him back to reality.

"Greenie? Hey, dude?"

"Newt" His lips curl into a smile, eyes twinkling as he looks at you. "Newt. My name is Newt"

You widely smile and chuckle in excitement, both of you with your hands on each other's shoulders as you bounce around, both buzzed off of the alcohol you'd been served.

"Greenie has a name!" You shout, looking to him for him to shout out his name, the whole Glade looking at you two.

"My name is Newt!" He smiles, looking to you for approval.

In your buzzed state, you convince him to jump on your back as you loop around the large fire, the boys chanting his name.

"Welcome to the Glade, Newton!"

"Newton?"

"It's gotta stand for something!"

The boys continuously chant and holler his name, a smile painting his freckled face. You had all of him now, his kind, friendly and trustworthy personality, his dirty blonde hair, his freckles, and his dorky name.

He felt his brain take a photo of the scene as he looked slightly down at you, a hand on your scalp, the other formed in a fist which he held in the air. From the crackling fire beside him, to the feeling of the warm air against his face, to the boys in a circle watching as you proudly carry him on your shoulders. The smell of the bitter drink passed around the bonfire haunted his nose, and the way you gripped onto his ankles for safety did as well.

After the bonfire, the drunk boys return to the Homestead one by one, leaving you, Minho, Newt, and most of the builders by the fire. Minho struck up a conversation with Newt by the fire, sitting on a log together while you sit at the log on the right of them, sipping on Gally's secret drink. You weren't shitfaced but you weren't buzzed either, just the right amount of kind of out of it. You wanted to rid your life of any stress tonight, considering your friend and your new friend, Newt, were getting along and no one had tried to kill each other today, a win in your eyes.

Minho, wanting to embarass you, buzzed, brings up how you requested a guitar from the box and actually received it, although you never touched it afterward because you didn't want to be made fun of. Newt found this interesting and began begging you to play, even just for a minute. He never heard any real, genuine music before, and to experience it from you, his first actual friend would've been a memory he'd remember for a lifetime and more.

You eventually comply, striking a deal that if you play, you wouldn't be singing. You walk back and forth from the fire to the Homestead, retrieving the guitar, re-tuning it on your walk back to the two boys. You sit down again with a dramatic sigh and strum on the strings once to make sure it was properly tuned now.

Newt watches with a smile as you strum away, humming along to the rhythm.

The same rhythm that he could decode one certain phrase from underneath the warm, orange light of the fire, which was now dying out.

Take me back to the night we met.

[chocosvt]

HER | part five.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

posting a bit earlier tn since i've got work tmo morning! i can't believe there is only one part left after this one!! :o

last chapter was angst up to the eyeballs so hopefully this one mends some of that heartache <3 still, much has yet to happen! this chapter contains one of my fave scenes teehee.

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part four | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—AUGUST 3RD.

The last time Wonwoo had been at your apartment to help you write, it was around the evening, into supper. He remembered the scent from the three-wick candles lit up in the kitchen—bonfire and vanilla—which you insisted was a necessity because it was the perfect way to relax your tense mind. Deciding not to cook, you had ordered Chinese takeout instead, and the entirety of the evening was spent sitting criss-cross on the comfortable rug splayed across the living room floor, indulging in warm food, writing, and letting the TV flick through a random season of your favourite drama show.

It was perfect.

Even now, as he sat on the bench across the street from your apartment complex, Wonwoo could still recall all the infinitesimal details—the fried crunch to every vegetable-filled spring roll, how the candles softly crackled when you blew them out at the end of the night, your small and very sleepy voice bidding him goodbye as you walked Wonwoo downstairs into the lobby—each memory sprung alive with such vividness. Wonwoo wished he could be poised outside your apartment knowing everything was the same; undamaged and intact. But that was an outcome too blissful for reality to maintain.

You had a specific nightly routine, particularly on Thursdays, after work: showering, followed by having a quickly thrown together dinner, applying a face mask, and then a movie before bed. He found himself memorizing a lot of your patterns over the months.

Wonwoo hadn’t texted you—he was doing this completely unprompted, without an inkling of his arrival. Maybe that was a terrible idea which should be discarded for something gentler and less likely to explode in his face, but that would only lead to more ruminating and more ruminating meant less doing.

The thing was, it was nearing eight o’clock. Wonwoo had been sitting on the bench for almost a half hour while the sun gradually sank, watching the occasional green leaf flutter down from the chestnut oaks adorning and shading the parkway behind him. The longer he waited, the further the shadows of the trees stretched, until he was completely engulfed and framed alone underneath their dark, cool silhouettes. Light still spilled across the street, igniting the space where everyone else was strolling, each person steadfast in their pace to be somewhere that wasn’t a sunset orange city street.

Breathing out slowly, Wonwoo glanced down at his hands.

It was like the first time he met you.

Just suck it up. Go do it.

He walked between the trimmed hedges that led to the complex door. The lobby area was exactly as he remembered it, though Wonwoo had come to learn those little complimentary desserts and cucumber waters set out the first day he visited you were no longer a thing, which you had vehemently complained to him about during a brief promenade through the park—another one of your palate cleansing ideas.

“Oh! Those pastries, by the way—they stopped doing them! I heard about it from my neighbour when I went down to get the mail. I was pissed, pissed, pissed! Apparently, there’s a lady who made them specifically for our complex because her grandson lived there. Well, he’s moved out now, so we all got fucked! If I don’t get my cute little lemon square with the raspberry on top and the powdered confectionary sugar all placed in a decorative doily, I will legit kill myself. Something has to be done… hey—can you bake, at all?”

Hence your immeasurable disappointment when Wonwoo revealed to you that he wasn’t notably talented at baking. Still, the incident provoked him to spend at least an hour a night researching different recipes for lemon squares that he could manage to pull off if given enough time and a handful of supplemental trial and error.

Wonwoo pushed the button to the elevator.

The heartbeat heavied in his chest while waiting for the doors to pull apart, the anticipation and nervousness coming down hard like thick snow flurries. A commercial ding at last echoed throughout the vacant lobby. Wonwoo immediately stepped into the small, confined space, feeling his breaths begin to drag, becoming almost audible in his desire for more oxygen.

Without a doubt, this was probably the hardest thing Wonwoo had ever done in his life. Even moving away from the comfortability and closeness of his family in Changwon—no matter their disagreements or quarrels—couldn’t compare to the emotion so palpably tugging within him akin to an ocean tide under a full moon.

He felt every twinge, but he was still doing well to maintain his composure, though Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from fearing that the control might leave him in the cold wind of seeing you again.

To look into your eyes could feel quite dissecting and Wonwoo didn’t know if he was yet strong enough to stomach the scrutinization despite how warranted it was. The best he could do was to expect nothing—this wasn’t about gaining closure, or basking in the liberation from righting a wrong—it was about the effort of accepting a profoundly hurtful problem he caused. You were hit front and centre by the shrapnel and you deserved to hear acknowledgement.

At the moment of reaching your floor, he didn't knock straight away.

Wonwoo stood outside the unit for a moment, removing his glasses and pulling at the sleeve to his large black hoodie, massaging away a smudge from the lens. After fitting the frames back to his face, he knocked. Each breath was fluttery. He tried so damn hard to soothe himself because life was unfortunately not a loop of constant aid and permanent reassurance and sometimes there was no other option but to be discomforted. At least he had his own company.

There was no movement from behind the door.

Swallowing very dryly, Wonwoo knocked again.

Nerves twisted in his stomach and turned his complexion pallid, though it was just on the edge of manageable and Wonwoo would have otherwise been quite proud if not for the lock suddenly clicking and the gentle, slow twisting of the doorknob. His fist clenched, the blunt nail on his index finger picking at his scarred cuticle.

Even when he saw you—Her—for the first time in over a month, accompanying the liminal doorway, staring back at him with an expression that he could use an entire pencil detailing, Wonwoo was able to sustain his control. Still, his heart was fucking racing.

Your eyes were wide, glassy, though somewhat veiled by the dip in your brows that began to gradually furl deeper in their recognition of his presence. He felt his stomach drop faster than lightspeed when a frown twitched into your lips, distorting the surprise in your face to anger, while the fingers at your leg curled into a rigid fist. There was a dewiness to your bare cheeks and a sweetened aroma from your skin that suggested you had gotten out from the shower not too long ago.

Wonwoo relaxed his hands.

“Hey.”

Expectantly, you said nothing.

There was a rolling, emotional sea unabashed to your face, continuously morphing between every shade of wrath within the sticky silence. Wonwoo worried you might slam the door shut.

He needed to say something fast.

“I know what you want to do—you want to close me out. I get that. I can see it all over your body. And, believe me, I understand.”

Your hand grabbed the edge of the door. That initial glassiness in your eyes only grew glimmerier; the frown tacked onto your mouth somehow threaded with even more fulgurant rage. He could see that you were going to snuff him into nothing, like grabbing onto a candle wick with your fingers despite the hot wax and flame.

But it couldn’t end so abruptly.

Wonwoo held up his hands, baring his palms in defense.

“Just—okay. Her, I hurt you. Hurt is even too weak of a word to use. I know that. I promise I do. I know what I did… and… and I know that I must have some fucking gal to come here unannounced after everything I said, but I've got an explanation. I swear.”

There was notable uplift in his chest, watching your grip loosen on the door, fall down to the handle, losing the hostility. Wonwoo paused to catch his breath, ensuring his eyes never wavered.

 “And… if you decide to listen to me… and you still really don’t want me in your life… I-I can respect that. If all you want is for me to disappear and never bother you again… I can respect that…” he felt sick just voicing it, like he could faint at the prospect. “It might be such a stupid fucking thing for me to say, considering how I treated you, but I genuinely want to do whatever will make you happiest.”

Was it good enough? Feasible, even marginally?

Wonwoo didn’t know. He could only stand in place and study the metamorphosis of your face—from deep-seeded anger, to something pained and unintelligible, and now, contemplation. The inner monologue in your head was probably running on overdrive.

Your fingernails carved into the door.

He kept quiet, waiting, until you quickly wiped something from your cheek and swallowed the lump in your throat.

“… Fine,” you uttered in a raspy, weak tone.

Relief struck him like a breeze during a heatwave.

“Thank yo—”

“But if I say I want you to leave, then you will leave, and you will not say one word on your way out my door or spare me one glance, even if it’s from the corner of your fucking eye.”

Wonwoo was staring straight into your gaze, then shifting to the pointed finger sticking in his face. You were deadly serious.

He nodded.

Finally, however, you stepped aside to let him in.

Wonwoo didn’t know if he should sit or stand. If he should grab a stool at the marbled kitchen island or come to fit himself at the edge of the cream sofa. The interior was pretty much identical to his previous visit, though he realized that a few potted plants you once kept by the elegant floor-length windows were missing—he’d assumed they’d died—it was probably somehow his fault.

“Um, where should we—where do you want to—”

“Kitchen.”

With your arms folded stiff, you walked behind the island.

He stood on the opposite side, knowing it was likely not a coincidence that you opted to put a barrier between yourselves.

It was a foolish idea and he would certainly not extrapolate, but Wonwoo wanted to ask about you. He wanted to know how your work was going at the beauty salon, if you had any more obnoxious dinner parties with your parents—were you still writing? To even look at you from across the hard countertop, captured in the quiet dimness of your kitchen, with your soft and bare face and those cute silk pyjamas, was enough to stop his heart if he allowed it.

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses, sighing.

“Before I explain anything… I just want to say—”

“I don’t care about that,” you interrupted without hesitation, eyes scalding and sharp, “I know you’re sorry. It’s the least you could feel after everything you said to me. I don’t care.”

“R-Right…” he trailed off, sensing the heat from the overhead lights as though they were shining directly into his face. Wonwoo pulled at the sleeves of his hoodie, gulping, “I guess you want to know—"

“Why. I want to know why you did what you did.”

“Why?” He echoed dumbly.

“Yes, why. Pull out an entire script and apologize—I don’t want that. Acknowledge what you did—good for you. I’m glad you can see how fucked up it was, all while I had to cope with your analysis on why I’m such a god-awful person. People say sorry all the time. I know it can be genuine. I just don’t care. Sorry doesn’t help me understand. Sorry doesn’t take away the weeks I lost, tearing myself apart. Sorry doesn’t mean fucking anything to me if all you’re apologizing for is something I already lived and breathed.”

“No, that—yeah, it makes sense...”

His fingers suddenly gripped the edge of the island, knuckles ivory white. Your intensity was more disorienting than a drug, but Wonwoo knew he needed to stay calm. Breathe. Listen.

“Okay, so?” You shrugged. “Tell me, then.”

“Why I did what I did…” Wonwoo exhaled, staring at his reflection in the marble while his mind twitched into complete blankness. “Well... I-I guess I was feeling… there was a lot I was feeling and... fuck.”

At the last second, he scraped everything he was going to say.

Wonwoo then looked up at you, who was so cold and reluctant.

“You know, um… before I met you, I had a girlfriend. I know I've never mentioned it. But her name was Jeanie. I met her at the university, actually. She worked in the Morrison library—like, the big stone building that looks like a castle, almost. Anyway. I met her because I needed to sign out a textbook for this elective I was taking and she helped me find it… Jeanie. Yeah. I don’t know if you ever saw her or—she was really shy. But I felt like she listened well, no matter what you were saying, or what you were talking about. She would give you her full attention. And… I just remember thinking… I could tell you anything, Jeanie. I could tell you I fucking pushed someone in front of a bus and you would wait and listen and hear me out until the end. She would make you feel… normal… human.

But—the thing is—I’m sort of laughing because I’m saying all this now, but… at the time, even despite my love for her, and how much I trusted her… I just… I kept her out. I didn’t think it was a bad thing. She knew I had anxiety, but never knew how bad. I never told her I stopped taking my pills. I never told her my actual feelings about anything… like, despite having this perfect person in my life, I still couldn’t open up. I didn’t think there was much harm to it, either. It would cause tension. Things would get… uncomfortable… but as long as she was there, I was like—I can get away with this. I don’t need to really discuss anything. She will always be here.

And then… one day… she just… wasn’t… uh—ahem—sorry, just—something in my throat, b-but, uh… yeah. She was gone. All her clothes, all her belongings: toothbrush, makeup, clothes, stuffed toys, notebooks, mugs, house decorations. It was all gone. I remember coming home to an apartment that was stripped bare. Like a skeleton. She took every part of herself from it. And all I could do was dumbly stand there and look at the bones.

Her number was disconnected, too. There was no one I could get a hold of that would tell me anything until I got this weird, vague email from her mom. ‘My daughter won’t be seeing you anymore. She’s safe. No need to worry.’  Those words picked themselves into my brain. I would go to sleep seeing them. I would repeat them in my head all night, and wake up with them still chiming. And I thought to myself, with all the weight in my heart… how could she do this? How could she leave and take everything and erase me without a word? It had to be her and it had to be the world just proving my point: being vulnerable, trusting, expressive—it isn’t worth it.

I really, truly believed it. I mean, I held onto it. I always looked at her as the one with the issue, but—fuck—it was me. I was the fucking issue. I… I must have made her feel so unimportant. I probably confused her, destroyed our trust, fucked up her concept of love. Like… I made her feel so trapped… that she felt the best thing to do was disappear, because there was no other way out… I made her feel that way. Me. It was me the entire time. And… I never really processed that until you were six feet away, screaming at me, cursing me up and down in the same living room I came home to that day, all emptied out. I had it out with you, the way I never had with Jeanie…

And the truth is, Her… I kind of… I always sort of knew I had that problem. I lived without ever wanting to acknowledge it. But I never really… I-I basically… I didn’t care about fixing it until I met you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head and stared at your quivering bottom lip, the shininess to your razor-sharp eyes, the manner in which your fingernails were sinching indents upon the skin of your biceps.

He paused, chuckling.

“I know I already told you… but you used to terrify me. I didn’t think we would ever mesh. Whenever I looked at you, I saw someone who knew herself, and I was so severely the opposite. But miraculously, I guess, you ended up being the person I feel the most comfortable with… when I see someone strong like you unravel, it makes me want to unravel, too. The trust I had for you was infinite.”

From across the island, Wonwoo noted how your eyes momentarily drifted down. A lump was sitting square at the base of your throat and it took a very dense swallow for you to even speak.

“… Had?” You whispered with a sniffle, hugging yourself.

Rolling out his shoulders, Wonwoo frowned.

“It was the party, Her. If you remember us talking in the guest bedroom… I told you that story about my brother and I, about my decision to move from Changwon… you’d nearly grappled Bells down to the ground an hour before. You apologized to me because you thought it ruined my night, but I promised you that it was fine, that I would always be here for you. And then we split ways. And you… you were… well, there’s really no clean way to say it but—”

“I had sex with Mingyu.”

“Uh, well… yeah.”

You shook your head. “He’s my boyfriend, Wonwoo.”

“I know, I know. It makes it sound stupid but—”

“No—wait. You’re pissed at me because I chose to have sex with my boyfriend? Are you—are you hearing yourself?”

“Her, please, listen—”

“I went through all of your bullshit because of that!”

“Can I just—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“It was because I liked you!”

Wonwoo’s heart was thumping almost audibly against his chest while his veins soared with adrenaline. Your fists were sitting, balled, on the kitchen island, though they began to unfurl as the weight cupping his confession—which was a mild version of what he truly meant to say—hung in the air like the plumes from a wildfire.

“I liked you, a lot," he admitted, watching your eyes slim with confusion, "and I’m sorry if that ruins us even more… but it’s true.”

“Wha—what—no. What do you mean you liked me? You liked me as in what? You liked me in a crushy silly way that’s just for fun, o-or you liked me in a serious way, that’s like, you want to… you want…”

Your mouth hung open, shoulders hunching.

His teeth gritted. “I thought I could… I wanted to…”

“Please just spit it out.”

“I wanted to be with you. I wanted to be your boyfriend.”

Flares of heat melted slow across his face. Wonwoo could feel his temperature climatically rising. Still, it wasn’t the entire truth. His likeness wasn’t just that—it was a fully blossomed and unshakeable love. Though, he figured it might be too much, too suddenly.

“O-Oh…” you stuttered, “… and, you thought that…”

“Maybe you felt the way I did. Not that I’m going to ask if you did or didn’t. I mean, this was over a month ago. I’ve had lots of time to myself. I’ve been thinking plenty… the point is, I let those feelings affect my clarity and that’s why I felt so hurt. I felt like I was so open and candour just to kinda have it… thrown back in my face. But it just seems like every relationship I have, I sabotage it somehow… I didn’t go about us in the right way—not at all. It blew up into something terrible. I wish every day that I would have handled it differently. But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut when I should have just talked to you.”

“Oh… god, Wonwoo.”

“I-I don’t know. It was late, and I was high—you were off a line of coke for fuck’s sake—I just—in that moment, didn’t it feel… like we were something? More than friends? Maybe you don’t remember everything. Some of it’s a blur, even to me. Like some fever dream.”

“No… I do remember some of it. I remember the spare bedroom. I remember how fucking comfortable that bed was. You were there… you were… helping me… and we... I know at some point we were lying down together but I don’t remember what I was thinking or everything I said… it’s just—it’s a lot… too much, almost.”

A groan reverberated from within your deepest cavity and he could only watch through the warm kitchen light as you leaned forward into your hands, your body slumped against the countertop and radiating with agony. Wonwoo didn’t know what to make of the spectacle, though he chose to let you swim in whatever sentiment was swallowing you whole, your head beginning to shake back and forth.

“Wonwoo… listen… I get that—I get what you’re saying, okay? I get that you have this fucking problem with vulnerability, and trust, and the—the, um—the self-sabotaging. I know. I have that, too. And I can understand that it was possible to misinterpret us…”

That word was like a decommissioning punch to his gut—misinterpret—as though it was merely wishful, ditzy thinking and it was him and him alone living inside the delusion despite the fact you were snuggling up against him. However, Wonwoo bit his tongue and simply listened. He didn’t need his bruised heart getting in the way.

“But that night was just—it was irresponsible, okay? On both our parts. I have a boyfriend who I very much l-like, and… and we’re just—you and I, I mean—we’re good at being friends. And you said it yourself that you’ve had time to think and get past it, so…”

“… Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo didn’t need his love to be reciprocated nor did he want to know if you actually harboured any feelings toward him back then. All he desired was for you to get what you had plainly wanted—the why. Perhaps it was unsatisfactory, lacklustre, or maybe it was beyond ridiculous and too inconceivable for words.

He was grateful that he’d even made it this far.

With a heavy, laboured sigh, you managed to push yourself from the marbled counter. A hand then propped onto your hip.

Your nails clicked once against the island.

“So… that’s it, huh?” There was a nasally tone to your voice.

Biting his lip, Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, nodding. “Mmhm.”

Your head tilted straight back, like you were attempting to stop a runny trail of tears from escaping down your cheeks. You suckled in a breath, pressed your lips together firmly.

And then, abruptly, you laughed, pinching at your nose while your eyes squeezed shut. It was an exhausted, humourless laugh.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He didn’t exactly know what it was you were cursing, whether it be the realization of what the fight actually meant, or a reaction to his timid, but expired, confession. It could be that the information was too daunting and you were left with no instinct of how to manage it. Wonwoo chewed down on his tongue, keeping silent.

When your eyes opened again, they fell toward the fridge.

“Um… wasn’t it your birthday? Back in July?” You asked with a wet sniffle, brushing a wrist underneath your nose.

“Yeah… July seventeenth.”

Not bothering to speak, you walked over to the fridge and pulled the door open, pale light emanating from inside as you rifled around, moving containers and cartons and fresh produce. It was then that you revealed a cardboard box. Returning to the counter, you set the box in the very centre, and with trembling hands, you began unsticking the corners in order to reveal the surprise inside—a decent sized cupcake, frosted high with thick, white icing.

You sniffed again, turning to grab something from a utensil drawer, and then another item or two out the cupboard.

“It’s from Terra Cotta—it’s just a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing—which I ordered as a dessert when I ate out with Princess the other night. But I was too full to eat it after stuffing my face with pasta, unfortunately. So, I got it packaged up. Stuck it in the fridge. Forgot about its existence until now.”

A butter knife fell onto the island, followed by a lighter and a single pink candle. You sighed, eyes turning waterier by the minute, and Wonwoo felt a twinge in his chest that ached like hell.

“Do you like red velvet cake?”

Wonwoo huffed, shrugging. “Um, I’m not sure. Never had it.”

You picked up the candle. “Want to?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

Rather than keeping the cupcake inside the box, you moved the dessert delicately onto a clean porcelain plate and proceeded to shut the lights off. The orange sunset that painted the streets had bled out all its lurid colour. Wonwoo was just beginning to realize how dark it was in the apartment. You propped the pink candle into the expertly piped cream cheese frosting and ignited the tiny wick. A shivering halo of fire reflected in the marble countertop as the flame wriggled and the wax burnt.

Honestly, he didn’t know what the moment signified—if it was a mere gesture of forgiveness, or just a simple means to release all the tension—Wonwoo had not a clue. He thought he should be looking at the cupcake but Wonwoo was looking at you and the lambent glow flickering across your very upset, still face.

Sniffling again, you picked up the butter knife.

“Okay… hurry up and make a wish, please.”

“Really?” Wonwoo chuckled. “You want me to make a wish?”

“Uh… yes. That’s what people do when it’s their birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Well—fuck—the spirit of your birthday, then.”

“You're asking a lot of me, you know. All this pressure.”

“Oh my god—it's just one ditsy little wish. I'm not asking you to write out your will, or solve world hunger. It's one stupid, tiny wish. For the sake of the moment. Hurry up before the wax drips on the icing.”

“I think you can just peel the wax off once it hardens—”

“Fuck! I don’t care, Wonwoo! God! Just—” he watched with a satisfactory smirk as you leaned forward and impatiently blew out the candle for him, “—there! Now, you don’t even get the opportunity to make a wish. Hope it was worth it.”

“So, you made a wish in my place, right?”

“Shut up. I’m cutting you the smaller half.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“Hey, I don’t sound like that.”

“No, I didn't make a wish in your place—here.”

“Thank you.”

“… How does it taste?”

“Uh, it’s good. A little firm. The icing is really rich, but I suppose that’s typical of cream cheese stuff. But overall, I like it.”

“I really love red velvet. Especially in cupcake form.”

“Hm. Didn’t know that.”

“I wonder if I could get a dozen ordered for my birthday...”

“We’re celebrating my birthday and you’re already thinking of your own? Can you at least wait until I’m out the fucking door?”

“You said it doesn’t matter!”

“Now, that’s not what I said.”

“Don't act like such a smart ass.”

Wonwoo knew he missed your quippy retorts, but he hadn’t realized he’d missed it this much. It was filling a pitted crater within his chest that had remained empty and stone cold ever since the argument.

As you turned the kitchen light back on, Wonwoo stuffed the rest of the frosted cupcake into his mouth and dusted his hands clean.

He didn’t know what was supposed to happen now.

Stubbornly, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave your apartment. It had been too long since he’d last seen your beautiful face, and half his summer was already wasted to lamenting the relationship he’d ungraciously snipped in half like a fresh garden rose. If you wanted him to leave, then he would oblige, because Wonwoo could never go back on his word to abide by the choices that might make you the happiest. That was what he cared about most, anyway.

From the opposite side of the island, you began to cross your arms again, fingers digging tight into your ribs. Wonwoo could see that the hues of grief and melancholy hadn’t really abandoned your face since his arrival, and the tears that had earlier welled up in your eyes were steadily returning, glinting along your bottom lashes as though they were dew droplets. Feeling his throat turn dry and sensing the air become dampened with your sadness, Wonwoo knew what you were going to ask—he braced himself quick.

“So… um…” you began pulling at the short sleeve of your silk-buttoned top, rolling the fabric between uneasy fingers, “it’s getting a little bit late and I just t-think you should go now, Wonwoo…”

He nodded, pushing at his glasses. “Yeah… of course.”

There was such an evident somberness about the way his feet dragged toward the door. You had walked him over, and now that the space between you was significantly less, Wonwoo had never battled so hard with his self-control to keep himself from touching you—even if it was just a slight, chaste brush of his fingers against yours—the simplicity and feel of your strawberry-scented skin would appease his constant aching. He glanced at you, saw that your arms were still crossed and your eyes trained to muse over the floorboards.

Wonwoo scraped against the cuticle of his thumb.

Does he just… leave?

It felt too abrupt.

He smiled at you, keeping it soft and mindful.

“Thank you for listening to me… I mean it… you didn’t have to but you did anyway and… uh, I don’t know. Just—thank you.”

“Mmhm…”

You were squeezing at your ribs even tighter now, pressing in your fingers so unnaturally deep. In fact, Wonwoo was beginning to feel worried, especially when he noticed the quivering in your frame and the hard bite you were sinking into your lower lip—how there were tears streaking one by one down the slope of your cheeks.

Wonwoo’s hand had been lingering on the doorknob, though it slipped off absentmindedly. He wanted to reach for your shoulder and give it a comfortable, warm massage, but he was still too fearful.

“Her… are you alright?”

After a cautious step closer, Wonwoo paused, attempting to peer at your face despite its pointed direction toward the floor. The question was worthless, he realized. You were crying and choking up.

“Do you… should I go?”

God—what an even more stupid question to ask—the thing he wanted to do least was leave when you were this hurt. But Wonwoo needed to know if it was his presence that was disturbing you.

You shook your head, sniffled up all the wet, runny congestion in your nose. He watched the teeth free from your lip as you gasped.

“I-I don’t know… I’m really, really sad, Wonwoo.”

He thought he might panic in the midst of your crumbling, however, there was too much guilt and heartache inside him.

“I know…” he murmured.

Somehow, it felt so criminal to just stand there and watch you weep, hearing every desperate attempt for a breath as you could only clutch onto yourself harder and let the tears helplessly fall.

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling his throat burn.

“Can I comfort you for a bit?”

You hiccupped, and your face pinched up in complete misery, the response struggling to escape through the large sob you cried out.

“Please.”

Immediately, his hands braced against the edges of your very warm, wet face. The heat was radiating like a summer blacktop, and the tears were quick to pool against his fingers as he did his darndest to softly clean and wipe them from your skin—though, Wonwoo came to accept that it might be futile—and he opted to cup your cheeks for just a brief moment, staring into your damp lashes and puffy eyes.

“Still such a gorgeous girl, even when you’re crying.”

You huffed at him, grasping onto his hoodie and tugging it.

“I need you closer, please.”

Waddling into his arms, your face smushed right against his shoulder. In the dim august dusk that meekly glowed through the windows of your downtown, sumptuous apartment, Wonwoo cradled you, coaxing a hand nice and gentle along your trembling head while his arm kept you secured firm into his body. As wonderful as it felt to hold you in the way he always dreamt of, Wonwoo knew that those tears wrinkling his clothes were mostly driven by him.

Your arms dug into his chest. It seemed like you wanted to burrow impossibly closer, into his ribs if you could, but the desire frustratingly couldn’t be fulfilled. To compensate, Wonwoo attempted to squeeze you even more, though he was somewhat afraid of cracking you in half. Maybe that’s what you were craving.

But he liked you very much alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, still damp from the shower and rife with the scent of fragrant blossoms, “I know you don’t want me to apologize, but I have to. Everything I said to you… it was just stupid, pent-up rage from my own shortcomings… so much was building inside me and I made such a dumb fucking mistake—taking our situation and using it as a target—it was all bullshit..." inhaling a breath, Wonwoo sighed. "I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door… but I don’t think you would have wanted to listen, anyway... you probably would have just told me again to go fuck myself… you know, that was actually the first time I’ve ever been told that?”

Your cheek nuzzled against his shoulder. The breath you proceeded to cough out made it sound like you were terribly ill.

“T-That’s hard to believe…”

Wonwoo smiled, smoothing a hand down your back. “You think so?”

Threading your fingers deeper into his hoodie, you nodded.

Stopping to contemplate, Wonwoo ended up agreeing, “hm… yeah... you’re right. There were probably a lot of times in my life where I deserved to hear that. But you’re the first, anyway.”

“Y-You… you deserve to hear it again… I mean, what were you thinking, Wonwoo?” Raising your head from his shoulder and sucking in a much-needed breath, you rubbed at the glisten iridescent to your face. “I didn’t know… I was just trying to t-tal-talk to you…”

Wonwoo unstuck some small, matted hairs from your forehead, guiding them away with the daintiest movements.

“I know you were...” he answered, keeping his voice quiet.

“And then, in the car… I-I just sat there and cried for so long that the sky got dark. I didn’t know what to do—like, I thought I might call Mingyu but he was at work a-and I had no idea what I would even say to him... and then, I called Princess. And she said I could come over and I legit couldn’t get one fucking word out to her.”

Meanwhile focusing on your choked, heavy sentiments, Wonwoo continued to clean the tears from your face. A warm hand had grabbed onto his wrist, not stopping him—just gently holding—as though you needed the contact to ground yourself, even a little bit.

“The shitty part was… even when I was at my angriest… I still couldn’t get myself to hate you. But I wanted it so bad, Wonwoo. I stayed up almost every night, trying to convince myself that you were the worst person I ever met, a-and that I would be better off without you—that you were a poison to me and everything about you is just a ruse to hurt people. No matter what I told myself, nothing would ever work… because I would—I-I don’t fucking know—I would think about how fucking good you make me feel inside. H-How happy I am when I’m with you. You listen to me, a-and you care about my thoughts and my interests and you’re just—you—you fucking live inside me somehow and I want you out so bad but there’s nothing I can do.”

Wonwoo had removed his hands from your face.

They slid down to your hips. He squeezed them tight, digging his thumbs into your flesh and bone over the silken shorts.

“You live inside me, too.”

Rubbing off your nose, you shook your head angrily.

“It can’t be like that.”

His throat twisted up.

“Why?”

“B-Because it—it can’t. You know I have Mingyu…”

“I only think about you. It’s always you. I don’t want it to change.” Wonwoo pleaded, hanging onto every word—trying to search for your eyes despite the adamant refusal to meet his gaze. 

“But I just—I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because!” You pushed at his broad chest, forcing him away as the anguished, grief-stricken shout reverberated between the high ceilings. Gripping at your head, you started to cry again. “I-I’m still so fucking angry at you, Wonwoo. I hate holding onto it and I hate that it’s been over a month and I’m still processing everything, but I can’t just move on from those feelings! I have to see it through. ”

The air was ice cold against him.

He just wanted your perfect body back in his arms.

“O-Okay… okay. I get it.”

“You do? Because I can’t keep reliving this. I just can’t.”

Wonwoo sighed, curling his fingers in and out.

“No, I—I hear you. I promise.”

You still needed time. You weren’t ready to forgive him. That was okay, and he wasn’t the least bit vexated by it. If he had to wait an entire year, then he would wait. Nothing would shake him from you.

Slapping a palm against your cheek, you shoved away the further tears which were seeming to become an annoyance. Wonwoo wanted desperately to be the one to wipe your pretty face and kiss away the salty taste of your sadness, but he knew not to push his luck.

Beyond the windowpanes, the sky was nearly pitch black, pinpricked by all the distant lights from the city buildings.

“I’ll go now, okay?” Wonwoo murmured.

Folding your arms, you sniffled a little, nodding.

“Okay...”

He wanted to say goodnight to you, but then he thought of that rule you had proclaimed during your late-night phone conversation many moons ago—you had to say it first as courtesy.

Except, you were silent.

Nonetheless, Wonwoo had liked to think it was sitting right on the tip of your tongue, just as it was sitting on his.

—SEPTEMBER 8TH.

When he thought back on his summer, Wonwoo couldn’t believe the quickness with which it had flown by, especially considering how nauseously slow some parts moved while he existed, trapped, inside them. Still, it was probably Wonwoo’s most eventful summer since his move from Korea, in more ways than one. Now, it was back to university for his final year as a maths student, and Wonwoo actually couldn’t be happier for the introduction of routine and the opportunity to test all the inner workings he’d accomplished.

Just last week, Vernon had thrown together a small party in the backyard of his friend’s rental home. He was housesitting, and though Wonwoo wasn’t sure why the friend in question would pick a promiscuous drug dealer for hospitality upkeep, the party was apparently approved and Wonwoo had made the effort to attend.

It gave him the chance to reunite with Seungcheol and Seokmin who he’d unintentionally given the cold shoulder. He was just thankful they were relaxed about everything. The night was spent swapping stories from their summer by the makeshift firepit, drinking cold beers, and watching the fireflies twinkle in the dry backyard brush. Vernon had spent all his time sweet-talking some new girl he’d invited from the club, and when they disappeared inside for about half an hour, Wonwoo prayed his bladder could hold out.

Wonwoo had also invited Sierra.

He figured she was just too warm and amicable and he knew she would get along seamlessly with everyone there.

Since they last spoke downstairs in the pottery shop during late July, Sierra had gotten herself a girlfriend—a patron of the Honeymoon who worked up the courage to ask Sierra out after admiring her bartending skills, as he’d heard it—and Wonwoo was more than happy to extend the invite. Seungcheol had predictably brought along Princess, though Wonwoo hadn’t been too worried. They seemed to be on good terms despite the chip in the relationship.

If you had been in town at the time, Wonwoo would have invited you, too. But you weren’t, instead accompanying your mother on a three-day venture outside the city for some publisher’s trip.

But he kept you in mind the entire night. He saw you in the wide, bright moon sitting squarely above the crackling fire, and he felt you in the colder breezes that whispered the beginnings of a soft, fresh autumn. You were everywhere inside him, just like his blood.

Wonwoo had liked to think he’d done it right. All those conversations he shared with you over the phone since the reunion at your apartment seemed promising—even when they flared and ached like a broken bone—Wonwoo had just wanted to hear your voice and know your heart. Though, the conclusion had dipped him in a strange, confusing predicament he still struggled to reason.

“I think we work best as friends… we’ll always be friends.”

The moment was followed by the most intense silence, and then Wonwoo had shifted the phone against his ear, spreading on an audible smile that couldn’t have looked any faker in person.

“Yeah… I see that, too.”

But he didn’t.

He was still in love with you.

And now Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

You had come to an agreement that he should no longer help you with the book as it had been a point of contention since the start. Plus, you were now confident enough in your skills to finish it.

Surprisingly, Wonwoo was okay with that.

Nonetheless, he did offer his help if you ever needed it.

In fact, as Wonwoo sat in the small auditorium for his newest elective—the continuation to last year’s creative writing—he was scrolling through an old document you had sent him months ago, containing a litany of the same messily written paragraph, just rehashed as you attempted to find the best wording for it. Wonwoo couldn’t help but smile against the palm squishing at his chin.

Your mind always did seem to work in twelve different ways.

Since he’d shown up early to the lecture, Wonwoo was able to pick a good seat in the middle. He recognized a few faces from last year as more students began to trickle in. Wonwoo kept his bookbag on the chair to his right because he liked the extra space, though he began fearing he might have to move it when the lecture hall filled to a degree past his expectations. Since when did all these people take the class last year? Was it because of the new professor? He spun a pen between his fingers, observing everyone rather judgementally.

“Hey—are you saving a seat for your non-existent friend, or are you leaving your bag here to make sure no one else would sit beside you? Not that anyone would want to with the way you’re begrudgingly staring down every single person who walks in here.”

Wonwoo grinned, the pen stilling into his hand.

He knew your attitude like the ducks on his aunt’s shower curtain.

“If it’s such a big deal to you, you can move it.”

“Oh, can I? Do I get the pleasure of moving your bookbag, Wonwoo? Are you really that kind as to save such a life-changing, personal, and intimate experience, just for me?”

Smirking up at you, Wonwoo dropped his bag onto the floor.

He was promptly greeted by a very shiny smile.

“That’s what I thought,” you said matter-of-factly, setting your iconic cream purse onto your lap after sliding into the chair.

“So,” Wonwoo huffed, leaning back and casting you a curious glance, “you didn’t tell me you were going to take creative writing.”

Pulling out some chapstick, you laughed. “Uh—you didn’t tell me, either,” the comment was wry and muttered through the obstacle of moisturizing your lips.

Scratching his temple, Wonwoo chuckled, “fair.”

“Gosh, there’s so many people in here. Way more than I was expecting. I mean, who even are these goddamn people? I hardly recognize any of them—oh my gosh, do you think it’s because of the new professor? I looked her up, you know. She’s published three books—they’ve all got crazy good accolades—and one of them was even made into a movie! That has to be why. Should I try to get face time with her after class? No—actually, I won’t. Then I look totally desperate. I’ll play it cool. I’ll wait until, like, three classes from now.”

“Well, you’re never short of making an impression.”

“Meaning what?”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, “what the fuck do you think it means? It’s not like I’m talking in morse code. You make an impression.”

You smacked a hand down on his knee. “Well, how do I know if you mean good or bad! And don't curse at me like that.”

“Okay, okay. You're right. I'm sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he replied, softening his voice, “I am very extremely sorry.”

That little smile you gave him was enchanting.

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “And I meant good, obviously.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you say anything to her, she’ll love you.”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“She’ll keep you reasonably in her thoughts?”

“Hm. Yes. I like that better,” you agreed.

While you busied yourself with removing the laptop from your purse and taking an extra minute to inspect your face with a small, compact mirror, Wonwoo glanced around the room again. A few people standing by the professor’s podium at the front were looking at you, their mouths moving in conversation, though Wonwoo could hear none of it from the general chatter. He supposed you were used to getting those dissecting, curious, maybe even sometimes hurtful stares. There was always a light shining on you, wanted or not.

As Wonwoo pulled open the class syllabus on his laptop, he felt a tap against his shoulder. Slightly turning his head, he spotted someone shuffling by in the cramped row behind him, waving.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” the stranger said quickly in passing.

Squinting at him through his glasses, Wonwoo nodded. “Uh, hey.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Who was that?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Someone from last year, I guess.”

“I see. Mr. Popular. Taking names and breaking hearts.”

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. “The opposite, actually.”

You giggled so lightly at his response, and for a very slow moment, Wonwoo saw and felt the heat of your eyes stilling in focus upon his face. He squirmed somewhat in his seat, fingers picking at the rough, dark blue material upholstered over the chair’s arm. But then you resumed staring back at yourself in the compact mirror while applying another layer of lip balm, and Wonwoo had to subtly breathe out all the butterflies that fluttered up from his stomach.

With a satisfying snap, you’d shut the mirror, stuffing it back into the purse that was sitting atop his bag on the floor. He wanted to ask you how the book was coming along, how much progress you had made since he last proofread anything, if you were still engaging in those messily long sentences or had you since learned to clean them up.

But it was hard for Wonwoo to ask.

He studied the nervous hands in his lap.

“So… are you free after class?”

You tilted your head in thought. “Uh, I think so? This is my only class today, actually. No more SSA. I’m beyond happy. No one else seemed to take it well but me. I don’t care, though.”

“No, you made the right choice.”

“So, why do you ask?” Angling your body toward him, you smiled, and Wonwoo felt this pool of warmth expand in his chest.

“Do you want to stop at the café on Sunnyside?”

“Maybe. Is it good? I’ve never actually ate there.”

“I think it’s good,” he said, bouncing his knee. “I used to sit in there all the time. I don’t as much anymore, but it’s a cute place to visit. About a ten-minute walk from here. Plus, it’s nice outside.”

You nodded. “I’ll think it over.”

Knowing that class was starting soon, Wonwoo moved the phone sitting on the edge of his tabletop into his back pocket.

“Actually, can I ask you something?”

He stiffened in his seat, hardly managing a nod. That always seemed to be a weighted question, especially in your hands, and the fact that you were biting the skin of your bottom lip only stirred forth more worry. Wonwoo folded his arms and nodded, feeling his heart beat.

“Well, it’s just—there’s no exact date yet, okay? But sometime in very late September my family is having another dinner party.”

Wonwoo’s fingers dug into his arms.  “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you trailed off, continuing to bite your lip, “and, I basically—I-I’ve kind of been blabbing to my mom and stuff. You’ve definitely come up in some conversations. She made a comment that I could invite you and even though I disagree with her on, like, millions of things, I thought it might be a good idea…” your eyes flashed at him doubtfully. “So, like, I’m not gonna force you or anything. I’ve ranted to you about these dinner parties before so I’m sure you know how awful they can be. But… I don’t know… I mean, you don’t even have to stay the entire time. You could just pop by, o-or, or something like that. I just… I think seeing you before will help calm me down.”

Out of everything you could have asked, Wonwoo was least expecting the dinner party question. It seemed to have a very routine structure and Wonwoo couldn’t help but think that his presence there might throw everything off-kilter and the last—the very fucking last—thing he wanted was for your parents to absolutely loathe him. You always complained about them. Even with Mingyu and Seokmin there to accompany you, it seemed never to be enough. However, Wonwoo would hate to leave you hanging so dryly out in the open.

Even if he dreaded it, you mattered more to him than any awkward or nervous sentiments he harboured about the situation.

“Uh… okay. Yeah. I can go.”

You straightened up like a hair standing on end. “Really?!”

He nodded, pushing up his glasses. “Yeah.”

“Oh my gosh! You’re the best!”

Leaning over the chair rest, you bracketed your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, squeezing him into a quick hug that left his heart racing. Your sweet smell lingered in his nose as you slipped away.

“That’s such a relief… and—yes—for as much as I complain about it, I promise I’ll do my absolute best to keep everything on the rails. I’ll get you out of anything awkward or uncomfortable. And if you feel like it’s too much, I’ll be right there. I promise.”

Wonwoo smiled bashfully, shaking his head.

“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. I can manage a few shit conversations and uncomfortable silences. I’ve got my own problematic parents. I appreciate the thought, though. Means a lot.”

It would be another matter to anxiously dwell over until it actually happened, but Wonwoo was okay with it knowing how receptive you had become to his mood. More than anything, he didn’t know how to deal with Mingyu. The party had been decent. There were multiple people to bounce off and uplift the weight, substances to mellow the tension and distract the mind. But this felt very different. This would be more intimate. Less room for error in the form of lasting, arduous glances and short but gentle touches.

All he hoped for is that it might end better than the party.

—SEPTEMBER 29TH.

“So, I’ll come pick you up, okay? Just gotta text me.”

“… Yeah, that works. Okay.”

“Take a breath, Glasses. If anyone’s got this, it’s you, alright? No negative Nina shit. You’re lookin’ gorgeous, even more than me.”

“It’s Nancy.”

“What?”

“It’s—never mind.”

“Who’s Nancy?”

“I said never mind.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez… make sure you drop the attitude when you get in there. It’s not very cute of you, yeah?”

Wonwoo felt Vernon’s hand grip onto his shoulder, bestowing him a confident shake that somehow only served to reveal how jellied and weak he’d become. But Wonwoo also knew he couldn’t sit inside the mint-scented interior of his friend’s vanilla Camry the entire night, waiting for some lightning bolt to strike him with the energy he blatantly needed. Consequently, his attitude had gotten a bit snappy.

Vernon was right, though. Wonwoo had to find it within himself to relax, take a breath, and realize the time would fly once he was past the initial haze. Besides, you were there. That was all he really cared about. It made the most impossible things possible.

Looking down at the sleek, unwrinkled material of his black suit jacket, Wonwoo gave it a final and deciding tug. He then reached for the gift bag sitting by his feet. Inhaling, his lungs filled deep with air and Wonwoo was clicking his fist against Vernon’s.

“You’ve got this, playboy.”

“See you on the other side, I guess.”

Exiting the vehicle, Wonwoo spared one last hopeful glance at his face-studded friend before slamming the door shut, now caught outside underneath the moon’s shimmer. Late nights in September always seemed to be somewhat dewy and cold, with golden, ruby, and amber leaves slicked against the streets like flowers pressed into paper. Wonwoo shivered, smelling the earthiness in the atmosphere.

After tightening his fingers around the straps of the gift bag, he began making his way up the smoothly paved driveway, toward the welcoming and aglow ambiance that beamed from your family house.

He grabbed the rung at the door, slamming it a few times.

The anxious breath slowly flowed from his mouth as Wonwoo’s mind raced with who would be the one to answer. Feeling his circled glasses slip, Wonwoo pushed them back up using his finger. At the same time, the front door swung open, and in the clarity, relief washed over him like the caress of that autumn wind.

“Fuck! You’re here!”

Before Wonwoo could get a word out, your arms were already thrown around his neck. The hug was fleeting. As quickly as your body was pressed flush against his, it was gone a second later.

“Uh, yeah. Just got dropped off.”

“Oh my gosh. Come in, come in,” you chirped like an excited bird, pulling at his elbow, “I’m legit so happy you’re here. Don’t worry about taking off your shoes. I know I’m barefoot at the moment but I’ve been so freaking scatterbrained that I haven’t even picked out a pair of heels yet. You look amazing. I’ve never seen you dressed up!”

His face began to burn at the compliment.

“I don’t attend many things that require fancy clothes.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.”

Smiling, Wonwoo realized that he hadn’t really marvelled your dress, but there was something awfully familiar about it—the shiny olive-green colour, the elegant, revealing slit at the right thigh, the thin yet simple straps draped along the open, lowcut back—he then remembered it was the final dress you had tried on from that expensive boutique in the mall. Somehow, the material looked even more stunning on you now than it did before.

His face grew warmer, sizzling almost.

“That dress has always looked perfect on you.”

There was so much more he could spew in the moment, some cloying, sweet thoughts and some very impure ones, too. But Wonwoo wasn’t trying to cross boundaries and he had to respect your wishes of staying as friends, even if it tore him up inside beyond words.

Fiddling with your fingers, you gave him a soft smile. “I’m glad you recognized it.”

The hallway suddenly got very quiet. You were both just standing there, staring at each other, biting lips and scratching skin.

“So, um, I guess I can show you arou—”

“Oh, there they are! Honey, they’re out here!”

Wonwoo’s tender gaze had suddenly snapped toward a woman barging out from an illuminated doorway, a wine glass poised in her hand while the largest, most bedazzled necklace he had ever seen weighed down to her chest. Weathered heels beat the floorboards, echoing between the walls as she stalked toward him.

“You must be Wonwoo!” 

Her hand was gripping onto his wrist and Wonwoo could only prompt a weak smile that was indicative of his racing, feeble heart.

“Yeah, correct. Pleased to finally meet you.”

 “Oh, charmer. Pleasure’s all mine, sunshine. Okay, but—let me get a good look at you. Don’t feel like you have to stand by the doorway, all polite-like. Come a bit more into the light, over here.”

“Mom, don’t pull him,” you warned between clenched teeth.

“Ah, it’s alright, it’s alright. Don’t fret so much. Sheesh.”

Standing beneath the warm and yellow glow from the hallway chandelier, there was notable heaviness in Wonwoo’s chest as your mother’s dilated, intensive gaze wracked along his every feature, as though she were the reading the fine print to one of her catalogues.

“You’re certainly gorgeous,” she complimented, “and that voice! So soothing. How do you not have a lovely lady on your arm?”

Wonwoo’s eyes skipped to you in complete and utter panic.

Grabbing onto her shoulder, you gently guided her away.

“Mom, come on. You’re smothering him, alright? Remember the thing with Mingyu? I told you not to do that anymore. He just got here and I want him to actually enjoy himself. Don’t be so… pouncey.”

“Okay. I got it,” the mom said, lifting her hand and wine glass in submission, seeming serious for no less a few seconds. “The princess of the house, FYI. She always gets what she wants.”

You knocked her touch away as she wriggled your chin, very poorly veiling your annoyance through a grumble, “it’s not like that.”

“Didn’t I call in your father? What’s taking so long?”

“I don’t know. He’s probably hiding in his office.”

“Is that where he is? Really? When I asked him to set the table? Jeez. You spend all day cooking a meal, chopping and dicing and braising and frying, and the man just can’t be bothered to put out some knives and forks. This is why I opened the wine early, y’know.”

Your arms folded, and you appeared so much smaller.

“Seokmin set the table already.”

“Oh! What—he—he did? I didn't even notice!”

“Yes, like an hour ago.”

“Oh my gosh! That boy’s an angel. Raised so well, wasn’t he? You know Seokmin, right, Wonwoo? You’re all friends?”

Awkwardly shifting in his place, Wonwoo nodded. He couldn’t help but wonder where Seokmin or Mingyu were. There was dulled music echoing softly from a distant room in the house. Down the hallway corridor, it seemed to open up into a big living space.

Suddenly, your mom began to wiggle her finger at the bag he was holding limp in his hand, and for a moment, Wonwoo had even forgot it existed. She sipped from her gradually disappearing wine again, her words sounding muffled as they fogged up the glass.

“Is that a gift I spot in your hand, dear?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered.

Flattening a palm over the intricate jewel necklace glittering down her chest, your mother fawned adoringly, and Wonwoo’s stomach immediately dropped knowing it wasn’t her gift at all.

“Gosh! You shouldn’t’ve!”

“Uh, a-actually, it’s not—it was—I got this for your daughter.”

His gut twisted, watching the excitement and gleam drain from your mother’s face, her smile wiped away like an eraser to a penciled drawing. At least you had brightened up, though it wasn’t without caution, and Wonwoo wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

Straightening her spine, a grin then twitched unnaturally to her mouth. She was directly back into the wine for another drink.

“Well, that’s certainly thoughtful.” Wiping off her lips, she unnervingly held Wonwoo’s gaze for a brief moment, her eyes harder than diamonds. She then turned toward you, proceeding to gesture in a swirling motion with her finger at your face. “Sweetheart, if you don’t mind, could you take a few minutes to just fix your makeup?”

Your expression faltered, shoulders sagging.

“My makeup? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, the lashes are lifting a bit. It’s not too noticeable in this dusky hallway but out in the proper light, everyone will be able to tell. And I wouldn’t use that shade of lipstick. Remember the tip I gave you? When we take photos that colour is not going to show well.”

“I do remember, yes. But I thought it could match with—”

“No but’s. These dinners are important for us, alright? Go fix.”

Wonwoo held his breath. In all his time spent getting to know you—your likes and dislikes, your pet peeves and oddly specific rules about the way things should work—the one cardinal sin was to never interrupt you. Even when he was fighting tooth and nail against you in his apartment, aching with hurt and bitterness, he didn’t cut you off once to get his word over yours. He doubted Mingyu had ever done it, and he was positive Seokmin hadn’t, either. To actually witness it felt somewhat like a crime requiring swift punishment.

Though, for all that Wonwoo was expecting in response to the rage that had just rippled across your face, there was nothing.

Because you’d choked it down like foul cough syrup.

He watched the fist unclench at your side.

“Okay,” you stated in surprising simplicity, “I’ll go fix it,” still with a sprinkle of attitude that your mother opted to ignore as she announced her trip into the kitchen to check the food.

The second she was obscured from view, a noticeable glisten of tears and exhaustion glimmered in your eyes, though you sucked all the emotions back with a deep, deep breath.

“Do you want to come with me, upstairs for a second?” You asked in a tight, shaky voice. “Unless you want to find Seokmin.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “No, I’ll see him later. Of course I’ll come with you,” he answered, smiling at you with all his tenderness.

He proceeded to follow you up a dimly lit staircase draped in a chocolate brown rug. The house looked quite small from the outside, hidden almost, by the inky night, but as Wonwoo accompanied you at the robust, wooden dresser kept against the corridor wall, he realized just how long the house actually was.

Your lower back pressed against the dresser, hands gripping the edges and fingers scraping the underside of the chestnut.

Wonwoo left the gift bag sitting next to an amorphous, black metallic sculpture that he couldn’t even begin to understand, then dusting off his palms and watching you shake your head.

“I mean, you’ve only been here for five minutes, and I’m already breaking out my seams,” you laughed, dabbing at a tear travelling too far down your cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for it to be like this so soon and I’m not gonna force you to stay.”

“Stop saying that,” Wonwoo urged, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I told you I would come. I’m not going to abandon you.”

You paused, biting the swollen skin of your bottom lip.

“… Okay.” Looking down at the ground, you wiped your damp face again before hugging yourself. “She always does this… she always has something to point out. Nothing can ever be perfect for her. I’ve spent, like, all day, preparing myself, because that’s what she wants, and it’s still not enough. I don’t get it. I feel—” you sucked in a needy breath, pinching at your nose, “—I feel like I’m just some stupid doll she’s trying to perfect, but I never came perfect in the first place, so it’s all a big waste, and somehow, it’s my fault… I know I’m unloading and I’m sorry for that, too. This day has just been—I hate it. I hate these dinners. I fucking hate everything about them. I want to bang my head against the wall.”

Wonwoo smiled at you.

He untucked a hand from his pocket and reached for the clenched fist at your hip, spreading apart your fingers into his.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m listening, okay?”

Though your eyes were misty with tears and tiredness, you managed to return a frail little grin that was deeply sincere. Your hand tightened in his for a moment, and then you were stepping into him like he was a fresh blanket straight from the laundry. Fingers bunched up his suit jacket and your face was warm against his neck.

“I think it’ll be a little better tonight,” you whispered. “You’re the only one here who doesn’t make me feel like I’m going insane.”

Wonwoo passed up and down your bare back with his hand, admiring the softness to your pampered skin and the luscious scent of your hair, though he knew you had probably hated every moment trapped in the hot shower, exfoliating and shaving and scrubbing your body clean. He felt you squeeze onto him harder.

“Can I see what your gift is?”

“Oh, yeah…” he muttered, pulling apart from your heat, “it’s kind of a two-in-one thing. It’ll make sense once I explain.”

“That seems exciting,” you answered, returning to your lean against the chestnut dresser, folding your arms and smiling.

“So, um—if you remember the poker game—I owed you a pretty big lump of cash,” Wonwoo said, reaching inside the bag to grab a smooth, matte box, “and then there was the day at the museum, of course. Running home in the rain. You lost a shoe.”

“Oh my gosh, yeah…” you giggled fondly at the memory.

“I was at the mall—and, yes, I know. Why would I be at the mall when I hate the place?  But I was getting my laptop fixed at that tech store on the third floor, and I also needed wires for my—okay. Never mind the rambling. Fuck, I’m turning into you now. Anyway, I walked past that one store you love and get pretty much all your clothes from. They had these heels in the window. The white ones, which you said to me are actually not white, but a very specific shade of ivory that I couldn’t see and still fail to see, to be honest. And they had that little bit of gold in the straps… but the point is—I got them for you.”

You glitched for a second, and it wasn’t until Wonwoo was basically pushing the box into your chest that you seemed to realize.

“Wait… you actually went to Rosette?”

He nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Immediately, you flipped the box open and began flicking away the neatly trimmed cover of glittered tissue paper. “You got me the Gold Crystal Rope-Strapped and Ivory Ankle four-inch from Mirabella? Wonwoo! I-I was just talking when I saw them in the mall! I mean, you didn't have to actually get them!”

“I know,” Wonwoo answered, helping you pick the heels out from their imprints, “you’re always just talking, though.”

“Unnecessary.”

“To you.”

He was thankful you were too enraptured by the shoes to bother retaliating. Under regular circumstances, Wonwoo wouldn’t ever have been able to make such an expensive decision, but he still had some leftovers from winning the other poker matches at the party, in addition to a work bonus, and he knew that he still needed to repay you those favours even if they weren’t being held against him.

“They’re so freaking gorgeous,” you fawned, inspecting each heel like a jeweller would to their collection, “I can’t tell if I want to hit you or jump on you in happiness. I love them so much.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

“Oh my gosh, can you help me put them on? Pretty please?”

“Uh—yeah, ‘course.”

You gripped the edges of the dresser, slightly sitting on the surface as Wonwoo squatted down to your bare feet. He collected the first ivory heel and loosened the anklet buckle, proceeding to help slide the shoe on until it was fit perfectly. As he busied himself with loosening the buckle to the other heel, Wonwoo felt the ghost of your fingertips brush through his hair. In a spilt second, he froze, staring up at you, who was grinning back in utmost beauty.

“Just fixing your hair a little,” you stated innocently.

Wonwoo readjusted his glasses, nodding. “O-Okay.”

The action hadn’t felt that innocent, and as Wonwoo swallowed tight and continued sliding your ankle through the heel, he was overwhelmed with the most blaring, vivid, heart-hammering thoughts of smoothing his hands along each your soft thighs, pinning up the slippery silk to your olive-green dress, tugging aside your thin panties, burying his face and tongue so hot and heavy into your—

“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes!”

“Fuck,” you groaned, lolling your head back while Wonwoo finished settling the heel onto your foot, “just in case you didn’t connect the dots, that means we need to get downstairs.”

He returned to height, straightening out the sleeves to his suit jacket. For some reason, there was such an intense disappointment burning in his chest, as though his carnal thoughts were not just thoughts but an actual intent to pleasure you—which was completely ludacris given your friendship and the fact your boyfriend was probably downstairs—that had now been ripped away from him by the shrill pitch of your mother’s beckoning voice.

“Should I take the box—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You grabbed onto his hand, tugging him toward the staircase.

“C’mon. Let’s get this shit over with.”

And Wonwoo followed, though he couldn’t help but note how you carefully dropped his hand upon rounding the corner into the kitchen, where Seokmin and Mingyu were standing about.

“Hey!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing toward him. “Wonwoo!”

Expectantly, Seokmin looked like he belonged in a suit. That dark cherry red colour was rather fitting and only served to amplify the glow of his indestructible enthusiasm. Wonwoo awkwardly sauntered over to them, playing with the threads in his pockets.

Mingyu’s suit was more charcoal in tone, with his hair expertly gelled and combed. He mirrored a suave movie star as he leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping from his partly-filled wine glass.

“Uh, hey guys.”

You were hovering at the stove alongside your mother, talking in a hushed manner, while she stirred a large and bubbling pot of aromatic sauce, smelling like rosemary and perhaps cooked off vodka or some other alcohol. There was food everywhere—warm bread plates and fresh salad bowls and artistically painted casserole dishes covered by tinfoil. A window had been cracked open to help alleviate the heat swarming the kitchen, which Wonwoo could feel a little too uncomfortably in the air.

Seokmin grabbed at a couple crackers and cubed cheese organized onto a charcuterie board behind him.

“Don’t you clean up well?” He complimented with a big grin.

Wonwoo shook his head. “Not that well.”

“Hey—” Seokmin suddenly grabbed onto Wonwoo’s shoulder and pointed a finger at him, “—you’re here, alright? That’s an honour.”

Mingyu brushed the cracker crumbs off Seokmin’s suit.

“Don’t snack too much. She hates when you can’t eat.”

“Uh—I made this stupid board. I get to eat from it whenever I want. I’ll be fine, anyway. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Mingyu stopped tidying Seokmin’s suit, instead grabbing his wine glass off the countertop, sighing aloud, “that was a stupid idea…”

From the dreariness to his words and the slouch pulling down his shoulders, Mingyu didn’t seem to be all that excited or even half as chipper as Seokmin, though Wonwoo suspected that he knew the dinner parties to be a complete trainwreck. If Mingyu could hardly stomach a night with your parents despite all the stunning food and drink, then Wonwoo had no idea as to how he’d survive.

“So, um…” Seokmin lowered his voice, tipping his head close to Mingyu’s ear, “should we give him the rulebook?”

“Rulebook?” Wonwoo echoed.

“Uh,” Mingyu sipped quickly from his wine, “yeah, guess we can do that. Not in here, though. Let Her talk to her mom.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Seokmin smiled, flashing a sly wink at Mingyu. “Hey, we’re gonna give Wonwoo a quick tour, alright!” He then called, his hand wrapping around the boy’s bicep, already beginning to tug him toward the hallway. “It won’t take too long; we’ll just show the bottom floor! Be back in a few!”

“Oh, uh, I guess that’s fine,” your mother replied while grabbing onto the pot handles with two tea towels, moving the sauce from the element, “but please do be quick! And, Seokmin—do you mind fetching the hubby from his office after you’re done?”

“I can do that, for sure,” he answered, smiling bright.

“Thank you, dear. I appreciate you so much.”

He was escorted out the muggy kitchen and down the corridor, flanked by Mingyu and Seokmin until they reached the living area where the piano music had been coming from.

Before he could issue even one question, Wonwoo was pressed down onto the red, very large-cushioned couch. Seokmin sat on the marble coffee table while Mingyu fixed himself onto the arm of a sturdy leather chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. Neither boy spoke for a moment and Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel a bit frightened as he listened to the elegant, soft piano tune fill the space.

“So… what’s the rulebook?”

“Well, it’s not an actual rulebook,” Seokmin corrected, “that was just for dramatics, allure, etcetera. But that’s what we call it.”

“We? You and Mingyu, you mean.”

Shifting in his place, Seokmin nodded, and his voice dropped an octave lower, "play the game long enough, you learn the rules.” 

Mingyu’s chuckle dampened into the wine glass. “And there a lot of fuckin’ rules, that’s for damn sure,” he said with a scary smirk.

“But—we’ll just give you the crash course for now, as to lessen the overwhelmingness of what it takes to endure a dinner party.”

“Um, does Her know—”

“There are three principal rules; I’ll give them to you quick, so listen good,” Seokmin interrupted, leaning further into Wonwoo’s space, speaking quietly. “Rule one: do whatever the mom says, even if she doesn’t say it directly, or scarcely alludes to it. Makes everything ten times smoother, and gets her to like you, which is very important. Rule two: there is a guaranteed argument between Her’s mom and Her every fucking time—you stay out of it—never pick sides.

If you do get roped into whatever petty, passive-aggressive shame-fest they rake up, insert a compliment. Example: this steak is so tender and perfectly cooked! FYI—we’re not eating steak, so think of your own thing—and rule three: Her is like a freshly shaken can of carbonated soda and she can explode at any given moment. As her dear friends, and boyfriend, we have to make sure that doesn’t happen or else you’ll want to axe yourself.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow heavily at Seokmin, noting a few crumbs left on his cherry suit from the cheese and crackers.

“How do we stop that?” He asked genuinely.

Mingyu proceeded to lower the nearly emptied wine glass against his knee, clearing his throat, “you don’t stop it.”

“But I thought—”

“It happens every time, without fail,” Seokmin answered, shaking his head, “but you can prolong it. You know, like cracking open the cap and letting out some air instead of the bottle fizzling into obliteration right away. The explosion’s not as big then. It’s easy. You just keep the conversation pushing. Don’t leave any space for bickering. Mingyu sometimes takes Her downstairs, or outside. To be fair, you don’t really have to worry about the last part.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu huffed, hardly amused, “lucky you, huh?”

“What happens if that fails?” Wonwoo asked.

Seokmin leaned back, tipping his head to the side. “Last year Her’s mom spent six hours braising these honey-garlic barbeque ribs with asparagus and stuffed potatoes. Guess where the food ended up by the end of the night? Because it wasn’t my starving mouth.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Wonwoo sighed.

Bobbing his head approvingly, Seokmin smiled. “Exactly.”

“If these dinners are always such a mess, why do they keep happening? I mean, it doesn’t seem like anybody enjoys them.”

Fiddling with the thick folded cuff of his dress shirt, Seokmin shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. They used to a be a lot bigger in the past. Way more relatives and family friends. Just get-together's with a lot of food and drink and intoxicatedness. A way to maintain community and repore or something. But it’s shrunk down over the years. I still can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.”

Mingyu rubbed tiresomely down his neck, somewhat wincing as he massaged a sore spot. “It definitely makes it worse.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Seokmin agreed, “it puts more pressure on the rest of us… anyway, I should grab ‘the hubby’ as per request.”

Snickering, Mingyu flashed his pointed canine teeth and raised the wine back to his lips. “Makes your skin crawl, doesn’t it?”

With an uneased laugh, Seokmin smirked. “Every time.”

As the boy disappeared down a dark hallway to the right of the large living area, Wonwoo assumed he and Mingyu might return to the kitchen as it was probably not the best idea—leaving you alone for too long with your nitpicking mother—but when Wonwoo began lifting himself from the plump couch cushions he was sunken into, Mingyu’s hand touched at his shoulder to stop him.

In an instant, trepidation surged throughout his body.

Wonwoo’s face had most certainly gone white, though the lighting in the living room was too warm and orangey to tell.

“I just wanna talk to you about something real quick,” Mingyu said, stretching forward to leave his empty glass on the marbled table.

“Oh—um, okay.”

When he thought about the past few months, Wonwoo realized he hadn’t even spoke to Mingyu since the blowout party back in June. So much had happened since then, good and bad. Wonwoo could only suspect that he was about to hear the worst talking-to in his life, though he attempted to feign the terror for casualness.

Mingyu swooped a hand behind his ear, brushing back his perfectly styled hair, and looked to Wonwoo almost… forgivingly?

“I know you and I haven’t seen each other since the party at Seungcheol’s. I know some shit went down between you and Her and that it really blew up and you guys weren’t talking for a bit. She said, like, it was something to do with the book she’s writing and you were having differences about the direction and it kinda exploded.”

Wonwoo prayed it was imperceptible, the gigantic breath of relief he fought to exhale without too much giveaway, knowing that you hadn’t told Mingyu the truth to the argument. He was happy about your work-around, though he didn’t know if it was… morally right… that you opted not to tell your boyfriend—the person you supposedly trusted most—one of your biggest miseries.

“Oh… yeah,” Wonwoo exhaled, “it got pretty ugly.”

Mingyu nodded. “I honestly don’t even know if she’s still working on it. She doesn’t tell me about it. I don’t get why it’s so fuckin’ important to her but… I digress. Anyway, like Seokmin said, you’re here now, so you two obviously hashed it out. She seems to really appreciate you as a friend. And—hey—it helps takes some of the weight off my shoulders, y’know? Girl’s a fuckin’ handful sometimes.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation and the alcohol he was beginning to smell from the boy’s clothes. He understood the situation was stressful for Mingyu, that he might be teetering between things absentmindedly, yet he nonetheless questioned what Mingyu’s intentions even were with you.

“Well, uh… I really enjoy spending time with her, too,” he murmured as Mingyu reclaimed his emptied wine glass.

There was a strong grip on his shoulder, shaking it.

“You’re a good person, man. Seriously.”

Using Wonwoo as a support crutch, Mingyu heaved onto his feet, then proceeded to straighten out his charcoal suit jacket.

“M’kay, I’m going back to the kitchen. We’re probably gonna eat soon so don’t spend too long losing your head out here.”

“Yeah, got it.”

He watched Mingyu amble down the long and subtly aglow corridor, carrying his wine glass low at the hip until reaching the threshold to the kitchen. You had suddenly popped out, stumbling into him with a smile and some hushed words that were impossible to comprehend as Wonwoo sat alone, listening to the jazzy piano tunes from the record player. After nipping a quick kiss against your boyfriend’s lips, you entered the living room with a crooked head.

“What’chya doing out here?” You inquired, pressing a hand against the grand, wooden frame adorning the entry way.

Wonwoo grabbed at his knees while pulling himself up.

“Just a quick pep talk. And a fly-by of some rules.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “Seokmin’s crash course, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes I call him John Green just to piss him off.”

Wonwoo smiled, stepping around the marble coffee table. “I feel like that might serve to stroke Seokmin’s ego above all.”

“No, it starts to irritate him after a while. You should know at this point I can piss off just about anybody. Even Seokmin. It’s a talent. Though I don’t think it’s enough for me anymore. I want to start pushing people to rock bottom or I haven’t done enough.”

There was a teasing sparkle in your eye as Wonwoo approached you. He could smell all that deliciously cooked food from down the corridor and his stomach was certainly responding to it.

“I can get you there,” Wonwoo said. “Don’t stress.”

“Forgot to fix my makeup. Want to come with me?”

He agreed, and you began to guide him across the living room, swathed in all its expensive mahogany fabrics, obtuse looking vases, and jade-green lamp shades that reminded him of late-night study sessions at the campus library. You pulled him past a wide shelf that was organized with much smaller, glazed sculptures that caught his attention as they lowly glimmered in the mellow light.

“Woah,” he gripped at your wrist, stopping your swift walk, “someone in your family loves ceramics, I’m guessing?”

You ricocheted back into his side, then taking a few seconds to adjust some invisible flaws in your hair before responding.

“That’s just some pottery I did when I was younger.”

Wonwoo squinted at you. “Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“You took classes?”

Shrugging, you muttered a simple, “yeah.”

“Is that why you were so interested in that vase back at my apartment?” When you continued to stare at him blankly, Wonwoo cleared his throat and reiterated, “the red one? It was really round at the bottom, but the stem was tall and skinny. You really liked it.”

“Oh—yeah—sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve last been to your apartment. I don’t know if that’s why I liked it. Probably.”

He smiled at you inquisitively. “I’m surprised you never mentioned that to me, considering my landlord is a ceramics teacher. I mean, as you know.”

Your eyes seemed reminiscent and adrift, glancing from sculpture to sculpture—lopsided teapots, poorly shaped toadstools, crooked little spoons—there were a plethora of your small creations laid across the shelf, gathering dust and appearing untended to.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, hands buried in his pockets. “I just didn’t peg you as someone who liked getting their hands dirty. I suppose it’s different when you’re younger, though.”

Pursing your lip, you nodded. “Things are always different when you’re young. My mom used to use the spoons I made to scoop sugar into her coffees. But she doesn’t drink coffee anymore. Just wine.”

“Well, it’s nice she appreciated your effort.”

There was a beat of silence. Your expression twitched.

“I had to beg to take those classes, y’know?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow at you. “How come?”

Your arms folded, and you shrugged again. “My parents honestly saw it as a distraction. I mean, why let your daughter play with some clay when she can hardly pass her math tests. But there was this super artsy girl in our recreational class who always made the best teacups from the clay, and she would paint them so beautifully… I wanted to be able to do what she did. So I asked my parents again and again and again until they fucking gave up and found a pottery class to enroll me in. Although, I'm pretty sure they supposed I would drop it sooner or later. Like it was just an itch I had to scratch. It was in this little art shop that looked similar to your landlord's.”

He smiled at you. “Was your instructor a polish lady?”

“No, she was not polish,” your head shook as you swept some dust from the black shelf, rubbing your fingers together, “I remember that much, but I don’t remember her name. It was after a flower, though. Something too complicated for my eleven-year-old brain to retain.”

“Probably Chrysanthemum or some shit,” Wonwoo muttered.

You laughed at his comment, “probably.”

“… Well, you must have liked it. You made so much stuff.”

“Oh, I loved it. I mean, looking at some of this stuff now, it’s not that great. But I didn’t really care that much at the time.”

“Considering you were a child, it’s pretty damn good.”

Wonwoo felt your elbow dig shallowly into his ribs. “Don’t try to flatter eleven-year-old me,” you warned him. “If you would have seen the other girl’s creations, mine would turn from pretty damn good to: well, at least she tried something new!”

“No,” Wonwoo chuckled, “that’s dumb.”

“Honestly, there was so much stuff that I made. More than half of it’s not even on this shelf. There wouldn’t be enough space.”

“Shit. What happened to it?”

You pinched at the olive fabric of your dress, massaging the silk between your fingertips for a moment while examining each and every sculpture moulded and grooved by your tiny childhood hands.

“My favourite part was destroying it,” you answered.

Wonwoo narrowed his brow, “I don’t think I could do that to something I spent so much effort and time creating.”

“Yeah, and that’s all good and fine,” you reasoned, adjusting your shoulders, “but I just didn’t see it like that, I guess...”

Intrigued, Wonwoo smiled at you. “How did you see it, then?”

For a moment, you thought, staring off into space.

 “Well, I just don’t understand why people are so afraid of things being ephemeral. When you’re an artist, or a writer, or a musician, I feel like you want to make something that will last forever, transcend eras, touch people for a lifetime, or, I don’t know—you want it to stay preserved, like when they embalm things. But I feel like there’s just as much worth and importance to the things that hardly last at all. I feel like there’s so much freedom and self-assurance in building something up and then crushing it down.

That’s what I loved about it. When the clay would explode from between my fingers and stick into the lines of my palms because I was squeezing it so hard—it just felt good. Like it was supposed to happen. Like I was letting go. It doesn’t have to mean I… failed. It doesn’t have to mean I’m good at it either… I guess I just want to enjoy things without the burden of having to prove I deserve to enjoy them. Why can't I just do it? Why can't it just be between me and myself, you know? Why can't I decide what to take from it?"

Wonwoo nodded at you.

Contrarily, that was the opposite to his own beliefs surrounding his art, and maybe even his life. Wonwoo could never let things go, nor was he sure when that quality had permanently wedged its way into his human nature. For some reason, Wonwoo saw the past memory where his older brother had scampered away into the bushes surrounding the public pool during that game of Lifeguard all those hot summers ago, leaving an adolescent Wonwoo to get dragged from the water and thrown onto the sun-scorched concrete as everyone watched.

He saw the fuzzy, white glow that beamed from his laptop left open in the darkness, sitting still with all those pages he wrote, and yet to be filled with the words that he could never string together.

Unlike you, Wonwoo had never figured out the mechanism to letting things go. Instead, he held everything—between his fingers, across his shoulders, on his tongue, under his skin, deep inside his chest. Hence, for a split second, he was incredibly jealous that it seemed you could live without weight. You were just a breeze.

And just like everyone else, you were still discovering yourself.

“Anyway. That’s my take on it."

"Why'd you stop? This seemed like such a big part of you."

You flicked your eyes around, shrugging. "Things got in the way."

Wonwoo wondered what things, though he didn't ask.

"But we should hurry. Dinner will be ready soon and my mom will flip if we’re not at the table in time. She interprets it as ‘we don’t care’ and that will open a can of worms nobody wants to see.”

You sighed, then grabbing onto Wonwoo’s arm to pull him down another mysterious, long corridor in your maze of a house.

“Oh, Mingyu, that’s brilliant! I’m so glad the interview went well! I had him slip in a good word for you, too. But I’m sure you put the nail in the coffin. Walking straight into a promotion, you know, that’s something so hard to come by. You’ll settle just perfectly.”

“Yeah, thanks. To you as well. That word went a long way.”

“Making the right connections is certainly key.”

“It is. But I’m just lucky, is all. Your daughter is the real key. She’s given me so much—you all have—I just wanna let you know how grateful I am. Seriously. You’re some of the kindest people.”

“Shush! Before I give you a lash from this towel. It’s been sitting under the potato tray so it’s nice and hot… I’m so excited for your future together. A real power-couple! That’s for sure.”

“Hm. Yeah.”

Wonwoo was pressed flush to the wall just outside the kitchen, simultaneously holding his breath while listening to the conversation between your mother and Mingyu as everyone was presumably sat around the dressed table. Your fingers were hurriedly ruffling out some wrinkles in his tie while you repeatedly cursed at both your tardiness, and he simply let you do what you pleased. After a half-second adjustment made to his collar, you wasted not an instant more—Wonwoo was suddenly thrust into the warm kitchen with you impatiently in tow.

As expected, everyone was sat and waiting. Even your father had been at last pulled from his study, and he was positioned at the head of the long dinner table while twiddling a fork around in his fingers.

Your mother had an elbow propped on Mingyu’s chair.

She was the only one standing.

“Quick,” you whispered into Wonwoo’s ear, practically shoving him down into the empty seat beside Seokmin, “sit there.”

Upon the nervous side-eye that his friend shot at Wonwoo, he suspected that he may have just wriggled his way into an unfortunate ticket straight to hell. You held up the flowy, billowing silk of your olive dress while making your way to the seat across from him and beside a very unenthused-looking Mingyu, who was evidently chewing on his inner cheek. Wonwoo caught Mingyu’s stare for no less than a second, and there was nearly enough electricity in the glance to make a crackle.

A few more dishes had been squeezed onto the table since he was last in the kitchen. Despite the fact there was only six people eating, nearly every corner and crevice of the table was occupied. Your mother had cooked enough to feed an entire party, unless she was planning on sending everyone home with tupperwares full of leftovers.

“Looks super delicious,” Seokmin complimented.

Mingyu nodded in agreement. “Smells even better.”

Wonwoo didn’t know if he was also supposed to throw out some off-the-tongue compliment and keep the train chugging. The atmosphere was just so heavy—everything felt like an extreme effort—he could hardly breathe without the sensation of his lungs itching, as though they were adorned in cobwebs. Unconsciously, he’d started picking at his thumb, his appetite disappearing by the second in place of dread.

“You boys are so lovely, thank you,” your mother commented, straightening out the orange tea towel in her hand while continuing to lean into the side of Mingyu’s chair. “This was all a labour of love.”

Seokmin flashed a picturesque smile that Wonwoo had seen many times before. “Well, I’m feeling the love. That’s for sure. Are we ready to dig in all?” Still, there was a bit of anxious haste in his actions. 

“One moment, first,” your mother stated, pausing Seokmin in his reach for a large casserole spoon. Wonwoo clasped his hands together even tighter as she said, “we’re going to wait a few minutes more.”

You had pulled out your chair, but you didn’t sit.

“Mom, I was just fixing my makeup. That’s what you asked me to do. There’s no reason to make everyone keep waiting.” You removed the towel from her hand and laced it through the oven handlebar. “Just take a seat, okay? I’ll start making everyone’s plates if they pass them.”

She smiled at you. “Well, that’s a very sweet gesture. But it doesn’t take long to fix an unstuck lash or change a lipstick. You’ve got yourself a makeup chair. You should know better than anyone, my love.”

Wonwoo hated this—he hated the way your mother’s criticizing was buttered up nice with a practiced, insincere smile and a crooning voice. He hated the way Mingyu was pushing fingers against the knot in his stiff eyebrow like something horrible was about to happen. He hated the way your father was uncomfortably mute, sitting only with a pursed lip and folded arms in complete disinterest, like he’d rather be anywhere else. He hated that Seokmin was continuing to beam his signature-watt smile even though the air was dense enough to crush everyone flat.

You picked up Mingyu’s plate, presumably because it was the closest to you, and started slopping some hot casserole onto it. Every movement was autopilot, thoughtless, as the steam from the breached casserole rolled up into the air and shrouded you.

“I was only trying to make it perfect,” you muttered.

“Make it what?” Your mother questioned, staring you down.

“Perfe—”

“Stop mumbling, my love. I can’t hear you.”

Mingyu’s messy plate was collapsed back onto its placemat with a very loud thud, and you looked to your mother with utmost annoyance.

“I was trying to make it per-fect.”

She quirked her head. “And you needed Wonwoo to do that?”

Just as he ruminated—the universe had a fearsome penchant for whirlpooling him into the centre of everything and anything horrible, like his name was written in the water. Though, Wonwoo couldn’t say he was expecting to survive the dinner party unscathed. He tried to remember the quick spiel of rules Seokmin had relayed to him—was it better to get involved or just shut the fuck up? Wasn’t Mingyu supposed to do something? Wasn’t Seokmin supposed to keep the conversation pushing?

“Mom, please, just—I was showing him around, okay? He’s the guest. He’s never been over before. Wonwoo has nothing to do with us being a few minutes late to dinner. So just leave him be.” You removed the tinfoil from another bowl. Grabbing a wooden spoon, you started slapping creamy mashed potatoes onto Mingyu’s plate. “Trying to make something out of nothing… why can’t we just eat for once?”

“Honey, we could be eating, but you’re choosing to sulk.”

“I’m not sulking! I’m trying to help!”

“No, no, no. Mingyu’s plate looks like an animal that got squashed by a car. If you can’t even properly fix your future husband a nice-looking plate of food without pooling all your anger into it, then there’s an issue, there.” She shook her head. “A very big issue.”

Wonwoo could see your eyes burning.

Mingyu had then sighed, removing the wooden spoon that was clenched up in your hand like a weapon and slipping it back into the mashed potato bowl. The boy tugged a few times at your wrist, keeping his tired voice as soft as possible while imploring you to sit down.

“It’s alright, everything’s fine,” he said, probably to soothe himself more than anything, “all the food goes straight into my mouth, anyway. Same goes for all of us. Sit down, Her, alright? Please?”

“No,” you snapped your wrist free, “I don’t want to sit.”

In a desperate hope to experience some sort of consolidation amongst the tension, Wonwoo angled a glance toward Seokmin. When his friend wouldn’t look back and merely opted to keep biting his blistering lip, Wonwoo quite literally felt a meteor sink into his stomach.

Slicking a hand along his shiny hair, Mingyu sighed even deeper. “Please just sit. You know what’ll happen. Please.”

Again stepping away from Mingyu’s attempted touch, you began to shout, and Wonwoo’s breath froze as your voice echoed around the kitchen in a hauntingly similar manner to the quarrel at his apartment.

“I already said no!”

From the head of the table, your father pushed out his chair. His voice was oddly gruff when he spoke, like he hadn’t said a word all day and his throat was hoarse by consequence.

“Don’t shout,” was all he warned.

Your mother shook her head. “She will raise her voice when she doesn’t get what she wants.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel the cut from her disappointed eyes even though she wasn’t even looking at him.

“I’m raising my voice because you’re not listening! You haven’t listened to me all fucking day! Oh my god! It’s eating me alive!”

In an instant, Mingyu was to his feet, almost trying to court you into the corner by the open window with his hands that you battered away. Wonwoo gripped onto his knees. He couldn’t choke out a damn word and Seokmin seemed to have become stiller than stone.

“Calm down,” Mingyu urged, “take some breaths.”

“You still won’t listen!”

“I’ll listen later, I promise.”

“Mingyu, do you even hear yourself?!”

“Just—you’re blowing this out of proportion again.”

“Stop trying to control me!”

“Calm down and—hey!”

With a frustrated groan, you squirmed away from Mingyu and rushed back to the dinner table where your mother continued to stare at you with such conflict in her expression, as though it was mentally taxing her to compute how such a seemingly perfect, established daughter could simultaneously appear so unraveled and incomplete before her. For a second, Wonwoo thought you might take the mashed potatoes or casserole and just completely drench the wall in their remnants.

But you didn’t do anything. Instead, you looked across the organized table—the vibrant food, sparkling drinking glasses, and expensive, unpopped bottles of alcohol—at Wonwoo, who had admittedly felt pretty useless and paralyzed throughout the ordeal. You looked straight into his eyes and he could see that you were almost physically begging him for an out. And, if he could see himself as an outsider, it was probably the same damn look he was giving you.

Wonwoo hadn’t even noticed the silence in the room.

Your father coughed, retrieving his utensils, ready to sweep the argument and very obvious hostility under the rug—put a small little bandage on a gigantic wound that had been festering for years.

“Same dance every time. Come sit, Mingyu. Let’s just eat.”

That would be nice, if Wonwoo had any appetite.

That would be nice if he wasn’t pushing out his chair, getting up from the table, keeping his gaze level and connected with yours, watching you swallow hard, hold back your tears, anxiously flex your fingers in a momentary contemplation and then—unprompted—run. Just run.

Wonwoo fled into the corridor with you right behind him, your hands kneading against his lower back as he threw open the door to the quiet, dimly lit front porch where that damp and black September night was ready to breathe him in and whisk you two away. He heard the very confused shouting from the kitchen, but there wasn’t any time to waste.

Wonwoo flew down the wood steps and splashed through a shallow puddle reflecting the moonlight, running toward the long street drifted in thinly strewn mist. He continued to run, only stopping for a brief moment to turn around and observe you quickly fling off your heels before scooping them up while everyone crowded onto the porch, yelling.

In your bare feet and a smile so pearlescent, you sprinted straight into Wonwoo’s outstretched arms, giggling aloud while he gripped your body firm and spun you in a circle that saw your dress twirl like a ribbon and your legs brush through the alive air.

Mingyu began stalking down the driveway, visibly angry, his face twisted into a snarl that might see Wonwoo getting split in his nose.

“Fuck, fuck!” You cursed, squeezing your fingers into his. He was suddenly being tugged down the empty, dark street, as though there was some invisible curtain for you to magically disappear behind. “Let’s go!”

Wonwoo didn’t mind one bit. Indefinitely, he would let you tug him over a cliff if it meant you two could fall together. The street was long and wet but the air was so fresh. Every breath he took was pure.

He didn’t know where you were going.

But he didn’t need to.

“Be careful. I don’t want you to step on something sharp.”

“I think I already did.”

Wonwoo pulled tight on your warm hand, stopping you.

“Seriously? Let me look.”

You made a slight huffing noise while sitting down on a large boulder, not caring that the surface was sandy and damp, forming a dark imprint against your olive dress. Wonwoo squatted down, looking at the dirty underside to one bare foot, and then the other, realizing there weren’t any cuts. He then used the cuff to his suit jacket, brushing off the small pieces of grit stuck into the skin in case he missed anything.

In all honesty, Wonwoo had no idea where you two were. After running far down the fancy Hillcrest Street until your family house was completely obscured into mist and memory, you led Wonwoo off onto a separate footpath by the treeline. Your fingers were slotted into each other’s. This was the first time Wonwoo had let go of your hand since running away, and the chilled air felt like prickles on his palm.

Removing the phone from his pocket to shine a light, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the missed calls and texts that had collected minute by minute from Seokmin earlier. You didn’t even have your phone. The only thing you carried was the ivory heels that Wonwoo gifted you at the start of the evening, which were still clutched in your hand.

“No blood. No lacerations. Just dirt,” Wonwoo said. “If you did cut yourself, you might not even feel it with all that adrenaline.”

You smiled at him. “Your phone a graveyard of Seokmin texts?”

He smirked, flicking through them all. “Precisely, yeah.”

Leaning backward on the boulder, you at last let go of the heels and stretched your arms out behind you, staring up at the moonlight patterning between the forest trees, their branches more barren as the autumn leaves came loose in the breeze. They fell down one by one, rustling softly whenever they hit the ground. He heard you sigh.

“Everyone there can go fuck themselves.”

Putting his phone away, Wonwoo smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“That line’s a classic, coming from you.”

He attempted to sit beside you on the boulder, ignoring how uneven and rough it felt under his butt. Wherever you were along the footpath, it was perfectly hushed, almost felt hidden. The tree branches above him had framed the moon akin to a picture—except, he felt like he was the one painted, and that it was the moon who was watching him.

“I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo began to look at you rather than the night sky.

“Don’t apologize.”

You stared at him deeply, licking your lips and shaking your head. His eyes were now well adjusted to the scarce light. Just the silver through the trees was enough to read and inspect your pretty face.

“It went off the rails.”

He shrugged, staring back. “It seemed like it needed to.”

“I made you part of it.”

“I made myself part of it.”

“But, I mean—just—if you… if you never…”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow. “If I never what? Met you?”

Puffing out a long breath, you looked down, picking at something on the boulder with a manicured nail. “… Yeah.”

“No,” Wonwoo was firm to correct, continuing to stare at you intensely even if you couldn’t face him in the turmoil of processing all the emotion and chaos, “you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You lolled out your tongue, smiling and sheepish. “Blah.”

He laughed, “I mean it.”

Sighing again, you glanced back at Wonwoo, your eyes flickering along his every detail in the dewy night. Your hand reached out to his collar, making another brief, probably unnecessary adjustment to it before sliding the gentle fingers down his chest. Wonwoo’s mouth ran disgustingly dry in that moment, to the point that he was relieved when you removed your hand because you might have felt how fast his heart was beating and thought him to be quite pathetic.

Tightly swallowing, he brushed an itch off his nose and opened his mouth with a question, his gaze catching yours. Although, at the last second, he weened himself from speaking when the doubt found and froze him. A breeze tickled through his hair and Wonwoo shivered.

Your brow furrowed.

“What?” You urged him.

Wonwoo chuckled. “Fuck. Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Please. What is it?”

You were leaning closer into him, enthralling him with those earnest, gleaming eyes. He swore the nighttime wind was pushing your sweet, blossomy scent against him—was pushing you against him—because now your thigh was squished right beside his and your shoulders were warm together. Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“Who are you?” He paused, but didn’t falter. “Actually?”

Your forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo examined every aspect of your face that he had come to know so well over the months—the face he gradually couldn’t stop thinking about, to the point you would appear in his dreams. The face he was once completely disinterested in, because you were not someone that should have any reason to be in his life, just as he had no reason to be in yours. He felt his body move closer into your inviting warmth.

In fact, you two were so close that if he moved even an inch or few forward, then his lips might find themselves pressing to yours and his hand might settle and smooth up along your thigh to your cheek. Then, it would be impossible to leave the footpath without digging into you right then and there, kissing and tasting from you everywhere.

“What’s your name?”

It sounded like an obvious, warranted question that just about anyone would ask given the opportunity. But Wonwoo had never found himself wondering it. The things he wondered about you were much different and more character-driven, yet Wonwoo had come to realize that your name was just as important and precious and intact with your identity as everything else. He almost felt like it was the very last piece of you that he hadn’t shifted into place—his last chapter in a very long, complicated, topsy-turvy, seemingly-never-ending book.

Wonwoo thought you might laugh at him.

Tell him, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” in that very smug tone of voice he’d hear from time to time while smiling hot with your secret.

Instead, however, you just stayed silent.

His hand touched with fragile softness at the edge of your face, a thumb then stroking along the space before your ear as you swallowed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispered, hearing the leaves rustle above him, “it’s fine either—”

“No, one second.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue, opting to watch you lean back while digging fingers into the cleavage of your dress. From somewhere—he could only surmise—you had pulled out a thin tube with a cherry lid.

“Was that the lip stuff you put on?” He snorted.

“Lip liner. With a sticky patch on it right here. Figured I should keep it close. You know, in case a crumb managed to remove a single spec of it. Can't have my mother passing out from shame.”

“Clever thinking.”

“Give me your hand.”

Stretching out his fingers, he let his hand sit in your lap while you pulled the lid off with your teeth, then gripping his wrist and halfway leaning down to push the tip of the lip applicator against his palm. The sensation was cool and smooth. He felt each letter you traced, though he refused to let himself guess until you were done.

Under the moonlight, Wonwoo raised the calligraphed hand to his face, pushing up his glasses as he realized—at last—the complete gist of who you were. And with your name came the understanding of what you were, in fact, doing in his very meaningless life.

Wonwoo kept staring fondly at his hand. But, as he was staring, you suddenly reached forth and smeared your thumb across the neat letters until they were lost. A memory made, and then covered.

Only between you.

When Wonwoo looked to you again, he saw everything about you so clearly that it was almost shining. Every decision you made, every word you said, the way you walked and dressed and flourished so openly before crashing so hard—Wonwoo could snap all those pieces into place.

“Can I ask you something?” You said.

He blinked at you absentmindedly, too caught up in his daze.

“Wonwoo?”

“Sorry—yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Pressing your knees together, the wind fluttered the fabric of your silky olive dress, and he could tell you were getting cold.

“When you were at my apartment, apologizing to me about our fight, that was the first and only time I ever heard you mention your ex-girlfriend.” Clicking your nervous feet, you looked over his shadowy face and the moonlight dancing in his glasses, “was she your first love?”

Crushing his hands tight into each other, Wonwoo bit his lip. “Yeah.”

Keeping your eyeline steady, you nodded. “Was she… like… what did you love about her?”

He almost couldn’t breathe. “Everything.”

You frowned. “Even the bad stuff?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “even the bad stuff.”

It was very quiet for a moment, with you simply sitting in reflection and staring into the dark silhouettes of the trees. He was sure you already knew the answer to your initial question, although he understood that hearing him say it was different than infinitely assuming about a past that wasn’t yours. Wonwoo had been in love before, and then heartbroken down into little fragments of himself that he spent months soullessly dusting around. And somehow, he was in love again—a new love that felt so much different but still fit him so right.

“Hm…” you hummed.

Wonwoo placed his hand on your bare back, beginning to sweep his fingers up and down, sensing your skin quiver in response.

“It’s late,” he whispered, nudging his knee into yours and warming your ear with his breath, “I know you don’t want to go home, and that’s alright. I get it. But we should figure something out before my phone battery dies, yeah?” He proceeded to grab your hand and squeeze it. “I don’t wanna leave a pretty girl like you out in the cold and wet.”

When you looked at him, you were pouting, exhaustion shining on your face like the dew in the moonlit leaves. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you.” Your fingers gripped his impossibly tighter.

“Do you want to stay the night at my place?”

You snuggled your head into the crook between his jaw and shoulder, wrapping your arms around his elbow to hold him close. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got one call,” Wonwoo sighed, fishing out his phone and squinting against its lurid light, “better hope he fucking answers.”

Vernon was confused to say the least, beckoned down a random street at near midnight when he could be in bed with the girl he was happily feeling up just half an hour ago, until a certain phone call ruined it. Wonwoo could tell from the manner in which his friend’s heavily furrowed brow remained creased when he opened the vanilla Camry’s back door, allowing you to slide in first with your heels in hand while Wonwoo followed. Tugging the door shut, Wonwoo could then only smile at poor, disgruntled, face-studded Vernon who was continuing to inquisitively stare him down through the rear-view mirror as though there was something smeared across his cheek or stuck in his hair.

Perhaps it was the patches of dampness and dirt on Wonwoo’s suit and your once very elegant dress, but it didn’t matter anymore.

“So… uh… dinner went well, then?” Vernon asked in a big huff after no one offered to break the silence, slightly turning his head to analyze the backseat using his busted, buzzing ceiling light.

Wonwoo and you were pressed together. Both unreceptive.

“Woah. Stop talking over each other, guys,” he joked dryly.

“Couldn’t have gone better,” Wonwoo decided to say.

“… M’kay…” Vernon replied, still perplexed but probably sensing it was best to save all the questions for later. “Music?”

Wonwoo nodded and turned off the ceiling light. “Sure.”

That was the beginning and end of the conversation.

Vernon pulled out from Hillcrest, keeping his elbow against the half-opened window during the drive, meanwhile you were allowing your heavy eyes to at last flutter shut. Leaning your head against Wonwoo’s broad shoulder, he noticed that your fingers were playing with his—you had gently grabbed his thumb and started rubbing his pigmented scar in absent circles, massaging into all the weathered years spent scratching himself until his anxiety would peddle away. The lip liner was still smudged against his palm in a cherry-tinted blur that he never wanted to wash off.

Smiling, Wonwoo let his cheek sit atop your hair, sensing the delightful breeze from Vernon's window flow into the backseat.

He was glad he went to the dinner party.

“Here are the keys. This copper one here is for the shop. This blue one is my apartment key. Go inside and get warmed up. I’ll join you in a few, alright? Promise… be careful on the steps,” Wonwoo instructed after opening the car door, proceeding to wrap his keychain in your fingers once you had emerged into the wind and sodden air.

With the white heels strung through your arm, you nodded at him sleepily and walked up the three little stairs to the pottery shop.

After you disappeared inside, Wonwoo turned around and opened the passenger seat door, climbing back into his friend’s Camry kept stalled but running at the curb. At first, there was silence between them. They both gazed down through the illumination of the headlights washing out the empty street. Vernon then slid his hand off the steering wheel, letting it cascade through his messy black hair instead.

“Do I even wanna know what fuckin’ happened?” His friend asked, his head clunking back against the upholstered seat.

Wonwoo blinked down at his lap. He started to smile, feeling it creep along his mouth even though he knew how suspect it looked.

Then, Wonwoo chuckled.

“We ran out.”

He finally looked to Vernon, who was staring back with highly quirked eyebrows and a dropped jaw. After exchanging an incredulous glance with each other, the two boys were laughing and ripping apart the silence. Vernon crossed his arms, sunk further down in his seat.

“Never would I picture you doin’ that…” he said through a lazy grin, “runnin’ out with another dude’s girl is insane, can’t lie.”

Wonwoo rubbed a palm along his cheek, still fucking smiling. “Think he’s gonna beat my ass?”

Vernon stared at him, deadpanned in his expression. “Is that even a question, Glasses? I’d beat your ass. I don’t even have a girl.”

“I don’t care.”

“If he beats your ass?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, a hand was pushing against Wonwoo’s shoulder. Vernon was smirking at him hard, teething over his bottom lip.

“Damn. She’s got you by the scruff, huh?”

Wonwoo shrugged, beginning to shake his head. “You should see the way he treats her… there’s some weird ties between him and her family. I think he’s playing the long game… getting what we can while he can and then parading her around as a trophy or something. But she's miserable with him.” Running a thumb along his knuckles, Wonwoo grinned. “He can beat my ass if he wants to.”

Vernon clicked his tongue. “Well, just to float the idea, I’m s—”

“No,” quickly laughing away his friend’s questionable response, Wonwoo merely rubbed under his glasses and refused. “I’m not trying to get locked away for first degree murder. And neither are you.”

“I’m just tryin’ to say I’ve got you is all,” Vernon said with his usual nonchalance, as laid back as an ironing board, “but—you’re right. Save that for when I’m an actual drug lord. He’s not gettin’ anything from me. Not even a Flintstone gummy.”

“Well, I appreciate the favour. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Nah, I could tell it was somethin’ important,” Vernon excused, giving Wonwoo a comfortable smile, “s’not like I can’t ever get brain again. Your situation seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

Looking back at the pottery shop and the single light within keeping everything aglow, Wonwoo wondered if you made it into his apartment okay. He was worried about leaving you on your own for too long, especially when taking into consideration the extremities of the dinner party (that hadn’t really been a dinner or a party when he thought about it). Rolling out his shoulders, he turned to Vernon again.

“She needs to eat something. I’ll order food. You want any?”

Vernon scrunched his face. “What—you’re askin’ me to come inside with you two? I’m not on real good terms with her, y’know that, right? Just ‘cause she’s fuckin’ with you doesn’t mean that for me."

“It won’t be like that.”

“How do y’know? You guys gossip about me?”

Wonwoo smiled, pushing up his glasses. “I just know.”

Vernon paused to think for a moment, his hand returned back to the steering wheel while sharp teeth pulled at the skin along his bottom lip. With just the edge to his face streaked in yellow light from the outside street lamp, it was difficult to interpret his mindset, although Wonwoo knew it was a done deal when Vernon removed the glittering keys from the ignition and the rumbling car at last went silent along the empty midnight street.

Besides, Wonwoo would pay for it all, anyway.

Vernon quietly trailed behind Wonwoo into the apartment, the front door left unlocked and the living area bathed by the warm-coloured light fixture but absent of your presence. His friend placed the car keys onto the coffee table with an uncharacteristic softness, and Wonwoo figured that Vernon was probably still feeling uncertain about spending time with you—which made sense—the last time Vernon had spoken to you (spoken probably wasn’t an accurate word) was the confrontation at the gas station where he feared you might light his hair on fire.

Though, when Wonwoo poked open his ajar bedroom door, he found you standing near his desk, peering across the walled corkboard and all its pinned photos from his life back in South Korea.

He flicked on the light, pulling out the deep blue darkness from the air, and smiled at you.

“Everything alright?”

With your arms folded, you seemed smaller than usual. “Yeah—sorry that I came in here without permission.”

He was quick to shake his head. “No big deal—you don’t need permission.”

You were silent for a few seconds, grinning to yourself, and then gestured to one of the glossy developed photos stuck to the cork.

“That’s Bohyuk?”

Wonwoo nodded, “yeah.”

He realized you hadn’t spent much time in his room over the months that you’d known each other. For the most part, Wonwoo would always be at your apartment, or some unique location necessary to your story-telling when he was still helping with the book. At one point it would have perturbed him to see you gazing along the finer details of his room so curiously. Now, however, he welcomed it.

Stuffing hands into his pockets, Wonwoo let you observe the corkboard, watching you with a very amorous, kind smile that he hadn’t even processed until his cheeks started flaring with a heated ache.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“… I’m hungry.”

Unable to flatten out his smile, Wonwoo walked over to you and smoothed his hand along the side of your face, then caressing his thumb underneath your twinkling eye and against your cheekbone.

“I know,” he murmured, “I’ll order food.”

“Chinese?”

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll make it happen.”

Delighted to see your expression brighten, Wonwoo at last removed his hand from your skin. He knew he shouldn’t touch you or look so fucking pathetically in-love into your eyes, but he didn’t care.

“Do you think I can shower? I want to take all this makeup off.”

“Yeah, of course. Go for—”

Suddenly, from the living room, there was a loud bang that distinctly sounded like Vernon plowing straight into something heavy.

“What was that?” You asked, covering your mouth.

Wonwoo chuckled, “Vernon. Hey—you alright?!”

“All good!!” His friend shouted back. “Just—how ‘bout don’t keep your fuckin’ weights right beside the couch, yeah? Almost broke my fuckin’ foot!”

“Oops.” Wonwoo shrugged very unapologetically, staring into your amused eyes and giggling together. “He’s gonna eat with us… he did a big favour coming down to get us and everything, you know?”

“That’s okay,��� you answered, “I just want to shower.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll give you the room. Wear whatever you want. I’ll just take the keys so I can lock up downstairs.” He was nearly on his way out, but stopped abruptly. “Should we… uh… should I at least text Seokmin and tell him you’re safe? I mean, just in case—”

“Sure,” the response was quick and muttered with little care, “I’m sure they can surmise where I am, but you can do that, too.”

“Yeah, okay… well, I’ll leave you be. Food will probably be here by the time you’re out and dried off. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get cold.”

Finally, Wonwoo clicked his bedroom door shut. Keys in hand, he re-entered the living room to find Vernon plumped down on the couch with a pillow in his lap, all spread out like he owned the damn place, texting away on his phone. Wonwoo laughed as he walked by.

“Writing out your apology letter?”

“Somethin’ like that…” his friend mumbled, clearly more focused on his pixeled screen, “I might not be gettin’ that head after all.”

“Life’s all about sacrifices,” Wonwoo sighed while opening the front door, pausing briefly to mention, “we’re getting Chinese food by the way. She didn’t care that you’re staying. Anything you want?”

Vernon smiled while keeping his eyes trained to the phone. “No way. That’s a relief… n’yeah—I like the chicken balls with the sweet and sour sauce. Pork-fried rice is good, too. I’m not picky.”

“Noted.”

“So—wait—I have to ask, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but how did you become a drug dealer? Like, at what point did you even realize that was your… I don’t know… calling?”

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a carton of noodles in hand and a napkin splayed upon your bare lap, pointed chopsticks were being angled at Vernon from across the coffee table. He took a sip from his can of bright red soda, placing it back onto the coaster with a thud.

“Uh, fuck,” Vernon coughed, smiling subtly while beginning to pick through his own personal container of pork-fried rice, “well, I can answer it, I guess… do I get to ask a question in return?”

You grabbed the napkin, wiping off the sauce from your mouth.

“I’ll allow it.”

“Fair enough,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo had heard the story only once before during a smoke session on the apartment rooftop, though he doubted Vernon would trudge through all the details. Despite seeming like an open book who couldn't care less, there really were some sweet spots he didn’t like having prodded. Nonetheless, Wonwoo thought it was a good, earnest opening between the two of you, so he opted to stay silent while pulling the meat off his ribs with his teeth.

“Uh, I was a stubborn kid, let’s say that. Tried my hand at school but I could never get the hang of it. Could never keep a job long. My parents caught me usin’ once, weed and ecstasy, and they said if it happened again, I’m out.” Vernon fed himself another forkful of rice, taking a moment to swallow while you listened intently. “I thought I could keep it straight, but no luck. Yeah. They had no tolerance for it. I was out the next day. My mom was the most pissed, but she tries to reach out every now and then. I dunno... I feel done with ‘em, if I'm bein' honest. I’ve got somethin’ that works so I just run with it. The money speaks for itself so I can’t complain.”

As Wonwoo expected, it was the heavily watered-down version of everything that happened between Vernon and his family, however, it was enough to paint the picture. Taking a moment to slurp up some spicy noodles, you soon set the carton down and patted along your gradually swelling lips. The crumpled napkin was placed on the table.

“Yeah, I bet the money speaks for itself. You’ve got a bunch of stupidly rich university students on your roster. They go through just about everything they can get their hands on. It’s fucking insane.”

Vernon propped his elbows onto his knees, gathering more rice onto the plastic white fork while smirking at you knowingly.

“You’ve got that coke sniff, y’know?”

Wonwoo widened his eyes at Vernon, suspecting a wildfire.

But you merely shrugged, quite honest in your response.

“I know. I did it once with Mingyu, some friends, and I thought never again…” with a sigh, you massaged at your shoulder, staring off into a random spot that Wonwoo couldn’t pinpoint. “Mingyu was getting it for me at almost every party we went to. I don’t know. I thought, since he paid for it, since it’s right here, I might as well do it.”

Slipping the fork out from his mouth, Vernon grinned. “Coked-up sex is crazy. Especially when you've got the right cut. It hits.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo immediately chirped at him while setting down his emptied container of food, his voice sounding particularly stern, like he was scolding a child for making an ignorant comment.

“What?” His friend laughed, raking a tattooed hand through his loose and shiny black hair. “It is. Feels like you’re on another planet.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just think a little before you speak, please.”

Again, Wonwoo was surprised to see your nonchalance.

“It’s okay. I know what you’re saying. I think… like… Mingyu only wanted me to have it for that reason—I’m making it sound like some non-consensual, pressured shit—it’s not,” you muttered, waving around your hand in dismissal, “I just… the thing is I don’t like how I feel afterward. But it was never enough for me to say that I didn’t want it. I liked that it would take me out of my head for a bit. My mind would stop running on overdrive.” Then, you pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “The last time I did anything like that was the party at Seungcheol’s, though.”

Whenever the party was mentioned, Wonwoo would always bite down on his lip and tightly curl his fingers. He had discussed it with you in the past, beyond the summer evening spent at your apartment with a red velvet cupcake in between you and a painful, aching hug he could still feel all the warmth and regret to.

There were long, long phone conversations. And somewhere, stuffed in his mind, was the memory of you and Mingyu behind the door as he listened to every little sound—skin hitting skin, the desperation in your voice, wood smacking the wall.

“Yeah, is what it is,” Vernon replied. He pulled a toothpick out from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “Do I get my question now?”

“Uh… sure.”

Wonwoo had almost missed you staring at him. There was a concernedness to it, but when he smiled back you seemed to breathe.

“Still think I’m a gigantic fuckin’ tool?”

Immediately, you started laughing. Wonwoo followed suit, on the brink of embarrassingly blowing out the soda he just sipped from in a big spray. He was actually quite relived that Vernon had picked a more light-hearted question rather than something intimate. His friend swirled the toothpick around with his tongue, continuing to smirk in confidence.

“Giggle away. I’m curious, is all.”

Kissing your teeth, you held Vernon’s coppery, honey eyes. “You are a tool, one-hundred percent… but, I think you know that about yourself. And, um, you’re a good friend to Wonwoo. So… I guess my opinions about you have shifted. Appearances are deceiving.”

Pleased with your candour, Vernon grabbed his drink, leaned against the recliner behind him, and nodded his head approvingly.

“That tickles my fancy well enough.”

"Don't you think you'll want to settle down eventually?" You asked.

Vernon scrunched his eyebrow. "What?"

"Like, what if you find a girl. A really nice girl who could change your perspective. Do you think you'd want to settle down?"

With a quick laugh, Vernon shook his head. "Nice girls don't use half their last pay check to buy drugs. It's business at the end of the day."

Seeming skeptical, your eyes narrowed. "Right..."

"Vernon has his mind set on very specific things," Wonwoo smiled.

Straightening out the large shirt that draped around your frame—another garment belonging to Wonwoo that you had pulled from his dresser—you glanced between each boy and smiled.

“So... now I'm curious. How did this unlikely pairing meet?”

As Vernon was busy with navigating his toothpick, Wonwoo decided to tell the story, prompting him to sit up straight and alleviate his spine from being crooked against the hard bottom of the couch.

“I was convinced into attending a little New Year’s Eve party thing by these guys I don’t talk to anymore. Spent about half an hour wandering the halls, doing aimless laps, hating every second of it, debating if I should just take off. Not like anyone would notice. Then I bump into this guy—” Wonwoo nodded at Vernon, “—who was all tattooed and pierced up with this girl all over him. She was on the kitchen counter, one hand gripping his bicep while she was laying hickies to his fucking neck from behind.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Who was that?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Vernon?”

“Uh—I don’t know if I remember, honestly. She used to buy poppers off me like every damn week so I called her Poppy. That’s not her real name, though. She’s long gone. Moved cities months ago.”

“Yeah, well, he told me I looked like a lost ghost. Asked if I wanted a swisher. I agreed for some reason, and we went out back.”

Brushing a hand down your neck, you giggled. “A lost ghost?”

Vernon nodded, folding his arms.

“Yeah. Glasses always used to have that look to him. Dead man walkin’ kinda thing. Just wanderin’ around with no purpose.”

Wonwoo hoarsely chuckled at his friend, “jeez—thanks.”

“You can’t deny it.”

“I know. But to be fair, I was fucking going through something.”

“Mmhm, that’s why I took you under my wing,” Vernon sang, his eyes swimming with their usual gold-tinted mischief, “I could just tell you needed some guidance. Gave him the swisher of eternal friendship.”

“Is that what you call it?” Wonwoo huffed sarcastically.

“I call it many different things.”

You smiled sweetly at Wonwoo while your fingers played with the long cuff on the borrowed t-shirt. “Whatever it was, I guess it turned into something pretty good... and, Vernon, I am sorry for how I acted at the gas station. There was just a lot going through my mind.”

True to his casual, untroubled nature, Vernon swung his head dismissively while letting an arm collapse across his knee, the toothpick now in his hand and being spun between his ringed fingers. “No, you’re good. Don't worry 'bout it. It was just ‘cause you care n' shit. I get that.” Quirking his expression in an endearing manner, he proceeded to flash you a solid grin. “You didn’t singe my hair off so, I’ve got no grudge.”

You laughed, “I wouldn’t have actually done anything to you.”

“Eh, it’s hard to tell, isn’t it?” Vernon answered in a smirk.

Reaching for your drink, you sipped from it and then snuggled the can between your criss-crossed legs. Wonwoo examined that very intriguing smile opening its way across your mouth like a spring blossom, wanting to know the exact moment that sparked it.

A quiet pause passed, and then you were sighing with bliss behind it—that relaxed kind of sigh when everything seemed to click.

“It’s nice hanging out with you guys…” you murmured, staring across the coffee table scattered with ripped-open sauce packets, empty cardboard containers, wood chopsticks, and unfurling napkins. “It just feels lighter… I don’t know… making friends has always been so tough for me. The right friends, I mean. Friends that actually feel like friends.”

Wonwoo pinched his lip in his teeth.

“It can take a while before you hit the right people.”

Vernon shrugged, concealing a burp that had him rubbing down his broad chest. “If we’re all friends, then we’ve gotta be the weirdest fuckin’ collaboration of people I’ve ever seen.”

You snickered into your hands while Wonwoo lounged an elbow onto the couch to help prop up his head, rolling his eyes toward Vernon.

Though, Wonwoo could easily understand what Vernon was getting at. You, a popular and high-fashion campus honorary who at first glance seemed to have very little patience for anyone but yourself, followed by the guttural and unbothered drug dealer without a care in the world, beside an anxiety-ridden hermit just trying to exist and somehow not turn to a puddle in the process. Vernon was right—it was a strange grouping of people suckled together despite their completely different paths and choices. Somewhere, somehow, though, there was a connection.

Like a fated string weaving everything into a knot.

Since Wonwoo had already ordered the Chinese food fairly late, it was quite difficult to find an ice cream place in the area that was open past midnight. Vernon and his sudden craving for cookie dough had offered the idea, and you easily caved, which led Wonwoo on a spiral of searching through his phone. Unfortunately, the only ice cream they could order was vanilla soft-serve cones from a twenty-four-hour fast-food chain which arrived to his apartment dripping. But no one really cared, and Wonwoo threw on the television for some background noise.

The conversations lasted until about two in the morning.

Vernon had not so gracefully taken up the entire couch, his face shoved into the embroidered pillow, an arm left dangling limp over the edge, and a smear of soft-serve dried to his cheek. You and Wonwoo were sitting side by side on the floor, a blanket spread around your shoulders with your knee spilled onto his lap, attempting to finish up the random movie that he couldn’t even remember playing. When the credits began rolling, it took him a moment to process that the drama flick was even over. Your head was tucked against his shoulder, eyes shut but still twitching against the dull, meek light flooding from the screen.

He placed his hand on your bare thigh, fingers stretching eager over the warm and soft skin to carefully grip it and give you a squeeze.

Then, with his lips feathering at your forehead, he mumbled your name to get you awake. Wonwoo did feel somewhat guilty about stirring you, but he’d rather you have a comfortable sleep on his bed than the living room floor. He continued to rub your thigh nice and slow, watching your eyelids flicker open and squint at him through the dark room. There was a shallow grin that you gave him, full of contentment.

“You’re all fuzzy…” you yawned, proceeding to rub at your eye.

“It’s late,” he answered quietly, almost whispering, “I think I should get you to bed. You’ll be much comfier in my room.”

“Is Vernon asleep?”

“Mmhm.”

Turning back to glance at the couch, you yawned again.

“… Oh… so, we’re going to your room?”

“Yeah… c’mon, I’ll help you up.”

Wonwoo didn’t turn on the light in his bedroom since there was already a small separation in the curtains, allowing just the right amount of moonlight through to outline everything around him in bluish-silver.

You sat down on his bed, letting your fingers travel along the sheets to feel all the slight rumples and divots, only to look up at Wonwoo with a tired smile and sincere, blinking, gorgeous eyes that felt akin to a gut punch. As much as he wanted it—needed it—Wonwoo knew that he couldn’t sleep next to you. He couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t fathom having you so fucking close in the intimate, cocooning darkness and not being able to squeeze his cold hands along every perfect part of you.

But you weren’t making it easy.

In fact, you were making it excruciatingly hard.

“Are you not going to lie down with me?”

Wonwoo felt the twig snap in his chest. You wouldn’t stop staring up at him through those wispy eyelashes and nibbling on your lip.

“I’ve got the recliner in the living room…” he could hardly choke it out. There was so much heat in his body that he could melt.

“Why sleep there? The bed is big enough.”

His deep voice twisted into a laugh he couldn’t avoid. “Yeah, the bed’s not the issue… uh, it’s fine, though. The recliner’s nice.”

He took a step back, but then you had grabbed his wrist.

“Wonwoo,” you said his name in a tender, breathy, desperate sort of way that sent his heart shattering to his feet, your eyes glistening through the sparse light like two comets, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Fuck—it was all he could think—fuck, fuck, fuck.

With your fingers still wrapped to his wrist, Wonwoo pushed his hand gently against the side of your face. He was closer to you now, applying a soft pressure to angle your head up at him. You were breathing thick per every second that passed, holding his eye contact without one fracture, smiling arch. Wonwoo wanted to drink you.

Leaning into his palm, you swallowed and squeaked, “please?”

His thumb was on your chin. Right under your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you can't look at me like that…” Wonwoo rasped in a low, hushed voice that was struggling not to crack.

Truly, he meant it.

Your hand slid further along his wrist, almost tickling him.

“Ple—”

Immediately, Wonwoo pressed his thumb past your bottom lip and onto the ridge of your lower teeth, stifling that dangerous little word before it could hit his ear the wrong way and render him spineless.

“No more, okay?” He murmured, slowly sliding the digit from your warm, damp mouth, feigning obliviousness to your thighs clamping together and the manner in which your fingernails dug at his skin.

There was another moment of intense, humid silence while he wiped the wetness against the edge of your jaw.

“Seriously,” Wonwoo firmed up his voice, “no more.”

When you at last seemed compliant, nodding, Wonwoo let his hand drift from your heated-up face. You stayed in place, quiet as ever, on the edge of his bed, watching him disappear through the doorway.

As he collapsed onto the recliner and pulled the blanket once pooled on the floor over his body, Wonwoo didn’t even bother shutting his eyes or removing his glasses. Instead, he stared up at the popcorn ceiling, letting his heart thump, thump, thump and his mind wander until he naturally couldn’t fight the imminent feeling of sleep.

It certainly didn’t help that you had wandered into his dreams—dreams that he should probably keep to himself, warped fully by desire and longing.

—END OF PART FIVE.

[crows-sleepy]

A fluffy + angst one shot of Tim and Damian, no trigger warnings, hope you enjoy!

"Geraniums"

Tim could think for hours, but he would never come up with an answer to why Damian suddenly tried getting along with him.

He supposed only Damian knew the answer to that.

But still, even if it was odd, Tim figured the kid had decided that he didn't want to fight anymore, so neither did Tim.

So there they sat, at a family outing in a park, Tim sat with his legs criss crossed in the grass as he watched Dick and Jason play fight, tumbling around in the grass, which was gold entertainment if you started bets on who would win (It was always Dick, but nevertheless).

The girls stayed out of the grass, Steph talking Cass's ear off as they swung together, Cass never minded, just smiling and nodding, adding in her own whispery words every now and again.

Duke watched the fight, but glanced between siblings every few minutes, seemingly checking on them, Tim thinks he was a great addition to the family.

And over on a bench, together sat Bruce and Alfred, making small talk as they watched over everyone, most likely making sure they didn't burn the park down.

Damian however, sat in the grass at Tim's side, something the teen took pride in.

Take that Dick.

He had thought to himself, he didn't really have anything against Dick, though the man had been the reason Tim hadn't got coffee today, so if Tim was stealing the youngest one's attention away from Dick, well who's to really say.

But suddenly Damian stands, Tim glances up at the now standing child, but Damian just pads off.

No one else seems to pay attention to the action, but Tim does, he can't help from wondering where Damian's going, watching him walk away, though he doesn't follow after the younger one.

Tim thinks for a second, Damian was probably going off to play somewhere else. Then he remembered it was Damian.

He ponders for a few minutes on where Damian had left to, stuck in his own curiosity.

But then he returned, Tim peered at him questioningly, and Damian held something out to Tim.

It was a Geranium.

Tim waited, but Damian didn't just push it into his hands like always, Damian waited for Tim to take it put of his hands himself.

So Tim does, holding it up to the sun, watching the way the maroon petals shine in the light.

"Huh..thanks kid."

Damian smiles at Tim's words, nodding pleasantly.

Damian seemed happier that Tim accepted the present, it was a relief that Damian was still in such a good mood.

Tim smiles back, ruffling the younger's hair.

Damian doesn't pull away or shout like he normally would. Opting to stay, even seeming glad.

It confused Tim, but it was a nice confusion, so he stayed silent, letting the comfortable atmosphere wash over them.

The day moves fast, everyone having fun, but when they make it home, Tim realizes he forgot the flower at the park.

Though he supposes it is just a flower after all.

But when they get home Damian's mood sours.

A frown set on his small face. He brushes past Jason quietly.

"Hey, Dami-"

Tim had begun calling out, only cut off by a door clicking shut, Damian's bedroom door, as he ignored Tim...

Tim didn't know why Damian was so upset now.

Jason let's out a whistle.

"Damn, what did you do to piss off your number one fan?"

Jason was amused, joking, but it wasn't amusing to Tim.

They had just started to fix their relationship, why did this have to happen. Maybe Damian just changed his mind.

But as the day finishes and the week continues, Damian doesn't cheer up, only becoming his irritable past self.

And Tim decides he's seen enough.

★

Damian was upset, everyone had to know, he was aware of just how terribly he was hiding it.

Drake didn't want to be his brother and that was fine, he just had to let the older leave.

He wouldn't stop him if Drake didn't want him to.

"Damian, we need to talk."

Damian had to admit he was surprised when one day Drake walked up to him, in the living room.

"Yes, Drake?"

Damian prompted, his tone professional, he thought it would be better, thought Drake would enjoy this tone more, but it only seemed to upset him.

"I want to know what's wrong, why are you being a brat again?"

Drake probably shouldn't have worded it that way, and Drake probably knows it too, and just doesn't care, doesn't care about you, stop trying.

Damian pushed all of his thoughts away.

"You disposed of your Geranium."

Damian had informed, as if Drake didn't already know that.

Damian clenched his hands at Drake's next words, his knuckled turning white.

"That's what all of this is about? Damian it's just a flower."

To hear that stung more than Damian thought it would.

"It is not. It is a Geranium, those symbolize siblings, I gave it to you for that reason, I had assumed you left it for that reason. I know I'm not the ideal choice of brother, you don't have to pretend."

After Damian explained Tim fell silent, and Damian just stood, waiting in the quiet, like he had done hundreds of times before.

Although, Damian was confused, Tim had been silent for awhile now, looking almost distraught, it was an uncomfortable look to see on his elder brother.

"I did not know that. Damian, of course you're my little brother. I thought you knew you always were."

Tim spoke through a borderline sorrowful sigh. And Damian couldn't believe his ears.

"And don't talk about yourself like that."

Tim reminds, adding on to his sentence.

Damian can't stand the feeling of embarrassment that washes over him as he listens to Tim.

Was Damian really that ignorant? Not realizing that Tim hadn't even known what it meant to him.

Of course Tim wouldn't know, Damian never told him, not even once.

His face is dusted red, he knows it, but at this point, he isn't sure how much he cares.

He crashes into his older brother with a tight hug, rivaling one of Dick's.

"This never happened, by the way."

Damian murmurs into the fabric of Tim's shirt, a warm smile creeps onto Tim's expression.

"Sure thing, squirt."

---------------------------------

Word count: 1060

[mimasroom2]

Bunny baby ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ♡

Ellie x reader w ptsd

𓂋

ʚ♡ɞ

I was inspired by @elliezlils11utt fic of Ellie x hypersexual reader and it reminded me I’ve always wanted to write some Ellie hcs that can help my ptsd :)

This is specifically with Jackson!ellie bc she’s my favorite :3

C/w: ptsd obviously. A bit of smut. Mostly fluff tho :3. Flashbacks. Intrusive memories. Triggers. MDNI 😒

W/c: ≈ 800

~

- It depends on how you guys met + how your relationship started,, but you’d definitely be super shy ab your trauma & ptsd and would avoid telling her as long as you can.

- When you finally tell her she’d be soooo sweet☹️. She’d sit you guys down on the couch and sit across from you criss cross applesauce style

- You wipe your tears away and laugh a little at how cute she is. Like why’d she have to go and sit like that ?!!

- You don’t feel nervous with her per se,,, but you feel kinda weird uncanny and naked (in a gross way) talking ab this, so most of the time when ur ranting you’ll focus on her eyebrow scar.

- You talk for as long as you want to and Ellie listens and nods and holds ur hand if u start crying ☹️☹️

- Surprisingly she doesn’t say anything like “whoever did this to you is gonna fuckin’ pay ‘mkay??” Because yknow….. she’s Ellie. She doesn’t want to rile you or herself up and make you uncomfortable >•<

- When you’re done explaining she’s gonna hug you and ask to kiss you. She’ll reassure you and say “Thank you for telling me baby. Now that I know I can try to help you in any way I can,, and I’ll stick by your side no matter what.” She giggles as she pulls you in closer :))))

- She’ll try to understand your triggers but sometimes it’s really hard for her to. “Fuck I’m so sorry princess.. was it what I said or like.. the way I said it?”

- The truth is she LOVESSS cuddling and if you’re ever upset she knows it’ll for sure calm you down.

- Even if ur trauma isn’t related to sex she’d still be careful and sweet with you. Like,,, you’d have to BEG her to degrade you.

- “Els please… I know what im asking for I literally think it’s so hot when you do it🙁”

- “Angel idk if it’s really a good idea bc you had all those intrusive memories today..”

- “Ellie if you don’t degrade me I literally don’t think I will cum.”

- And then she perks up and yelps “ON IT!” 😭😭😭

- During the middle of it she’d literally stop and ruin it😭 “Yeah? You fuckin’ like these fingers huh babe? God such a fuckin’ slut for me..” she whispers in your ear”… heyyy is this like… still okay or? I dunno just seemed weird.” As you were like MOANING AND WHIMPERING

- You playfully smack her face “YES ELLIE please just- you don’t have to hold back!”

- Aftercare would be hugeeee for the both of you. Just in general Ellie really needs it but especially for you.

- “Jus’ don’t wanna hurt my princess after I’m done fucking your cute pussy” she looks down at you and you squeal for her to stop and cover your face with your hands.

- She laughs and rubs your back and starts talking casually about what her plans are for tomorrow.

- Sometimes you feel guilty that you’re taking up most of the attention in the relationship bc of your ptsd but she immediately interrupts your rambling and reassures you ♡

- If you have nightmares she’d wake you up and cuddle + distract you until you were tired enough to fall asleep again.

- Maybe if you were in the mood she’d distract you by eating you out 🤭

- If you ever felt uncomfortable or had a panic attack or flashback in public she’d take you home immediately even if it was inconvenient.

- “No babe.. what the fuck no.. it was not your fault okay. Getting scared is never your fault.” She tilts your chin up (,,•o•,,) “Let’s just try to calm down, yeah? That’s my girl.”

- Ellie hears ab service animals for ptsd and since Jackson really only has horses she managed to find you a BUNNY

- “Ellie how the fuck WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU FIND THIS BUNNY?!!,??.!.”

- “Don’t be scared babbbbbeeee I just got it somewhere okay?” She smiles all mischievous and lifts the brown bunny up. Its nose twitches.

- “Who’d you have to trade? WHAT did you trade actually??” Your eyes grow wide.

- “Jus’ got it from Tommy baby,,, no big deal.” She sits down on her knees to put it in the cage she got. “Found this cage jus’ lyin’ there. Asked around and nobody needed it.”

- After a few hours of playing with your new bunny you kiss her cheek in bed and whisper “Really, Els. Where’d the damn bunny come from.”

- “Really I already told you! Got it from Tommy… I was uh.. askin’ about like what he thought would be good for ptsd and he told me about a time where people would have dogs and other animals trained to help people. I dunno I thought it was cool.” She smiles sheepishly.

- You think that is the sweetest thing EVER because you thought she just finally wanted a pet for the two of you (❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡

~

I’m actually gonna melt why do ppl never write sweet Ellie 😞💘

[anantaru]

I just wanna ride and suck Baizhu until he's just a whimpering mess holding my hips and hair weakly :(

It's not asking much.

cw. riding, he’s your boss, fem! reader

the current, vulgar— although tasteful setting you happen to find yourself in was, on all counts, unplanned and in every way coincidental.

first and foremost— to clear up the suffocating air abutting through your glued down thoughts, you did not expect to end up fucking yourself on your bosses cock when you were originally supposed to work, yes, and manage the pharmacy. primarily doing the extensive chores you were being paid for by the man who was currently holding onto your restless hips for his dear life.

baizhu found himself in heaven— and he was criss crossed, panting, puffing and blowing warm exhales from his pinching lungs while you incessantly rolled your stuffed pussy on his cock, fully slotted on him and leaning real close so he could sense your signature fragrance and keep it imbedded in his nostrils, so your boss baizhu wouldn't forget about this day for years to come.

individually from each new shove forward, loose stings manifested right from it, fueling the uptight knots in your stomach that were like a bubble being continuously nudged and forced to pop.

while the tremors— like pins and needles, intensify whenever baizhu feeds your insatiable desires with his coarse hiccups and cries. he can barely catch his breath when you decide to clench down again, tighten around him while letting go right after— you know he loves it when a little smile crosses his pretty lips.

"leave it to me." you coo and settle your pulsing walls on his girth, gnawing down again, releasing the tension once more as he began to feel up to ten times heavier in you and you work together like the most melodic, in tune symphony from an orchestra, with the end being a freeing release.

"f—fuck." he pours the remnants of his power to his moaned out words, "this, keep going like this." although frail and husky, you fuse into him at each of his weak whines, your toes twisting at the featherlight touches and little thrusts into your warm, wet cunt. he wanted to vocalize his pleasure because baizhu wasn't one to fully take the lead, ever.

"whatever you say." you drawl back, repeatedly slipping him in and out of your used hole, "—boss." and he closes his eyes in euphoria at the name— it triggers something in him, something the clever man himself wasn't able to discern, but his body reacted to it almost immediately as he sloshed all his thick whites and smeared his seed over your thumping walls— your name weakly falling from his plump lips.

his eyes remained closed, chest heaving up and down in large pumps as you pettishly circle your hips on him with his warm whites strewing and gushing out of your worn out pussy.

how much more powerful baizhu felt outside of this, when he was in charge of your doings, your boss, the man who paid you and was responsible for your livelyhood, yet there he was, naked, bare and exposed, his cock twitching and forcing a tear out of his eyes when you tank yourself into his member again, arching your back as your new thrusts caused him to see white.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[dindjarindiaries]

Oh pretty pretty please could I request a Hunter x reader with ❛ i didn’t know where else to go. ❜ where Hunter shows up to readers bunk/room with a migraine from his hightened senses? Maybe he's had a few of these before but this one is much worse (because of a mission gone sideways or something) and he just needs someone to take care of him that isn't one of his brothers (he loves them but they're way too loud for this kind of situation)?

Also, I just cannot express how much I enjoy your writing! I read through all of your Hunter works in one sitting a few days ago!

character: Hunter (The Bad Batch)

prompt: "I didn’t know where else to go."

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

You were only half asleep when you heard shuffling across the floor of the ship. After you blinked yourself awake, you sat up on your elbow and saw Hunter making a cautious approach. His gaze was apologetic, but the pained creases at the edges of his eyes was what made you fully attentive.

"Hey," you greeted, keeping your voice hushed both to keep anyone else from waking and because of your own suspicions about whatever was bothering him. "What is it?"

Hunter was still more concerned about you. "Did I wake you?" You noticed he had to fight back a whimper as he spoke.

You shook your head and sat up, swinging your legs off the side of the bunk. "I was barely asleep."

Hunter sighed. He closed his eyes and lifted two of his fingers to his temple, giving it a rub. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." You tucked your hands under your thighs to resist the urge to reach out and soothe him with your touch. "Is it a migraine?"

Hunter reopened his eyes and nodded. His gaze was uncertain as it began to dart around the space. "I wouldn't have bothered you, but this one's... worse than usual." His eyes found yours again, and the desperation within his gaze nearly took your breath away. "I didn't know where else to go."

You offered him a reassuring smile. "Well, you came to the right place." You scooted over on the bunk to make room for him.

Hunter followed your lead, hopping up onto the bunk and hanging his head as if it was too heavy for him to carry. You twisted your lips and brushed your hand over his back.

"Rough mission, huh?" You had stayed back on the ship with Omega at Hunter's reluctant request.

Hunter huffed, then winced. "Yeah. You could say that." He lifted his forefinger and thumb to pinch the bridge of his nose. "There was a lot going on."

"I bet." Your nails drew soothing circles over the black material that covered his back. "Are you okay with me touching your head?"

Hunter kept his eyes closed as he responded. "Yeah." His free hand found your knee as he gave it a gentle squeeze. "I trust you."

That made your chest inflame with the sweetest warmth as you nodded and bit back your giddy smile. "Okay. Then my first idea is..." you paused, reaching up to untie his bandana, "loosening some of this pressure."

You set the red material aside and watched as his hair slowly slid back into its natural place. It made your smile impossible to fight.

"Are you comfortable laying your head on my lap?"

Hunter nodded, and he almost seemed to be fighting a smile of his own. You moved yourself back to where your pillow was, propping it up for your back to rest on as you sat criss-crossed and help Hunter to ease himself down. He kept his eyes closed as he did so, and the pained creases of his eyes slowly relaxed as you began to run your fingers through his hair.

"There you go." Your words were no more than a whisper at that point. Your fingers eased through the strands of his hair, being careful not to be too quick or too rough as you knew even this simple action had the potential to trigger his enhanced senses.

Hunter's hands were folded over his middle as his eyes slowly opened. He looked at you and let the smile he had been trying to fight spread over his lips. You returned the gesture before you could stop it. Your heart began to race just a little more when he grabbed one of your wrists to lower your palm against his cheek. "Thank you."

Your smile grew as you gently ran your thumb over his tattooed skin. "You don't have to thank me." You bent down to place soft kisses on each of his temples. "Just relax."

Hunter folded his hands again and closed his eyes. He let out a relaxed breath and aired out one last concern. "What if I fall asleep?"

You didn't bother holding in your giggle. "Then I did my job right."

Hunter huffed, and you were more than pleased to see that his expression of pain had been exchanged for one of pure satisfaction. It was just as sweet as the thought of him coming to you for help in the first place. You were just as much his refuge as he was yours.

[eetherealgoddess]

ꨄStuck in Spaceꨄ

Oneshot - Royalty/Alien Au

❦Y/n wakes up in a cellar on a spaceship❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

❦They’re all brothers in this story❦

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

Alien language is purple

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There will be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Stuck in Space

Waking up in an unknown cellar that looks to be something out of an exterrestrial movie is not comforting for a confused human. She pulls on the hem of the white hospital gown that's built like an oversized t-shirt. Her bare feet plastered on the floor as she stared at the bars in front of her. The dark blue walls appear from the dimmed light of the room, causing a purple tint. Weeping and exclamations of release echo in the room.

Y/n repositions herself to sit criss - crossed as she wraps her arms around herself, preserving warmth from the cold air. She looks in the direction of the door opening as footsteps are heard walking in.

“This group of humans was acquired from the most recent pick up.” A sultry voice states. She listens as their presence comes from the left of the room, speaking in a language unknown to her. She crawls to the bars to get closer so she could try to decipher their words and see who has abducted her.

“In this room, they are all females. In human terms, they range from eighteen to thirty-five years of age. They have been deemed healthy enough to create an offspring for the new order to create hybrid life as all the royals are doing now.”

The being talking seemed to look like a normal human beside the antennas on his head, silver hair to the side as he holds a clipboard, a group of men following him as they analyze the prisoners. On both sides of the men, two large aliens that look to be the guards, looking nothing like humans walk with them, orbs straight ahead as they guard the men. She pulls back from the bars, crawling back to her spot before she could get caught in their eyesight, sitting in the same position with her knees propped to her chest.

“I have to get out of here.” She whispers to herself, biting her nail as she becomes antsy, the unfamiliar surroundings causing an incoming existential crisis. Her breath hitches as the footsteps become closer, covering her face with her arms as she lays her head down, hoping that feeling small would help her look tiny enough to ignore, not wanting her life to be penalized as she had no idea what could happen.

She listens as the voice and footsteps are louder, coming from the other side of the bars trapping her. She dare peaks her head, making eye contact with dark voids accidentally, causing her eyes to widen. The skin of the being eyeing her is a pale, almost light gray. He walks with what looks to be a human delicacy she has seen from earth. He’d look human, if it weren’t for the antennas sticking out of his forehead. Now that she shifts her eyes, she can see that they all look to be the same species, not including the guards, with the shared characteristics.

Before she can make eye contact with anyone else as they pass by, she replaces her forehead back to her arms, slightly rubbing her limbs to regain that warmth she’s desperate for. It’s when the footsteps stop, her heart stops, additional goosebumps forming as the hair sticks up on her body.

“That one. What’s its name?” The dark eyed man asks, Y/n not knowing who said what as her eyes are still covered, and all she can hear is alien gibberish. The silver haired man looks over, snake eyes analyzing the woman before returning his gaze to the clipboard.

“Ah, the human’s name is Y/n L/n. She is y/a and her weight is y/w pounds and her height is y/h. She lives in y/c with no sisters. There is more information on her files, but that is all I can give you at this time, your highness.” He sets the clipboard at his side.

“Hm, we’ll take it.”

“Big brother, are you sure you don’t want to look around more?” The pink haired alien asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you questioning me, Sanzu?” He questions calmy, eyes threatening as they don’t match his stoic expression.

“There are thousands of human women here waiting to be chosen by us, Mikey.” Kazutora states.

“Then you look around. I want this one.” He points to the woman who looks in surprise at his gesture once she finally raised her head from the darkness.

“It looks very plain looking, I want to look around longer.” The youngest of the twin aliens state, crossing his arms as he looks at her in boredom.

“It would be a good idea to look at all of our options, after all.” Ran says with the same expression, though a lazy smile plastered on his face.

“I don’t care what you choose. I want Y/n.”

Her eyebrows furrow as she hears her name in his thick extraterrestrial accent.

“Father said we have to choose one, Mikey.” Kazutora says, crossing his arms as he glares at the short brother.

“Why? I don’t want to share anyway.” He responds, a sneer on his face.

“We only need one human to bear all of our offsprings. It’s better that way since they’re such disgraceful beings. Trusting one in our home is risky enough.” Sanzu inputs, his arms behind his back.

“Gentlemen, I assure you that you may test whichever you like in our observation room. It is used for purposes such as these when you want to test the human you may take home.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Yes, your highnesses.” The silver haired man bows before motioning for the guards to open the gate.

Y/n sits upright as she notices the guards walking in. They both grab her from her arms as she’s dragged out of the cell, her body heavies itself as she pushes her weight down, struggling in their grip.

“She doesn’t seem to follow orders.” Rin states. He rolls his eyes.

A collar is placed onto her neck before the electronic leash is connected looking as though it is a green light beamed rope with a handle at the end. The guard hands it to Mikey before they walk out of the next door, strolling into a dark blue hallway with an orange tint. Y/n walks timidly, her arms wrapped around herself as she walks next to the short man, deeming it unsafe to try and fight her fate. Still having no idea what’s happening, she continues looking ahead, analyzing her surroundings.

Passing by circled windows, she gasps as she notices the black void filled with stars and planets.

“O-oh my god!” She exclaims, attempting to comprehend her situation at hand. A tug pulls her attention to the alien next to her.

“Y/n, come on.”

She had no choice but to follow, not wanting to catch herself between the rest of the young men who followed behind.

“Here we are.” The man with the clipboard states, opening the door for them, displaying a seating area and a hospital bed. The room’s walls are purple with a bright blue tint from the light. Walking in, she’s guided to the bed, motioned to take a seat.

“How much time do we have?” Kazutora asks.

“As long as you need, your highnesses.”

“Thanks, Koko.” Ran smirks at the family friend.

“With pleasure.” He bows before walking out of the room and shutting the door.

Everyone’s attention turns to her.

“Let’s see what’s so captivating about you to our brother.” Rin says before grabbing her arm, inspecting her skin and the hairs from her pores as he uses his fingers to rub against her dermis. Sanzu grabs her ankle as he pulls her leg up, tracing his fingers along her calf, moving to her thigh with a studious look.

Ran pulls her gown over her head, throwing it to the side, revealing her panties as well as her breasts. He places his hand on her stomach, rubbing up the lining as he presses down. She attempts to cover her chest using her free arm but Mikey grabs her arm and pins it down with the same hand holding the leash, using his other hand to cup one of her mounds.

“Don’t do that!” She exclaims, completely uncomfortable with everyone groping her body in the name of ‘inspecting.’ She twitches in pain when the collar shocks her, the sound coming from the leash as it transfers the energy.

“Bad. Stop.” Mikey says as if she’s a pet. She stares in horror as she couldn’t believe how she’s being treated. It was to be expected considering she woke up in a cellar, but she didn’t realize how far it would go. Mikey hands the leash to Ran as he moves to her bottom half.

Before he has to demand it, Sanzu removes her panties as she moves her legs to cover herself. Failing, she’s forced to spread them as both men lean into eyeing her vagina. Kazutora moves to her chest, inspecting her nipples by pinching them in between his fingers, causing her to flinch from the sensitivity. Moving away from him, she twitches in pain with a wail once more as Ran clicks the button to shock her into obedience.

“Y/n, be a good girl for us.” She glares at him only for Rin to pinch her other nipple painfully, causing her to yelp.

Sanzu holds one of her legs open as Mikey pulls one leg over his shoulder. He leans deeper into her thighs and pulls open her pussy lips. He analyzes the hood first, using a thumb to pull it back as her clitoris is revealed, using his other finger to press against it. When she clenches, he continues to put more pressure as he rolls his finger. He watches as a liquid oozes out of her vagina hole, dropping to her anus as she clenches once more.

Sanzu pushes her leg open once more, gaining his own view of the dripping pussy as Mikey plays with it, licking his lips as it becomes juicer. Ran moves in between Mikey and Sanzu after handing Kazutora the leash, stretching her out more as he squeezes beside them.

“It looks so sweet.” Mikey whispers in awe, interested in her responses as the aroma heightens. She could only lay back as Kazutora eyes her nub, leaning his head over as he couldn’t contain the curiosity of how her skin would taste. Rin eyed her lips once she bit them, curious as to how it would feel against his own. Deciding to find out, he uses his free hand to pull her in, crashing his lips against her own. His long tongue pushes past, in search for more of her to savor.

Wanting to taste her blood, Sanzu uses a nail to scratch her thigh causing her to flinch in pain. He analyzes the blood dripping down, leaning in to lick up the red liquid, a metallic taste that he couldn’t get enough of as he bites her thigh. She whimpers in pain as she tries to pull her leg away, his grip refraining her from doing so. Mikey moves his head forward as he finally dives in, using his tongue to glide up the bud. Her hips jolt as she moves against their hold, Mikey using his lips to encircle her clit once the taste sets in, sucking mercilessly as he slightly bobs his head.

Ran moves his hand to the wet slick running down, scooping the juice on his fingers before he brings them to his mouth.

“Mph.” He replaces his fingers, this time pushing both into the wet hole slowly as he looks at her face. Her breath hitches as she gasps against Rin’s lips.

“Wait!” She tries to say, though it was only muffled against his mouth.

Ran pulls his fingers back before pushing in as he continues his steady pace, loving the way her vagina sounds as the liquid gushes, some dripping down to her anus as her pussy clenches around his fingers. Mikey continues his sucks and licks as she arches her back, unable to move her hips as he and Sanzu hold her thighs in place. She almost releases a moan as she feels Kazutora flick his tongue against her nipple, staring into her eyes as she tries to contain herself, face strained.

Rin moves back as he shifts to her neck, licking up her skin until he finds the spot between her shoulder and neck which causes her to react in the way he wants, sucking the skin as he uses his teeth to nibble, his hand holding against her breast as he gently tugs her nipple.

Sanzu pulls back from her bloody thigh, eyes in a haze as he licks up the remaining blood. Eyeing the only spot left he uses the fallen slick and slowly shoves a finger into her asshole. Her head slams against the bed as all the sensations combine overwhelmingly. She bites her lip and sucks her teeth as she tries to keep herself together.

Fingers thrust into her swiftly as she feels a sense of fullness, one set hitting her g - spot as he angles it to hit against it, memory recollecting the studies they were forced to observe of the human woman’s body. Mikey continues his assault as he stares at her, observing her nose scrunching and face straining, sweat building as her face becomes darker with heat.

Her hips buck as she’s closer to coming undone, Rin moving to her nipple to mimic Kazutora’s licks and nibbles. She breathes heavily, her mouth slightly open as her head falls back, closing her eyes as she’s brought closer and closer to her climax.

Finally, she releases hard, grunting as her vagina contracts, back arching as her hands reach to both alien’s heads against her chest in reflex.

“Fuck.” She hissed as they all continued their movements, craving to see the same reaction as they become faster with their movements.

“No, no stop! I’m done!” She couldn’t control herself this time, the sensations too intense against her skin. Her hips grind back and forth as she whimpers, eyes rolling in the back of her head as she breathes heavily once more. Kazutora lifts his head to meet his lips against her ears.

“You look so good like this.” He whispers before sucking her ear lobe, kissing her ear.

“Hah, shit!” She thrusts hard against the mouth and fingers, squeezing Rin’s shoulder as well as Kazutora’s arm as she creams. Once she finished convulsing, they removed their wet fingers. Mikey gives a peck before moving away from her pussy, wiping his mouth.

“It’s settled. We’re keeping her.” He states as they nod in response with excitement on their faces, watching as she catches her breath.

[denaliwrites]

f i c m a s t e r l i s t

p o l i c i e s (please read before making requests!)

b a d s a m a r i t a n The Best of You, Honey, Belongs to Me Blackthorn Cover Myself in the Ashes of You Dumb Ways To Die Enough of You to Dull the Pain (18+) Hellbent Looking For A Godsend Hit Me With Your Best Shot I Got This Feeling On A Summer Day (18+) I'm Gooey in the Middle Baby Let Me Bake In His Eyes A Flaming Glow Intrigued and Afraid Keep You Like An Oath (18+) Killing Me Softly My Baby Shot Me Down (18+) Not Much Between Despair and Ecstasy (18+) Only Touch That Gets Me Melting (18+) Run Rabbit Run (18+) Say My Name Send a Thousand Kings Away Shia Surprise Something Good to Celebrate Stop, Look and Listen, It's Halloween! Taste of a Poison Paradise Trust in Me, Just in Me With Your Scars and Your Lonely Heart Your Body's a Secret Girl and You're About to Spill It (18+)

t h e b o y s Watch That Butcher Burn

b r o a d c h u r c h Always Leave Me With a Hungry Heart Am I Doing This Right? An Art to Life's Distractions Beating Like A Kick Drum Girls Like Girls Like Boys Do It's Been a Long, Long Time Love's Perfect Ache Now and Again We Try to Just Stay Alive Regale You With A Gourd-geous Tale Say You'll Remember Me Say You'll Remember Me (Denali's Version) Tell Me It's A Nightmare What My Heart Was Worth

d o c t o r w h o Cuddle, Meet Puddle Cute Things Don't Blink (Part 1) Don't Turn Your Back (Part 2) Don't Look Away (Part 3) Dreams See Us Through (Part 4) Hate the Feeling of Falling Have a Holly Jolly Christmas Horrible Things Isn't That Wizard It's How I'm Made Let Me Come Home Little Creepy House Love Letters On the Brave Shit The Origin of (Love Bug) Species What Beautiful Things I'll Wear When the Crypt Doors Creak You Know That I Would Jump Too

d u c k t a l e s Tales of Daring

g o o d o m e n s All I Want For Christmas Aziraphale's Favorite Author Dance on a Tightrope of Weird Free as My Hair His Love is All in Me How the Wine Plays Tricks on My Tongue Lockdown Blues Making Biscuits My Heart's a Stereo Naked in That Garden (18+) Out There Making DuckTales Pickin' Up the Pieces of the Mess You Made Road to Hell Something Meaty For The Main Course Step Too Far Tongue Tied Your Love is Holy (18+)

f a l l o f t h e h o u s e o f u s h e r Tomorrow I Shall Be Fetterless (18+)

f r i g h t n i g h t Emptiness to Melody Everybody Scream in Our Town of Halloween Fixed Up to the Nines Howl Like an Animal in the Darkness I'm So Hot I'd Fuck Myself (18+) I'm Starvin', Darlin', Let Me Put My Lips to Somethin' Late Night Devil Put Your Hands On Me (18+) Make Me Glow Night of Long Fangs (18+) Parade of Dancing Skeletons Talk So Pretty (18+) Who Are You Supposed To Be, Criss Angel? (18+)

h a u n t i n g o f b l y m a n o r ???

j u r a s s i c p a r k / w o r l d Best Behavior The Future Ex Mrs. Malcolm

p r o d i g a l s o n But Then My Stupid Phone Beeps Never Fallen From Quite This High Office Supplies Rude Boy They are the Hunters, We are the Foxes Trigger Happy With a Sense of Poise (18+)

s l o w h o r s e s Imposing Figure Inappropriate

[darling-heffron]

I hope you like our little moodboards we are planning to do one for each chapter! I'm not the creative so you can tell when it's my shitty handiwork LMAO Sol come save me. She is the artist so... IDK why I was allowed to do moodboards. Anyway enough of my rambling, here is chapter five!!

taglist: @malarkgirlypop, @mellow-human, @next-autopsy

Chapter Five: Muddied hands 

Sam laid on her belly, the map spread out before her as she used a pencil to trace her path. She needed to get from her position in Amherst to Pittsfield, which was the next closest city. 

The blonde had enough supplies to last her for the three day journey, she could do it in two if she wanted but she didn’t want to risk moving in the dark again. Her plan was simple: move during the day and before the sun set she would have her camp set up. 

She set out the next morning bright and early, she wanted to try and get all the way to Idaho as quickly as she could without dying along the way. But it was a massive journey, one that needed to be taken city by city. 

She knew if she set out the exact route all the way to the safe haven it might not go her way. There were a million factors that could change the route drastically, so she didn’t want to plan that far ahead. Sam knew she would have to be smart about this, travelling too far away from cities could mean she wound up with no supplies. 

Not that she really wanted too but she would have to hop from city to city to make it through alive.   

The girl made it out of the area, the only people she had seen in her travels had been the family she met yesterday. Other than that the town appeared quiet, she didn’t want to find out why, so she left quickly. 

The days were long, walking the path by herself. Sam was able to avoid most of the hoards, she could sneak past without them noticing. If she couldn’t, she found that they were very reactive to sound. Sam could throw an object in the opposite direction to her and it would trigger all of them. 

Once one moved, the others followed.

Sometimes the rabid’s would be by themselves, they looked lost without the rest of the swarm, they would stagger around with no destination in sight. The stragglers would often look worse than the swarms, seemingly more decomposed and skinny. The rabid’s that stuck together looked well fed and plump, decomposing more slowly than the isolated ones. 

Sam sat criss-cross striking the steel across the flint to create a spark that would light the tinder in the campfire she had set up. It was unlikely anyone would find her in the dense bush, so she felt more confident in lighting it. Sam hadn’t been using fires when she was closer to towns, she was unsure who or what it would attract. She didn’t need unwanted company, the blonde was a good fighter but she didn’t think she would stand much of a chance if a hoard or group stumbled upon her. 

“Ah ha!” She grinned seeing the spark alight the dry wood shavings she had tirelessly carved earlier in the afternoon. Sam blew on the fire to keep it going, cupping it in her hands to stop the wind from putting out her hard work. 

Once the flame took off she placed it in the middle of her log pile, watching the orange tongue lick at the new fuel she had given it. Sam sat close just watching the fire, enjoying the warmth it gave off, it was somewhat comforting to watch. Listening to the crackling and popping of the wood as the flame consumed it slowly. 

Sam had always wanted to go camping, sit around a campfire and roast marshmallows and sing silly little songs with her family. 

Not that that would even happen, her younger self was much more optimistic than the bitter girl she had become. The young girl had hope, foolishly so, but it was still hope. Still a sliver of happiness that she could imagine but never grasp. 

Sam’s love of the fire soon grew to disdain, something she always dreamed of, only now she was alone and it wasn’t for fun; to roast marshmallows or sing songs around, it was for survival. Sam sighed moving further back into her tent, bringing her knees into her chest as the fire danced, almost taunting her in a way. 

The blonde focussed her attention on her pack, rustling around in the bag to find what she was looking for. Sam’s hand wrapped around the cold can, pulling it to the surface so she could examine it closer. It was a can of fruit, she had wanted to try and catch something for her dinner but exhaustion pulled at her heavy eyelids. All she wanted was to fill her stomach and try to sleep. 

Sam had never been a great sleeper, any small noise could easily pull her from her slumber. Samantha blamed her father for this trait, he never slept, she had never seen him rest. 

When he was home he marched around the house on the phone, or sorted paperwork. He was up at all times during the night. Sam liked to watch him, sneaking downstairs after hearing the front door unlock and open, she knew it was him, he always came home late after everyone else had left or had gone to bed. 

But Sam’s ears perked at that familiar sound of his heavy boots falling on the tile floor. She would sneak down and hide in the shadows, he would never notice her, hell he often forgot she existed. 

Sam remembered one time he was home during the day and had run into her in the halls, he looked at her questioning her presence in his home, and then she saw it, he remembered who she was. 

She would never forget the feeling in her chest, as his eyes grew hard and stance became taller, more assertive. Her father’s body reacted to her as if she was a stray dog on the street, he stuck up his nose and pretended he didn’t see her, moving on with his day. 

But that young girl still held hope, still held onto the ‘maybe’s’ and ‘what if’s’. She didn’t hate her father, even after he stepped around her without an exchange of words or even the courtesy to look at her. But the Sam now, the older, more resentful, this one hated him with every fibre of her being.  

Samantha curled into her sleeping bag, her trusty knife clutched to her chest, she let sleep tug her down into darkness, maybe, just maybe, she would be able to sleep peacefully tonight, but she didn’t hold hope. 

To no one's surprise the blonde didn’t sleep well, noises and rustling nearby didn’t let her relax all night. She would drift off to then wake in a jolt to a noise in the distance. Sam’s mind always raced, thinking of all the things it could potentially be, she was rational, but now with the rabid’s on the loose what was rational? 

Sam packed her gear, heading out on the road again. She stomped out the embers that still smoked under the early morning sun. She made her way through the trees, which was easier said than done. 

These parts of the woods had never been trailed before, there was no clear path she was following, just the one of least resistance. 

Sam swung her axe bringing down the dead branches and debris that blocked her way, she hummed a tune as she worked, there was nothing else to do to keep her entertained. She always had to be on lookout which drained her, every sense she had was running on overdrive. 

A noise caught her attention, groaning in the distance. Sam crouched down low, positioning herself behind the trees so that she couldn’t be seen. Her ears perked like a dog, listening closely for any sign of movement. It was odd that most of the time she heard things like this she hoped it was a rabid. 

Something about the people that lurked around didn’t seem too inviting. 

Sam found it easier to kill the lonesome rabid’s, but the thought of finding another human that had cruel intentions sent shivers up her spine. It wasn’t the thought of killing her fellow peer that made her so uncomfortable, that part she was capable and ready to do, it was the interaction. 

Trying to figure out the intentions of the person before deciding whether or not they should live or die. 

Sam wasn’t surprised at what the family had told her when she had been held up in the rampaged supermarket. Sam had been in war, she had seen how people followed rules so eagerly until all hell broke loose. 

People’s morals seem to all but disappear when their world turns to chaos. 

Things that would seem horrific and vile when there was regulation and control; go out the window when it goes. Humans need rules and guidelines to follow, they need order to be set or it all goes to waste. 

But in this new era of mankind, one where fellow humans are now nothing but mindless animals, order seems to be far from the world they used to know. 

Sam stayed out of sight watching the woods closely, her eyes forever scanning the tree line. 

She watched as a small hoard stumbled into view, they groaned together following the leader. They were intriguing to watch despite their gruesome and violent nature. Sam often thought it was so strange that they used to be people, like her. They had lives, jobs, and families.

But now they wandered aimlessly, their only goal was to fill their bellies. 

It was sad to imagine how many people now were these awful creatures, everything they ever lived for so easily ripped away from them. 

Sam was snapped out of her deep thinking by the sound of feet hitting the ground in clumsy fashion. She refocused her attention to the small group only to find they were coming straight for her.

“Ah, shit.” Sam cursed under her breath. She hadn’t needed to fight any of the rabid’s since her first meeting with the driver. But even then she never fought him, just escaped. 

However that situation was different, at that time she had no idea what she was dealing with or what was happening.      

Sam sprung from her hiding spot, axe ready in her hand. 

“Come get me you motherfuckers!” She yelled loudly so they could find her easily. 

The group barreled towards her, their noises mixing in with each other as they rushed for the blonde. 

Sam swung her axe over her head bringing it down with such force that the first rabid’s skull split in half, but in its momentum the body kept moving towards her. She smashed the butt of her axe into its side, flinging it over and out of the way.

The next one chomped for her, his gnashing teeth lashing out at her flesh. Using the handle of her weapon she shoved him away, sending him backwards into the rest of the pack. They tumbled to the ground like pins, but that didn’t mean the fight was over.

The gnawing man leapt to his feet again in no time, making another attempt to get his fill from the angry woman. 

Little did he know she was begging for a fight, Sam was ready to cave some heads in.

And that she did. 

Sam sliced through the air with speed, the rabid stopping in its place before crumpling to the ground. The woman swung so hard she had cleanly decapitated the biter. 

The last two came together at her as a pair, but they were nothing more than mindless animals, they both aimed for her face. Their gangly decomposing limbs reached for her, clawing and grabbing at the air. The pair together were strong, with both of their weight pushing Sam backwards. 

She used the length of her axe to hold them back, wielding it as a barrier between them. The rabids lunged forward knocking Sam off her feet. She yelped in surprise as the pair toppled onto her. Sam held fast keeping them at arm's length, she grunted, straining to keep them at bay. 

But she thought fast, tucking her knees up against her chest; she kicked out, rocking her hips upwards. Sam used the force to push the rabids over her head, they toppled to the ground behind her as she rolled backwards. 

It was a quick movement so fast she was already on her knees before the rabids could even sit up. She swivelled to face them as they sprung up arms outstretched for her, her hands found the two knives that were sheathed at her belt. 

Sam gripped the hilt of the daggers in a fast motion she drove the weapons upwards into the underside of their chins. 

There was little resistance to the sharp daggers as they plunged into the soft decomposing flesh of the biters, their jaws turned slack as the blade of the knives pierced into their skulls. Sam withdrew the weapons from the two rabids, they slumped back lifeless. 

Sam nudged the two rabids with her foot, but they didn’t move. Sam had seen enough zombie media to know that if you wanted to kill them for good, it needed to be through the head.    

She cleaned her knives from the black blood that covered the blades on the back of the fallen biter. Before she picked up her pack, that had slipped from her shoulders during the attack, and swung it back on her shoulders. 

************

Finally Sam had made it to Pittsfeild. The town now empty and desolate, had an eerie sense to it. She made her way into the heart of the town, making sure she kept low and out of sight at all times. 

The blonde scavenged in and out of the abandoned stores. As she had made her journey she noted the supplies were now few and far between. Unlike with the first store she had gone into that still had resources in it, now the shops had been picked bare. 

Sighing, she threw what she could into her backpack. It was early afternoon and thought it best to make her way as far as she could away from the town and toward Albany. 

Swinging her bag back onto her back after securing the buckles, she made her way out of the store.   

Sam had only made it a couple blocks before a squeak came from under her boot.  She lifted her foot, revealing a dirty teddy-bear lying on the ground. Sam tilted her head, it looked familiar, but she didn’t know from where. 

Her brows drew together as she studied the small stuffed bear that looked back up at her. Sam couldn’t put her finger on why the bear looked so sad, the smile that was stitched into the mouth wasn't bright and cheerful it looked so melancholy; like it was forced. 

Sam placed her foot on the ground as she bent down to pick the bear up. It was only small, easily fitting into her hand. 

The bear was dirty covered in muck from the ground, blood stains on his feet and tummy, but under all the grime it seemed well loved. The nose had been worn down, like the owner often touched it. 

The ears were the same. 

The fur on the bear looked shorter there than on other places on the bear. The teddy's hands also had the same pattern as the ears, the owner must’ve held his hands a lot. 

Then Sam’s heart dropped, the memory coming back to her in a rush. 

The picture of the young girl holding up her little bear to wave goodbye before she was ushered out of the supermarket by her mother. 

Sam lifted her head, eyes scanning the area. The small voice in her head begging for the girl to have just dropped it by accident, it fell out of her bag without her noticing.

The voice didn’t last very long, as Sam bit her lip. Her eyes found a group of people lying on the floor, two big, one small. She approached slowly, hoping and praying it wasn’t who she thought it was. 

But she was right, she stood over the small girl, hand still interlocked with her father’s. The girl’s mother was frozen in time, reaching out for her daughter. Fingers still spread wide so close but so far from her little girl that only lay inches away face down in the dirt. Sam closed her eyes, willing the searing vision of the family to leave her brain, it wasn’t something she wished to carry. 

The blonde bent down tucking the small bear under the child’s arm, she didn’t think it was right to rip him away from his family as well. But even then it didn’t feel right, leaving the family face down in the street. 

She cursed under her breath, she needed to leave but her conscious wouldn’t let her move until she had laid them all to rest. It was only right, the family seemed to have been taken from the world in such violence, they needed to be in peace. 

Sam moved the mother first, dragging her body off the street and into the edge of the woods that they were so close too. 

The woman wondered if that’s where they were going for safety, they were almost there, another couple of steps and then could’ve been in the forest. Sam laid her down, facing her up to the sky, she noted the bullet wound in her chest and the crimson that stained her grey sweatshirt.

Next she moved the little girl, she was easier. Being only so young Sam could easily pick her up and move her. So she did, Sam cradled the young child in her arms and walked her to her mother who waited for her. She walked slower than normal, letting the young girl admire the sky one last time, the way the blue contrasted against the green of the trees that stood so tall. 

Her teddy bear still tucked under her arm she lay next to her mother, Sam placed their hands so they were touching. Sam then moved the father, laying him on the other side of his daughter, she moved their hands so that they were laying together as well. 

Sam dug quickly. She felt bad but she didn’t have time to dig them a proper grave, but it didn’t feel right leaving them exposed to the elements. They need their privacy, so that they could truly rest.        

The blonde moved them into the grave she had dug, keeping the same position she had them in as when they were laid on the grass. Sam took a moment of silence before covering the bodies in the earth. She patted the ground, smoothing it over. But still it felt empty. 

Sam knew she was wasting time, but she couldn’t leave them here in an unmarked grave, nothing to show who they were. 

She turned in a circle, eyes trailing her surroundings. Her eyes landed on wild daisies that sprung from the ground. Sam grabbed a handful to bring it back over the earth that held the family. Sam had never had an eye for decorating, her room often laid bare, but she placed the flowers around the edges of the grave. The rest of the flowers she had scattered in the middle. 

It wasn’t beautiful but at least now it wasn’t empty. 

Sam never cried much, as a child she was scolded for such things, so she learnt to hold it back. But in that moment she couldn’t help the tears that dripped down her cheeks.

The family shared so much love, their little girl had so much potential. 

But now they’re gone. Buried in the earth. 

Sam didn’t know their names, ages, or their life. 

This life was cruel, cruller than most. 

Then the thoughts trickled in, Sam cursed her mind for falling into the ‘what if’s’ again. It was a trait she trained so tirelessly to remove from her brain, but it always found a way to sneak back in. 

What if she had agreed to come along with them, would she have been able to save them? Or would she have met the same fate.  

It felt cruel to leave but she was wasting daylight, she huffed as she looked at the fresh grave before she headed into the forest herself.      

They almost made it. The vile voice in her brain taunted. Could’ve been saved if you weren’t so heartless.  

Sam groaned, shaking her head to rid the thoughts that plagued her mind. It was in the past, she had made her bed and now she would have to lie in it. 

Unfortunately the family haunted her with every step she went deeper into the forest. The tightness in her chest suffocated the poor girl as she fought with her own emotions. Like she had said before, this world was cruel, the only way to survive was to be even more ruthless and spiteful than the evil creatures that lurked in the shadows. 

However it wasn’t those creatures that had ended that family’s life, it was other people.  People like Sam, merciless and uncaring.

A/N:

Ok so our Sam has a heart but don't tell her that or she'll beat you up. I'm so excited to be posting these I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! I hope you all are loving Sam like I do, she may be a tough cookie but I still want to give her a big hug, but she would most likely punch me in the face LMAO.

Esra ✨

[rentsturner]

Bruised Knuckles - A.T

Warnings; reader has punched a wall, mentions/descriptions of injury, mentions of (non-specified) scars, content that some people may find as very similar to self-harm, reader is paranoid and insecure. If any of this triggers you pls don’t continue to read. a/n: I originally wrote this about a different person but I've rewritten it for Al for a bit of comfort after a rough few days. If you don't like it, don't read it. Thanks @martinipoliz for being my hype man

It’s a cold day in London, the skies grey and cloudy over the city.It’s been a long day without Alex. He’s been out since the early morning at the recording studio, the boys being in the middle of recording their next album, leaving you to spend the day alone in your tiny apartment. As much as you don’t want to admit it, the isolation has gotten to you - you slipped, more than once. Yeah, you regret it, but also there’s that nagging need for more at the back of your mind. You try to push it out, to forget about it, but the cold in the air doesn’t help to ease the ache in your knuckles. 

The door to the apartment shuts with a click and a jangle of keys, footsteps heading towards the door, the click of Alex’s boots rhythmic on the hardwood floor. He’s back. A wave of relief floods you, before you remember and your chest clenches in panic.

‘Alright, love?’ Alex flops onto the bed with a lazy grin, stretching his arms up over his head. 

‘Yeah, fine, you?’ Keep it simple. You busy yourself with a stack of books by the bed, straightening the pile of your shared novels so it’s not about to topple over. Keep the hand busy.

‘Yeah, alright. I missed you. Took us so long to record one of the new songs, Cookie kept messing up the solo so we all just ended up leaving it for the day.’

You nodded along and let him recount the rest of the story. You’re admiring the way his dark lashes flutter against his pale skin and how his arms flex as his hands come to rest behind his head, when you realise that Alex has stopped talking. And you’ve stopped moving.

‘Your knuckle…” his eyes dart down to the hand you’ve been trying to hide ever since he walked through the door. Busted.

‘Oh.’ You move to get up, anything to get his eyes away from your swollen knuckles, red lines criss-crossing over the flowering purple bruises where your hand collided with a solid brick wall. Multiple times. The open cuts are still weeping, even though it had happened hours ago.

‘It’s nothing, just tripped on the stairs. Don’t worry about it.’ You offer a small smile, but it doesn’t fool Alex.

‘No.’ He moves as you do, standing in front of the bedroom door to block your escape. His arms are crossed over his chest, stance serious, but the worry in his brown eyes betrays him. ‘Love. Let me see it.’

He holds out his hand, pale fingers reaching out to you, calloused fingertips brushing against your wrist gently. He knows how to help. The hand reaching, an offer of support, reassurance, love, all those things that you crave but can never admit. Emotions aren’t your forté - never have been.But Alex knows that. There’s no secrets between you. You almost laugh out loud at the thought. No secrets, but you won’t even show him your hand.

Alex would do anything for you, you know that - he tells you all the time. Days spent in bed chatting shit to each other.

‘I’d write a whole album just for you, y’know?’

‘Would you now, Al? I think I’d prefer a book of poetry.’

‘Well I’d write that as well. In a heartbeat.’

Bright eyes, wide smile. Your Alex. He’s joking, of course, but his tone is so serious, his answer without a second of hesitation. Your heart skips a beat.

So now, you give him your hand (and your heart).

He takes it tentatively, one warm hand underneath, the other poking at your raw knuckles gently. When one of his prods reaches a tender spot, you wince and he moves his finger away, meeting your gaze in apology. 

‘You punch something?’ His brow creases, a hand running instinctively over his unruly locks, before scratching at the back of his neck. He’s been growing his hair out recently, letting the brown strands begin to curl around his ears, not using as much gel in it as he used to. He looks gorgeous. Then again, he could shave his head and you’d still think he was the best looking man on earth.

The sting in your hand brings you back to the present. 

‘No.’ You look away from Alex’s gaze, knowing that in doing so you’ll give yourself away, but not having the energy or willpower to stop yourself. Much like the ‘incident’ earlier in the day.

‘I’m going to take that as a yes.’ Alex huffs, not in anger, but in frustration - frustration that he wasn’t there to help, to calm you down. ‘Let me clean it up, give me a sec.’

His hand rubs at his eyes, scrunched shut for a moment. There’s dark bags marring his pale skin there - he’s tired too, the long days at the studio beginning to get to him. He goes to move to the bathroom, but you grab his arm with your good hand, gripping it as tight as you can. Don’t leave.

‘No, Al, it’s alright, I’ll sort it.’

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t look happy. Not that you’d expect him to, but…he’s getting frustrated with you, you can tell.

‘You can’t clean yourself up with one hand. Just wait here, alright?’

The inkling is worming its way in now, from your subconscious to your conscious, until it's at the forefront of your mind. He’s angry, he’s disgusted, he’s going to leave. He’s not going to the bathroom, he’s going to the front door so he can get out of here. You’re sure of it. He’ll call Matt or Miles and tell them how crazy you are, how he can’t deal with it any longer.

‘I’m sorry.’ The whisper escapes you and you have to bite the inside of your cheek so no tears will spill. The words are almost silent, your hand dropping Alex’s in defeat.

But Alex turns his head at your weak apology, stopping in his tracks.

‘What? Why -‘

With a jolt, he notices the way you’ve changed - unable to look at him, arms beginning to wrap around yourself, one fist clenched. He knows what’s happening.

‘No, no, love, I’m not angry.’

He’s back at your side in a heartbeat, bringing his hand up to your chest, thumb carefully wiping away the rogue tear that’s tracking a salty path over your cheekbone.

‘I love you. I just want the best for you, alright? I don’t like seeing you hurt, just like I’d fucking hope you wouldn’t like seeing me hurt.’

His face breaks into a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you realise he’s right - of course he is. You don’t want to see him hurt, but that’s what you’re doing. He’s hurting just from seeing your hand, it’s obvious from the crease in his brow, the usual bright glint of his eyes dulled and flat. Alex has got too much to deal with already, you’re just one extra problem to add to the mix. You don’t want to be his problem. 

And suddenly it’s all coming up to the surface, ready to combust, explode, these emotions that you never really have a grip on. You bottle them up and push them down, so far down that the only way they can escape is through a rush of anger, jagged and uncontrollable. 

But instead of that, you bury your face into Al’s neck and let it out as slowly as you can.

‘I’m sorry, I was angry, I just wanted to feel something. Some pain. I don’t want to make you feel like this. I’m sorry.’

You’re clutching onto the fabric of his dress shirt like your life depends on it, trying to push the thought of how expensive it probably is to the back of your mind. You can’t possibly let go of him - he's the only one you have left.

Alex is steady, your rock in a storm of emotions. He listens, stroking your hair, long fingers threading through the strands to knead at your scalp, knowing it tends to calm you down.

‘You’re alright, I promise. I promise you, love. I know you get angry. I know you. And I know what it’s like to want to feel something, trust me, I’m far from innocent myself, you know I've had some bad times. We can get through it together, or we can be a mess together. I don’t care, as long as we’re together, honest. I’m not going anywhere.’

And the sincerity in his eyes, those familiar bright brown doe eyes, it convinces you. He means it.

You stay like this for a few minutes, your good hand clinging onto Alex’s shirt sleeve, the other grasped tightly (but not too tightly) in Alex’s grip. His right arm is around your waist, pulling you closer, as if in doing so he can pour all of his reassurance, all of his love, directly to your heart. He knows it’s not possible. But he tries anyway. Because he’ll do anything for you. Your Alex.

He helps you clean your hand later, shushing you everytime you wince (though that isn’t often). His hands are steady and confident as he dabs at the cuts with alcohol, wrapping the gauze over your knuckles and securing it with some tape, humming to himself as he works, the steady tune in time with his deft movement. You wonder if it's one of the songs from the new album - some of them he will share with you, some of them he prefers to keep as a surprise for the release. He doesn’t look up until the job is done - and a good job it is too. Alex kisses the bandages gently when he’s done - a silent ‘I love you. I care for you and I love you.’ 

And you smile, a smile that fills your whole body with warmth, a smile that drowns out the demons, if only for a little while. Because how can you not, when you have Alex. He tries his best and so do you - neither of you can ask anymore. You’ll be a mess together. 

‘Let’s order takeaway and watch Blade Runner, eh?’

Or you’ll get through this together.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Zhihn moya -Oneshot

**I’m pulling some inspiration from a previous short story/long oneshot I wrote before.  Hope you like it!** *zhihn moya: my life Word count: 4471

Y/N first met Bucky after he’d returned to the States to join the Avengers.  He’d been rehabilitated in Wakanda, officially freed from the Winter Soldier programming.  The trigger words no longer worked.  Overall he was fine, but sometimes he wasn’t.

The nightmares never ceased, they were just…quieter now.  And sometimes he would lose track of where he was, who he was with, and have bouts of memory lapses, like he was on autopilot.  It didn’t really affect his work with the Avengers, but after a mission where he’d gone too far in capturing a bad guy, almost killing him, Sam knew he needed more help than the government-assigned therapist with a bad attitude could give.

With Fury’s help they had found a woman who had been found during an old Hydra base raid.  Y/N Y/L/N was born with the ability to read and manipulate thoughts and feelings in others, had been found by Hydra and then experimented on to see how far they could push or use her abilities.  The experiments had made her abilities stronger, and once she was found she had been rehabilitated and gone through years of therapy.  Fury figured that with a shared past with Hydra, she would be helpful in not only understanding and relating to Bucky, but her abilities could help ground him back to reality.

Bucky was hesitant when he first met her.  “I don’t need another person in my head,” he said gruffly.

“She won’t be in your head, Barnes, just helping you snap out of these lapses you’ve been having,” Fury said.  

“That’s not the point,” Bucky sighed.  He looked at Y/N.  “I’m sure you’re great.  But nobody needs to see what’s going on in my mind.”

“She was taken by Hydra, too, Buck,” Sam interjected.  “She knows what it’s like to be–”

“I can speak for myself,” Y/N said loudly.  They all looked at her in surprise.  “If you don’t want my help then I’ll leave.  I won’t waste my time fighting someone who doesn’t want or think they need me.”

“No, wait, please,” Sam said, raising his hands and then turning to Bucky.  “Can you just try meeting with her once?  For my peace of mind?  Please?”

Bucky stared at Sam for a moment, then sighed heavily and closed his eyes.  “Fine,” he said, then looked at her sharply.  “You won’t like what you see.”

“I’ve seen a lot, Sergeant Barnes,” Y/N said, her chin rising in challenge at him.  “You won’t surprise me.”

Bucky huffed a bitter laugh at her.  “You say that now.”

A week later they were in the room she was given to stay at the compound.  Y/N was sitting criss-cross on a large, comfortable chair across from Bucky who sat on a long couch.  He looked her over, analyzing and scrutinizing.  She was pretty, her curvy body reminding him of the old pin-ups that were actually curvy from his army days, not the ones the other men usually liked, even while she was covered by a comfortable sweater and sweatpant outfit.  They stared at each other for a moment, silently daring one another to speak first.  She analyzed him back, her head tilting as she watched him.  “You’re feeling a lot of things right now,” she said quietly.

“Get out of my head,” Bucky snarled.

“I’m not in your head,” Y/N sneered back.  “Feelings are just loud.”

He frowned.  “What does that mean?”

Y/N settled back into her chair, leaning her head on her hand propped up on the arm rest.  “Reading minds takes effort and focus for me.  Always has, even after Hydra experimented on me.  But feelings, emotions, they’re like…” She paused, frowning as her eyes searched the room in thought.  “Vibes, literally vibrating off people’s bodies.”

“Okay, then what am I feeling?” Bucky asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Anxiety,” Y/N replied easily.  “Worry.  Fear.  Curiosity.  Sadness.  Anger.  And…missing someone,” she said, her face softening.

Bucky’s lips tightened.  “They said you could manipulate emotions, too.”  She nodded.  “Why would you do that?” he asked.  “How would that help me?”

Y/N smirked.  “It would be easier for me to show you than tell you.”

Bucky immediately tensed.  “What are you going to do?”

Y/N sighed.  “Relax, Bucky, it’s nothing crazy or painful.  All I need to do is touch you.  Do I have your permission to touch you?”

Bucky scrutinized her, watching her face carefully for signs of trickery or lies.  “Touch me where?”  

“Preferably your chest, just over your heart,” Y/N said, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward in her chair.  “But anywhere works.”

Bucky’s anxiety spiked.  He was much more open to touching people now, but was hesitant over what she was capable of.  He nodded and she stood up, walking over to him, then surprised him by kneeling down in front of him between his legs.  His eyes widened at how close she was, his jaw ticking as he swallowed harshly, trying to keep his panic at bay.  “Relax, Bucky,” Y/N said, her voice sounding much more soft and caring than earlier.  “I won’t read your mind.  All I’m going to do is put my hand on your chest.  You don’t need to do anything but relax.  Okay?”

Bucky tried to steady his breathing, nodding as his hands clenched on top of his knees.  Y/N gave him a reassuring smile, then slowly lifted her left hand toward his chest.�� He watched her, his eyes flicking from her face to her hand repeatedly.  When her palm settled over his heart he tensed again.  “I won’t hurt you,” Y/N whispered.  His eyes focused back on her face.  Her eyes were kind, soft, and she was looking at him like she could see right through him, being able to read him without even trying.  Sam and Fury had said she had been used by Hydra, just like him, that she understood.  He blinked rapidly and nodded again.

Her hand pressed into his chest a little more firmly, and after a moment of silence Bucky felt a strange sensation.  He looked down and saw her palm glowing, and he gasped as he felt a warmth spread where her hand laid on his chest.  It felt like honey, oozing through his skin slowly and then seeping into his veins, firing synapses along its path.  It enveloped him, almost tingling when it reached the top of his head.  Bucky sighed heavily, his head hanging down, his hands unclenching.  The worry, fear, anger, all the things she had said he was feeling all slipped away from his mind and his heart, the anxiety being replaced by the warmth.  It felt like…peace.  Calm.  It felt like the first time he’d been able to relax after overcoming the Winter Soldier programming.  Like the times he and Steve had been laughing at baseball games.  It felt like she was injecting him with the opposite of all the emotions he felt before.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but after a little while the feeling began to recede just as slowly as it had come.  When the warmth returned to under her palm and the glow fizzled out it was like he woke up, his eyes snapping open and seeing her again.  Y/N was crying, and it took him a second to realize he was crying, too.  He also didn’t realize that his metal hand was holding her hand to his chest still.  “I’m so sorry for all that they put you through,” she whispered, her hand turning over in his metal one and holding it against his chest.  “So much pain.  You didn’t deserve that.  But I need you to hear me when I say this, okay?”  Bucky absentmindedly nodded as she stood up on her knees to be at eye level with him.  “No human being could have withstood all you have,” she said quietly, her free hand moving up and wiping away his tears.  “You are stronger than you know, Bucky, in mind, body and spirit.  I can feel it,” she tapped her fingers against his chest.  “Your mind will be in a state of healing for the rest of your life.  But your friends, your chosen family, will always be there to pick up where your mind leaves off.  And I…I will be there for you, if you let me.”

Bucky stared at her in amazement.  He sniffed and swallowed harshly, nodding at her hopefully.  Maybe she would be able to help pull him out of his head when he got lost on missions.  She smiled at him, and he had a feeling that she would very quickly become his favorite person.

***

“Miss Y/L/N, an urgent call incoming for you from Sam Wilson,” Friday’s voice chimed overhead.

Y/N frowned and looked up at the ceiling.  “Answer,” she instructed, and listened as the phone line opened up to frantic breathing.  “Sam?” she called out.

“Y/N!  Thank god,” Sam panted.  “Something’s wrong with Buck.”

Her eyes widened.  “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” he said, sounding like he was exhausted.  “We were almost done and then he just…shut down.  He looks like,” he paused, and she could hear him audibly gulp.  “He looks like the Winter Soldier.”

She gasped.  “Has he done anything?”

“No, he’s just standing there, with that staring problem,” he said.  “So far he’s done as we asked, but if anyone gets close to him he reacts defensively.  Forcefully pushing us away.  It’s like he’s waiting for something.”

“Are you almost here?” Y/N asked, getting up and pacing her room as she thought through a plan of action.

“10 minutes away,” he replied.

“Okay.  When you land, let him get off first, and follow him to see where he goes.  Then we can figure out what to do next based on what it is his subconscious mind is directing him to do,” she said firmly.

“Okay,” Sam said, sounding appreciative that at least somebody had an idea of what to do.  “We’ll see you soon.”

“Good luck,” Y/N said.  She tried to calm herself.  Panicking would do nothing to help fix the situation.  They had come a long way over the past year since she’d come to the compound to help Bucky with his mind issues.  But every once in a while there was a hiccup like today.  They would all have to tread carefully to find the best way to help him through this episode.  He would be kicked off missions again for a while, she thought, which he would love and hate at the same time.

Ten minutes later she got a text from Sam.

Just landed.  He’s on the move.

She waited, sending him a thumbs up emoji.  

Heading to the personal rooms.

She tried to even her breathing.

Passed his door, I think we’re coming to you?

Y/N frowned at the text, then a few seconds later heard a knock on her door.  She looked at her door in shock, slowly walking over and unlocking it.  She opened the door and peeked around it to find Bucky standing there, ramrod straight with a frown on his face.  But his expression didn’t meet his eyes.  They looked empty, devoid of emotion.  This wasn’t Bucky.

“Bucky?” she whispered.

He didn’t respond.  “We’ve had to use the word ‘Soldat’ to get him to respond,” Sam said quietly behind him, looking ashamed at even having to say it.

She nodded and looked up at him.  “Soldat?” she asked.  His eyes looked down at her, the only part of him that was moving other than his chest as he breathed.  “Mission complete,” she said, unsure of how to proceed.  

He still didn’t move, just watched her intently, before his lips parted.  “Zhihn moya,” he murmured with a slight nod. Joaquin took a step forward.  “Maybe if we get a Russian speaker–”

Bucky whipped around, punching Joaquin in the stomach with his flesh hand, sending him flying back into the wall opposite Y/N’s door.  Sam raised a taser at Bucky while Bucky backed up and covered Y/N with his body, his metal arm protectively holding her behind him.  She gasped at everything happening so fast, her hands reactively holding onto his metal arm.  “Soldat!” she cried out, and he barely turned his head, glancing at her before glaring back at Sam.  “It’s okay,” she said, reaching one of her hands up to his shoulder, trying to pull him away.  “They’re your partners.  They aren’t here to hurt you, or me.”  She looked at Sam who sighed then reluctantly holstered the taser.  

“I think you’re his new mission, Y/N,” Sam said, turning back and checking on Joaquin, who had the wind knocked out of him.  “He’s not gonna hurt you.  But if something happens you tell Friday and we’ll come running.  Use your abilities on him.  Wake him up.”

She nodded, pulling Bucky back another step.  She and Sam exchanged a knowing look before she closed the door, enclosing her in with the Winter Soldier.  Bucky’s stance didn’t let up at first, until he could hear Sam and Joaquin move away from beyond the door.  After a few minutes he stood straight again, turning and looking at her.  His dead eyes scared her, and she tried to think of what to do next.  He seemed very protective of her, so she decided to play into that.

“Thank you for protecting me,” she said quietly.  “Your mission is complete now.”  He didn’t respond, just staring at her.  She was normally able to feel his emotions easily, but now it was just…silent.  She had never come across someone who felt literally nothing.  Y/N took a deep breath and took a step toward him.  He watched her as she took another step, then reached a hand up toward his face.  She went slowly, not wanting to spook him, and when her hand cupped his cheek he merely blinked.  Confusion rolled off of him in waves, and she felt a little comfort at finally feeling something from him.  “Would you like to sit down?” she asked, her other hand gesturing to her bed.

He frowned, more confusion bristling under the surface.  His eyes snapped to the bed then back to her.  Y/N frowned then remembered, sighing heavily.  “Sit down on the bed,” she instructed.  His frown relaxed and he immediately walked over to her bed and sat on the end of it, waiting for her next instruction.  Y/N rubbed her face tiredly.  This was gonna take a while.  She turned to face him, looking him over for any injuries from the mission.  She couldn’t see anything, and took a step toward him.  “Take off your tactical suit,” she said firmly.  

Bucky started unbuckling and unzipping everything, focusing on the task until he was able to strip it off and set it down on the floor, leaving him in a black undershirt and his pants before looking up at her again.  She slowly approached until she was standing right in front of him.  His confusion came back mixed with a hesitation that made her heart break.  She kneeled in front of him like that first day when she had worked with him, then looked up at him.  “I’m going to touch your chest,” she said in forewarning.  He didn’t react, but she could feel his heart rate spike, the hesitation getting worse.  She slowly raised her right hand and set it over his heart, his chest slightly flinching at her touch.  She swallowed harshly then let her power flow through her hand.  She could feel his panic as his eyes flaked down to her hand and back at her face in alarm.  She gave him a small, reassuring smile.  The power flicked its way over his body, his eyelids fluttering as it relaxed him.  A small flicker of something in his eyes gave her hope.  It looked like recognition, and his frown returned as he stared at her, his left eye slightly twitching as his mind worked to try and figure out what was going on.

Y/N sat up on her knees, her left hand reaching up toward his face.  “Feel, Soldat,” she instructed him.  Her left thumb settled on the spot between his eyebrows, her left index finger on his temple as her other fingers and hand settled on his face.  Both those fingers started to glow like her palm, and they both gasped as her power injected itself into his mind.  Y/N closed her eyes and searched through his head for Bucky.  It felt like she was clawing through old memories, haunting images of blood, pain and death intermingling with old days with Steve, Wakanda, Sam and her face popping up more often.  She couldn’t help but smile as she dug through until she came across, at the center the spider web of synapses, the huddled body of Bucky, shivering and crying as his one arm covered his head, his left metal arm missing.

“Bucky,” she called out to him.

He froze, slowly raising his head until he could see her, his eyes wide as he choked back a sob.  “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” she said, crawling toward him.  There was a strange pull at her ankles, like something was trying to keep her away from him.  She reached her hand out.  “Come back to me, Buck.”

Bucky crawled to her, losing his balance with only one arm, reaching his hand out.  “I don’t know why I’m here.  I don’t know how he pushed me back.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Y/N said, her fingers barely skimming his fingertips.  “We’ll figure it out together.  But first you have to come back to yourself.  Come back to me.”

The thing at her ankles tried to pull her back more harshly, and she had to concentrate her power more and push forward, kicking at whatever it was.  Bucky gritted his teeth, his fingers gripping her more firmly.  With a big burst of energy, Y/N used both her hands to pull his hand, and he flew up toward her.  She embraced him, wrapping her arms and legs around him.  What felt like a pull in her gut sent them both whooshing back to the present until she gasped and opened her eyes just as Bucky did the same.  Her hands were still where they’d been when she entered his mind, but now Bucky’s body looked sweaty, his face red with effort.  His wide eyes stared at her, his panted breaths fanning her face.  His metal hand was holding her right hand over his heart again, his flesh hand gripping her wrist near his face tightly.

“Y/N?” he rasped.

“Yes, it’s me,” she nodded, her hand on his face moving to cup his cheek comfortingly.  “You’re back.  It’s okay, I’ve got you.”  His eyes flicked back and forth between hers for a moment, like he couldn’t quite believe it.  The hand holding her wrist let go and shakily reached toward her face.  She let go of his face and moved that hand to cup her cheek, nuzzling her face into his palm.  “You’re here.  I’m here.  You came back to me.”

Bucky’s face fell, and he broke down crying.  He fell off the bed and kneeled with her, hugging her close to him with his arms around her waist, his face nestled into the crook of her neck.  Y/N held him, twisting her body so that she was leaning against the end of the bed while sitting on the floor, making him sit with her like she was cradling him.  His legs curled up tight at her side as he held her, crying hard against her shoulder as his hands fisted her shirt at her back.  “I thought I had gotten rid of him,” he sobbed.  “Why is this happening to me?”

Y/N felt herself crying with him, turning her head to kiss the side of his head.  “I don’t know Buck,” she replied quietly.  “But we’re going to figure it out together, like I said.  I promise.  No matter how long it takes.  You will heal.”

He cried harder at her words, his tears dripping down her chest.  Y/N continued to hold him, rocking back and forth as her fingers ran through his hair.  She started to hum a song from the 40’s she had heard him listen to repeatedly.  She didn’t know how long they stayed there, but she wasn’t moving anytime soon.

“Miss Y/L/N, Sam Wilson would like a progress report.”

Bucky flinched at Friday’s voice interrupting their moment, and Y/N sighed before looking up at the ceiling.  “Just tell him Bucky’s back and I’ll talk to him later.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky sighed, reluctantly pulling away from her.  “I’m sorry,” he said, sniffing and wiping his face as he got off of her.  “I’m sorry for all this.  I’ll go, I just–”

“Don’t,” Y/N said quickly, taking his hand.  “You can stay here as long as you like.”  His jaw ticked, his eyes filling with tears once again as he peered up at her.  “What you just went through was traumatic.  No one expects you to just shrug it off and go on with business as usual.  Stay,” she urged, squeezing his hand.  “Rest.”

Bucky blinked rapidly, more tears falling as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

***

Later that night after Y/N had made sure Bucky was fed and showered before settling into her bed, she held him against her chest as he started to fall asleep.  He kept jerking awake, afraid of slipping back into the Winter Soldier, but she kept reassuring him she would be able to feel it if it happened and wake him up to help him out of it.  She mulled over the events of the day, coming up with a game plan of how to handle his treatment in the coming days.

“Bucky?” she whispered.

“Yeah?” 

“What does zhihn moya mean?”

He stiffened then looked up at her curiously.  “Why?”

“I heard it recently and was wondering what it meant,” she said, trying to play it off as a simple question.

He stared at her, his eyes softening.  “My life.”

Y/N inhaled shakily then nodded.  “That’s beautiful.”  She broke eye contact with him and moved his head back to settle against her chest.  She didn’t need to talk about that with him right now.  She contemplated what that meant.  He had recognized her even within Winter Soldier mode, and something within even the emotionless husk in his brain told him that she was something special that needed to be protected.  “My life,” she thought, a small smile spreading on her face.  

***

Bucky woke the next morning against the comfiest pillow he’d ever felt.  He snuggled further into it before realizing the pillow was moving…breathing.  His mind struggled to catch up to what was happening as he slightly pulled away and looked up to see Y/N, her face smooshed into her pillow as she breathed deeply through her mouth, her eyes moving behind her eyelids as she dreamed.  He smiled, taking a deep breath and burrowing back into her chest.  Her sleep dress had shifted in her sleep, revealing quite a lot of cleavage to him that he tried to ignore as his arms tightened around her.  He was still exhausted from the events of the day before, of which he was desperately trying not to think about.  He just wanted to be present, right here and now in this moment of calm and peace.

It was still dark out when he awoke, and he used the cover of darkness that most people wouldn’t be able to see in to look her over.  The sleep dress was hiked up to her hips, her legs tangled with his under the covers.  His metal arm felt from her lower back over her hip, hiking her leg up over his hip more comfortably.  As that hand moved back to her lower back, pulling her lower half closer to him, his face pressed against her chest, nuzzling her breasts until he could get comfortable.  At least, that was his reasoning behind him being a creep in the moment.  They had been close before, falling asleep in the same bed after she had helped him with hard days, but never like this.

Bucky was extremely appreciative of her saving him yesterday from the Winter Soldier.  As invasive as it had been for her to have to dig through his mind to rescue him, he couldn’t describe the elation he’d felt at seeing her face in the deepest, darkest recesses of his head.  He absentmindedly kissed the swell of each breast, his lips skimming over the skin of her sternum up to her throat.

Stop it, she wouldn’t want this.

She shifted against him, her breathing quickened and her hand in his hair scratching at his scalp.  Y/N hummed, holding his head against her neck.  “Buck?  Are you okay?”

He silently cursed himself for waking her up.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No,” she said, clearing her throat before pulling away just enough to look at him.  “It’s okay.”

He shook his head and shut his eyes tight, unable to meet her kind eyes.  His hands tightened in her shirt.  “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.”

She was quiet for a moment, then her hand moved from his head to his chin, pulling him up to look at her.  He didn’t dare open his eyes, afraid that he would see her disappointment in him.  Instead he felt her breath fan over his face, then the brush of her lips against his.  His eyes snapped open at that, his eyes flickering over her face, blinking rapidly.  “I can feel you,” she smirked at him.  “I like you, too.”  He let out the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, a small smile pulling at his lips.  “Though I think we should take things slow,” she added with an arched eyebrow at him.

Bucky chuckled and nodded.  “You’re right, as always,” he agreed, nuzzling her nose with his.

“And don’t you forget it,” Y/N said, nuzzling him back.

“Never, zhihn moya,” he replied cheekily.

Her smirk softened to an adoring smile.  She dipped her head down and kissed his lips softly.  Bucky inhaled sharply as their lips finally met.  It felt so easy, all the pent up emotions and worry all for nothing.  He hummed as he kissed her back, deepening it as he angled his head slightly, but not pushing for too much more.  When she pulled away to look at him again she sighed happily.

“My life.”

[writingtraumaforever]

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 16

Notes: Things are tensing up!

Summary: Sonic and Shadow finally get in touch with Tails.

Chapter Select!

Link to my AO3!

Start:

“Got any twos??”

“Mm.. go fish.”

“Damn.”

Shadow draws another card with a sigh, sitting in the floor while leaned back on one hand and holding his cards in the other. Sonic is sitting criss-crossed with his elbows on his knees and cheek rested in one hand while holding his cards in the other.

In other words: very bored.

“Got any sevens?”

“Fuck you, you’re cheating.”

“I’m not! How would I be cheating???”

“I don’t know. Some sort of weird chaos power I don’t know about??”

“…A chaos power that allows me to see game cards??”

“It would be baller at the Casino Zone.”

Shadow sighs and rolls his eyes at this, tossing his cards on the floor in front of him before pushing himself up to stand, “I need a drink.”

Sonic watches him before standing up as well to follow behind him, fully prepared to grab his guest a beverage only to find Shadow helping himself to the fridge.

Weird.

Shadow seems so comfortable in Tails’ place. Like he’s use to it or adjusted to it or something. 

Honestly, there’s a lot about this Shadow that’s odd to Sonic. But he doesn’t quite know how to bring any of it up without potentially making things awkward.

Ever since Shadow held Sonic’s hand in the hospital, Sonic hasn’t dared to push the matter. Though, he has his suspicions..

Like maybe this Shadow thinks of Sonic as a brother or something?? Like Tails.

Tails would totally hold Sonic’s hand in a stressful situation.

Bro things, ya’know??

Shadow pulls out a water bottle before turning back to Sonic as he opens it, “No contact from Miles yet??”

“Nope,” Sonic shakes his head, popping the ‘p’ with a shrug, “He’ll call soon, though, I’m sure.”

Shadow hums and drinks from his bottle, “So.. what exactly caused this need for everyone to up and go on their own self discovery adventures, anyway??”

“Oh! Well. It’s a long story,” Sonic says as his eyes drift away, not really wanting to rehash the whole Starfall Islands fiasco.

“We literally have nothing but time,” Shadow deadpans, “Unless you want to play another round of Go Fish? Or Uno??”

“Nah, I’m good,” Sonic insists with a little snort, “What if we went for a run instead??”

Shadow quirks a brow at how adamant Sonic seems to no want to talk about what happened with him and his friends, “…Rouge said not to leave because GUN likely was surveilling us.”

Sonic smirks at this, “Can’t surveil what’s too fast to see.”

Shadow huffs, crossing his arms, “I’m not potentially getting GUN involved anymore than they already are.”

Sonic tilts his head at this, looking at Shadow with a quirk of his brow before leaning against the nearby counter, “Why are you so scared of them??”

“I’m not scared,” Shadow answers with a little frown, looking down at his water bottle as he rubs his gloved thumb along the ridges of the cap, “I simply don’t wish to have to cross paths with them if I can help it.”

“Ya’know— Shadow works for GUN.”

“So I’ve gathered..,” Shadow mutters, taking another drink. 

“You don’t seem too thrilled about that.”

“Why would I be??” Shadow huffs, seeming to have been poked in the wrong place with how he snaps, “To think any version of myself would dare to work for that corrupted monstrosity of an organization after what they did?!—“

Shadow pauses upon seeing how Sonic’s ears fold back a bit at his raised voice, sighing and collecting himself before muttering, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just.. frustrating is all.”

Sonic just looks at Shadow a moment, brows knit a bit as he tries to think of something to say that won’t trigger the guy again.

“..I think— not to defend the guy, but… I think Shadow just wanted to protect the earth in the best way he knew how. And he thought GUN was a good place to start.”

“Why would that be the place to start??? They’re cruel and corrupt—“

“Hey. No arguments here on that,” Sonic snorts with a shrug, “I don’t really care for them much either..” he pauses a moment before adding, “Maybe ask Rouge?? She knows Shadow way better than I do. Maybe she could provide some insight.”

“It still blows my mind she knows another version of myself so well,” Shadow admits with a shrug, “I’ve barely even spoken to the bat back on my world. Let alone worked as her partner.”

Sonic snorts a bit, “You and her’s dynamic works shockingly well here in this world. Honestly, I was glad to see the two of them getting close..”

“How come?” Shadow asks, his ear twitching with curiosity.

“Well-.. I mean, I just.. it was nice seeing you, ya’know.. not alone..,” Sonic admits as he rubs the back of his neck, looking away a bit shy.

Shadow smiles a bit at this— something Sonic still hasn’t gotten use to— and takes another sip of his drink as he eyes the blue hedgehog a bit analytically..

“Didn’t realize you cared.”

“Yeah, well. I got a big heart,” Sonic plays off with a little grin, winking at Shadow and causing the black hedgehog to chuckle in response.

“That you do..”

Sonic just smiles a bit as he looks at Shadow only to jolt a bit when the sudden ringing of his communicator goes off from the living room.

“Ah shit— Tails!”

He dashes into the living room, picking up the communicator in seconds.

“Tails, buddy! Was startin’ to worry about ya!”

“Yeah, sorry,” the young fox smiles sheepishly on the screen, rubbing the back of his neck with a wrench in hand, “Got carried away making modifications on the Tornado and didn’t hear my beeper go off.”

“Hey, no sweat, pal! Just glad to see you’re alright,” Sonic winks, glancing up as Shadow slowly makes his way into the living room.

“Heh. Yeah,” Tails chuckles, concern growing in his eyes then, “By the way— are you alright?? Your message said it was an emergency..”

“Oh! Yeah, um… okay, you may wanna sit down for this.”

Tails blinks before slowly moving to sit down with an “ohhh boy. Okay, shoot.”

“Alright,” Sonic takes a deep breath before speed running through his explanation, “So Shadow apparently went on some top secret GUN mission the other day, and briefly went missing after an explosion only to be found knocked out a few miles away. They took him in and treated him, but when he woke up, he was all weird and stuff. But the real weird part was that all his scans showed he didn’t hit his head or anything, so Rouge suspected something else was going on. He refused to talk to anyone but me, so I got pulled in and he talked then. And boy did he have some crazy stuff to say. He acted like he didn’t know Rouge and held my hand—“

“He held your hand???”

“—Ya. That’s what I said. Anyway, Rouge mentioned his Chaos Energy was off the scales when they found him, so we kinda figure maybe something happened with that. Then Shadow explained he had used the fake chaos emerald to chaos control— oh, except he wasn’t on a mission for GUN, but was on a mission with us instead! So he used chaos control to save another me’s ass—“

“Woah woah woah..,” Tails interrupts, holding his hands up with a lost expression on his face, “You’re losing me, Sonic.. a mission with us?? I’ve been away, and—“

“No, no, no, there’s another us.”

Tails blinks at Sonic with a perplexed expression and Sonic just nods as if it makes total sense.

“…what??”

Shadow sighs, having heard enough of Sonic’s poor explanation and walking over to stand behind where the hero sits on the couch to be seen on screen.

Tails blinks at that, looking surprised, “Oh— um.. h-hi Shadow.”

“Hey Kid,” Shadow smirks slightly, “Sonic is absolutely atrocious at communication—“

“Hey!”

“—So let me just paraphrase the situation. I am not this world’s Shadow. I come from a different world where our timelines are slightly off. The running theory is that my use of the fake chaos emerald along with your world’s Shadow’s use of the fake chaos emerald somehow possibly switched us up. Or on a more morbid theory, your Shadow died in the explosion and the universe had to somehow mend this loss with another version of him. Either way— we’re pretty confused over here and could use your brain.”

Tails stares wide eyed with his mouth dropped open. Sonic can’t tell if it’s because of everything Shadow said or the fact Shadow said so much to him.

Sure as hell, Tails chuckles and, “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard Shadow say. This world’s or not.”

“Right?!” Sonic laughs, “It’s weird, right???”

“Very,” Tails nods, though his smile fades a bit then, “But this is serious. If there’s alternate dimension jumping involved, there’s no telling what sort of damage this could do to space and time itself!”

“Like what??” Sonic frowns, Shadow leaning over him to listen too.

“Like— oh, gee.. um.. well lots of things, really! There’s endless possibilities with this sort of stuff! Gravity changes. Time jumps— Black holes that could swallow up entire worlds!“

Sonic and Shadow both swallow hard at the same time, not fully having realized how potentially diar their situation actually was.

“…Sweet!” Sonic says sarcastically, “We love world-swallowing holes.”

Shadow snorts a bit behind him and Sonic’s head snaps around to narrow his eyes at this Shadow’s immaturity. 

“Get it together, Shads,” Sonic chastises playfully and hypocritically.

He then returns his gaze to Tails on the screen, “Exactly how much time would we have before something like that happened??”

“Oh, there’s no telling,” Tails shrugs with a frown, “Again, this is space and time we’re talking about. Could be years. Could be seconds.”

Shadow’s hands clench a bit tighter on the back of the couch, Sonic’s own body tensing every second they talk about this.

“…Awesome.. so uh. You think you could—“

“Already typing the coordinates back home in,” Tails responds, Sonic breathing a small sigh of relief that his little brother is coming back home, “I should be there by morning!”

“Great!! Don’t exactly know where to even start without our team’s genius here to carry us,” Sonic boasts, trying to stay optimistic despite recent revelations.

Tails offers a sideways smile, moving to stand again, “Well this genius needs to get the Tornado tuned up and flying!”

“Right. Do that. We’ll be here waiting!”

“Alright, sounds like a plan. Bye, Sonic!”

“See ya, buddy!”

The connection is ended.

Sonic lets the communicator fall on his lap with a light thump, tilting his head back to look up at Shadow from his upside down angle. Shadow looks back down at him with a small frown.

They both sigh.

“Why must you always bring drama, Edgelord??”