#I don't want to high five you in the middle of something else like helping a student or writing an email

[peachesanmemes]

I'm not typically into breeding and spreading negativity, but there are a couple guys at work that I am about to start actively trying to make dislike and avoid me because they make me uncomfortable and come around too often.

Really, just the kind of people who cast you as a role in their head and get upset when you don't play the part, but also they don't want to give up. And every time they come into my workspace, they make me uncomfortable, and I do not hide it. But alas they will not yeild.

So anyway, leave me suggestions on how to make mid 30s early 40s dads, who can't read the room and keep harassing me, want to avoid me at all costs (without getting me fired.)

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 8

[prompt: phone sex]

male reader x shin ryujin

16k words

The phone rings one too many times, and Ryujin is in the middle of scrunching up the paper slip that Chaeryeong handed her earlier that afternoon when she hears your voice.

The sounds of her scrambling for the receiver and her head smacking against the headboard come through in pretty good quality.

That never gets old.

"Stimulating conversations," you offer smoothly, like it isn't a euphemism and instead some high-brow intellectual pursuit. "How can I help you?"

Ryujin is speechless for an unbearable five, ten seconds until she lets out the kind of low chuckle that probably sounds better than it looks. "Hi," she says, "hello, I, uh- I don't know how all of this works."

"Why don't we start with who you're looking to speak with tonight?" you ask.

Ryujin sighs. She runs a hand through her hair, looking at the messy tangle of clothes on her bedroom floor with mild resentment. She’ll take her chances, figuring a direct approach is the best route when she doesn't really know where any of the lines get drawn or who is allowed to say what and who isn't.

"Um. Okay. Who you got?"

"We have a large variety of operators to suit any taste," you explain kindly. She appreciates that. "Do you have someone specific in mind? A gender perhaps, to start?"

"Well," Ryujin starts, running her tongue along the edges of her teeth. Lia has this thing she constantly says, that there's always a thousand and one reasons not to do something, and Ryujin is the first person to make fun of her for it - but here she is, finally putting that adage to use.

"I was actually calling to, um," she exhales loudly. "A guy? I mean look - girls. Girls are great, but if you - mmm." She clears her throat. Because she knows how she wants to do this, and it's most definitely: "A man."

You wait for a second before replying, and Ryujin allows the stillness to expand over and fill out every corner of her bedroom before a bright, "Alrighty, well," comes filtering out her phone, tinny but as enticing as ever. "That would be me."

"Oh."

"Yeah," you reply, easy and unhurried. You sound exactly like the kind of person whose company people pay handsomely to be around; the professionalism is undeniable, but there's something to be said for your tone. The softness to the vowels, the almost imperceptible upward lilt to the words - Ryujin gets that, maybe.

You're pretty confident in the answer, but you ask anyway, "have you ever done anything like this?"

Ryujin opens her mouth and hesitates for a brief moment.

"Well," she muses. She's tried porn, she's tried her own fantasies, she's tried cranking up the hot water and touching herself with the head of the shower aimed somewhere she's told by other girls: it's there, free of charge. "I haven't."

"But you have a boyfriend," you state. "You have a man, who you enjoy things with?"

Ryujin laughs nervously. "It's...it's been a little while. Not recently. Sorry. I know you don't-"

"No, no, not at all, you're doing fine, it's just that you sound very attractive over the phone. Excuse the assumption."

Ryujin laughs and rakes her fingers through her fringe. She knows it's a line, but she laughs anyway. She could - if she was looking for the deranged fulfillment of it - pore through a billion comments on instagram, on twitter that call her a lot of things: gorgeous, beautiful, hot. The last comment she read before almost deleting her app entirely was someone who decided to textually imitate a dog barking to a picture Yeji had taken of her in a coffee shop. There's a novelty, she thinks, in being charmed by someone who has no idea who she is.

"You have good ears then," she says, smirking into the receiver. "So do you normally do, what, ask questions? I have no idea."

"Yeah, it helps me build a profile," you reply, "but if you had something else in mind-"

"No, please, shoot." She grabs the pillow from behind her back and flops against the mattress, staring up into the ceiling fan.

"Do you feel comfortable sharing your age with me?"

"Twenty," she answers without missing a beat, even though that isn't right. It's weirdly important to her, keeping it private, and she isn't sure why - but then you say something pleasant and complimentary about college and new experiences that she's unable to register, and you ask her for her name so quick she just blurts it out:

"Ryujin."

"Pretty."

"Fuck," Ryujin grins, immediately chewing on her knuckle to bite back a gasp. "Sorry. The name is cute or, whatever. Whatever. Sorry for the curse. God, I don't really have a filter - what about you? Do you have a name, Mr. Operator?"

"I do."

Ryujin lifts a leg up and puts it down again. She doesn't know if she should already have taken off her pajamas or if that's weird. Or if the fact that it doesn't bother her means this is more or less wholesome. She turns over onto her stomach, humming into the phone and now she doesn't know why she's thinking about your face. You could be- well, fuck, you could be anyone, but there's this gnawing compulsion to put something together.

You tell her your name and she scoffs for a second, before quieting down and returning you a, "pretty."

"Ryujin, tell me." There's probably a slightly too long pause from your end of the line before you get on with asking her, "when was your last orgasm?"

She drops the phone right in her face. It bounces off the bridge of her nose before landing in bedsheets beside her and her eyes are welling with tears while she scrambles blindly across her bed, cursing into the receiver and squirming. She pulls the phone to her ear and catches the last couple seconds of you reassuring her that it's okay, that it's completely fine if she's hung up or gone.

"Actually, I have," and she curls her fingers into a fist, "never came in my whole life."

You clear your throat to keep a less than professional sound from coming out. A quiet space she feels necessary to fill: “Not even once.”

"Really?"

"I know. And I've only recently realized that's, uh - er- a pretty un-normal thing." Ryujin makes a waving motion with her hand even though you can't see it, trailing off into silence and blushing furiously. "Sorry," she apologizes. She doesn't know what she’s apologizing for, but she does it again. "Sorry about that."

"I should be the one feeling sorry for you," you rib.

"Fucking tell me about it."

"Hey, this reminds me, would you be averse to the idea of touching yourself?"

The question stutters Ryujin in her tracks, and she doesn't even say no but a drawn-out "nngh" leaks out before she can stumble into something more intelligible. "Isn't that, like, what you're supposed to do on these calls?"

"Every call is different, Ryujin."

She chews on her lower lip, rolling it under her front teeth. You say her name like you know her, and it's throwing her for a loop. The comfort you have with the whole situation - asking her a million questions and not demanding answers, taking cues and reassurances in stride and turning everything into some sort of ploy for getting her naked. Fuck, she'll take a bit of a plunge:

"Should I be touching myself?"

"It's not my place to say."

"Okay, well that's kind of a frustrating answer."

"So you're saying you like being told what to do," you tell her, and you hear the sharp inhale in reply.

"If I knew what I liked, you think I'd be calling a sex hotline and hoping some stranger might take pity on me?"

You laugh out loud, and her response is the quickest, the cutest little, "seriously!" before she chuckles too.

"Ryujin?" you ask.

"Yeah?"

"Are you straight?"

She nearly chokes - because it's like you're able to just read her mind - and if you can do that then there's nothing you can't do, maybe. And here, excitement feels a lot like apprehension. She twists and curls in on herself, thighs rubbing together, the flat of her hand traveling across her stomach.

"I'm-"

"Because no one should have to pretend that they're interested in guys," you interrupt her and, god, for as much time as she's spent dwelling on that, she wishes it were that simple. 

It would be a hell of a lot easier if she knew why she wanted to get her face between Yeji's thighs and drag her tongue all over her clit until that prettier-than-perfect face of hers cinches up in a pleasure that comes with just the right amount of agony - or if she knew why she didn't feel anything like remorse or guilt or envy when her boyfriend came around instead of wanting, you know, to get on her knees with her mouth around his cock too -

Fuck, it's all very complicated.

"Straight," she answers. She likes cock, as much as anyone realistically can, and she knows the body on a man can get her dripping and easy in all the right ways. So, she just swallows. Says, "straight enough."

"If you were to touch yourself, right now, and someone - say, a man - were telling you exactly what to do: what would spring to mind, if anything."

"Mmm. Is this you asking me to touch myself?"

"Again. That's up to you."

Your voice is light. Very pleasant. Very male, Ryujin realizes. She gulps.

"Can you, I mean," she says, running a hand down the length of her thigh, pressing down at the hollow.

"Ryujin,” you say, letting her mull over how it sounds in your mouth. “Take a breath for me, please."

Her exhale leaves her with a heavy push and she tries not to laugh. Nervous tic. She's getting goosebumps, but she feels warmer than before.

"We could say this isn't the first time, you and me, in some very broad and abstract sense. How does that make you feel?"

"Strange." She touches her outer thighs again and arches her back. "Kind of horny," she admits. And it is odd - your words, the things you say - and maybe it's her nerves because the experience is new, and so are you, and so are her feelings, all wrapped in one.

"Do you want to do something about that?"

There's silence between you for what seems like a very long time, your breathing quiet but apparent - a signal you haven't abandoned her in some state of vulnerability. Ryujin inhales deeply. She's shaking in her fingertips. The tension has her taut and waiting, and that's funny, really, because it's what she's been doing for years. The rubbing. The touching.

Her hips rock forward gently and she answers the unasked question with a sweetly husked, "uh-huh."

"What are you wearing?"

"Ah, really?" Ryujin laughs. Her fingers pause at her waistline. "That old, bad porn trope."

"I like hearing about people's clothes, is all," you excuse yourself lightly. "Helps me get a sense of things."

"Yeah, alright. Sweats. Baggy ones." Her lips fall apart. "Shirt."

"Is that all? Nothing sexy."

"What's sexy?"

"Sexy is…"

She listens to you mull it over, listening for a ruffling or two. "For a girl with a nice body - some body - some curves," you continue, and Ryujin has to drop another finger to the hot line of her thigh, her lower belly. "You need lace. Silk. You've gotta leave the best bits a little hidden, at least for a while longer."

"Wow. You sound a hell of a lot like you'd enjoy taking someone's pants off," she half-teases. "Do you make all your calls like this? One sordid fantasy at a time, huh?"

"Something like that," you reply. And then, as if reading her mind, "are you doing anything, right now?"

"I'm touching myself," she exhales. "Are you?"

"Ryujin, not yet. Please be patient."

She makes a face even though you can't see it or taunt her. That's an unfair request - you have an unfair request.

"Just, wait," you tell her. She's drawing lazy, winding circles across her thigh. "Let me show you something, will you do that for me?"

"But, what."

"Tell me everything. All the things you're thinking. Things you want to do."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

She blinks away her initial disbelief and reaches around for her lamp to switch it off. Until it's just the hallway light peeking in through the crack between her door and the door jamb and you, a stranger who won't be seeing her face or hearing her say anything stupid. She shakes out a few more breaths, shuffles against the sheets, and glides her fingertips past her belly button.

Her hand rises up her stomach in one decisive movement, until her fingers curl beneath the bottoms of her bra, trapped in its underwire. "I'm thinking - unh - about, ah. My friend?"

You're quiet and let the silence linger, until she seems like she might not find her way; so you repeat, "Go ahead."

"And a guy she used to like, fuck, she'd show up here, drunk on, ah. A weeknight. Somewhere, fuck, around midnight. Walk past me into the kitchen where we had the - the light. God." Her hips stutter and she grits out the rest through her teeth. "In the refrigerator. Ah, yeah, a midnight snack. Always looked way too fucking good for, um, oh, for a casual booty-call."

"Does your friend have a name?"

"Yuna," she practically pants, and immediately realizes she shouldn't have said that either.

"Did you always know what was going on? Between Yuna and her-"

"Boy-toy, yes - it was so obvious, I always knew, yeah," she said, clumsily grabbing the sheets with one hand as she drifts further between the peaks. "Just - fuck - he'd be picking at, ah, something with chopsticks."

"In your kitchen?"

"My, uh, table. And I'd be working up the nerve to ask."

You sigh over the phone, "ask him what?"

"What it was, like, I knew she was only- shit." She keens high in her throat. "What it was like, fucking taking that cock of his, and bending Yuna's tight little, ah, ass over and, mm, railing her on the side of her fucking bed - and just pumping her full of cum just like that until- Jesus, she would walk around after and sometimes-"

You groan softly. This encouraging little sound.

"-fuck - sorry, I mean. Yeah, he, sometimes he'd make her walk around with his, ah, stuff inside. Down her fucking pants and, it's like, fucking disgusting, I swear-"

"And?" You breathe a heavy edged noise over the line.

Actually okay, so maybe this was more than she bargained for, maybe she bit off more than she can chew - maybe, she feels like her insides are collapsing; all the fire pooling around in her stomach and gathering into a melting sort of weightlessness.

"And it makes me feel fucking-"

"Fucking what."

"Why am I talking about this, why-"

"Talking to me? Fucking wet, Ryujin, answer the question."

She pants down at her phone and then turns her face into her forearm, rubbing and making sounds. She thinks about, oh, fucking Yuna and how she showed up to hang out once, with cum leaking down the crease of her inner thigh, smearing against her skin and down between her legs.

"Wet." She swallows. "How do I-"

"Say that you wish it was you," you tell her. "That you wanted that, to be fucked. To feel a cock inside."

Her head falls back. "That," she manages, "fucking, that."

You drawl so that the question might roll off, easy: "Is that the kind of girl you are? Told not to curse, not supposed to let anyone else play with you - you just need it, don't you? Do you need someone's cum? Just tell me."

"I think so, ah," and she stops moving her hand. "I think I'm gonna go now. This is fucking embarrassing, like. Okay, sorry."

"Don't hang up," you tell her, and the soft edge to it is one she really wants to indulge. "Don't," you repeat, a little louder.

You start talking, about the same sorts of things she's imagined herself: the sex and the sounds and what he can do to her. You build a slow and aching heat between her thighs that has her dripping through her underwear and grinding against her fingers. Telling her how she's the one that needs to be filled, needs a man who can wrap her legs around his waist, get to the deepest parts of her, the parts untouched and willing.

Ryujin gets that - she wonders, half out of it and stroking faster than she usually would be, how much of it has anything to do with who the voice is on the other end of the receiver, and how it could be what a desperate, pathetic, tired part of her has always wanted.

"Are you?" she asks, panting over the phone.

"Am I what?" you whisper back to her.

"Are you," and you hear how she inhales sharply through her nose, a desperate gasp leaving her lips on the exhale, "going to, um. Are you touching yourself right now?"

Your reply is immediate, and her eyes flutter and close the second you tell her exactly what she wants to hear:

"God, yes."

She drags her hand up the center of her body, runs her fingertips over her jaw and presses the heel of her wrist to her neck to feel her pulse slamming hard.

"I'm fucking throbbing, Ryujin; you sound gorgeous like this, like nothing I've ever heard, I'm stroking my cock just picturing you, please-"

"Tell me." She's mouthing into the center of her palm, saying the words, tasting salt and musk. "Fuck, ah," she babbles, "tell me what you would do with me."

"I'd get you on your knees," you tell her without hesitating for a beat.

"Fuck."

"I'd come up behind you and tell you not to be scared, baby. I wouldn't hurt you, I'd just touch you real gentle. Push my fingers past your tongue, slide a little down your throat."

"Uh huh," she moans, her head falling back and rolling, rocking against the mattress.

"Want you sucking on my fingers. Need your hands around my cock, or better, my balls, play with them. You're going to take those fingers - every finger I got, all five, yeah?- all ten of them," you joke, "and open up your tight cunt - like you are now, like such a good fucking girl-"

The girl fucking yelps. Just this honest sound of depravity; it's what she's paying you for. It's a silly line of bullshit, but it makes her bite hard and ache a little around her own knuckles and moan in her palm and dig her nails hard into her flesh. Her thumb fumbles across the top edge of her underwear and you pant again into her ear as if on cue, giving her a small bit of guidance that has her jolting in pleasure. She didn't know that was there, fuck, fuck-

"Like that, Ryujin. Breathe," and she does.

"Please," she whines, trying to find somewhere for her arm to settle, resting finally in her hair - setting the phone to speaker in a foolish moment of lapsed-judgment, just before it nearly clatters off the side of her bed.

Keep going - she's telling you over and over - keep going, and you’re picturing her there: eyes closed, legs spread wide, bent knees quivering and toes curling into the sheets. It doesn’t sound fake - you've heard a million of them, you've learned them in their different tones and accents and you can spot a faker a mile away. And the girl on the phone right now isn't pretending or thinking about whatever's happening somewhere else.

(You don't join in for everyone. You can't. It's an asinine consideration that you'd be rubbing your fist up and down your cock while it's sore and wanting - aching from the neglect or lack of rhythm. You have to remind yourself it's just a job, that the logistics just can't support such selflessness.

But then there's the very fucking premise.

That the girl on the other end of the line is inches from the goalposts, fingering her cunt and sighing into the throes of her first orgasm - first ever, because you did this, you brought her this far - you're the fucking culprit, and no matter how many girls, or boys-pretending-to-be-girls, how many people have gotten off with the help of your voice, your instruction, this one sets a different fucking precedent.

You're not lying when you say, "I'm rock fucking hard, Ryujin," or "there's precum all over my knuckles, baby."

Because there is, and the poor thing chokes out another desperate sound when you tell her.)

"I'm right there, ah, fuck, keep going-"

"I've got my hand around my shaft, just enough that I can fuck it, can't I? The head is getting slick - baby - and my palm is gliding nice and easy. Are you cumming, Ryujin? You better be, you better be cumming right now."

There's a heaving gasp and she calls out for you, babbling curses and "please" and "fuck" in alternating succession, with enough punctuation for you to have to let your lip slip under the hard bite of your front teeth. "Don't stop," she tells you, voice thready.

"You need this so bad."

"Yes," she gasps. "How would you-"

"How would I fuck you?" you finish her thought.

She waits a moment, sucking in shallow breaths and then replying weakly, "I really like... I like doggy."

"On your knees?"

"Yeah," she stammers, "I like when, like- ah, like, pulling my hair."

"Fuck, I love that," you say into her mewling. "Splayed out with your tits against a pillow and getting your pretty, little pussy pounded? I bet that'd feel so good, huh? Hands so rough on your hips, on your throat, squeezing your neck so you'll turn pink. Just to see you smile, I'd probably fucking let you take whatever you want."

You're met with a broken moan, a long string of syllables ending on a note that has your shoulders clenching and cock jumping in your grip.

Tense over the things you can't see: Ryujin biting down into the side of her hand, the other knocking painfully against the wooden side rail on her mattress, her thighs tightening and screaming and clamping around her wrist as she pulls weaker, wilder whimpers out of her chest each time her fingers drag across her slit and the sensitive curve of her swollen clit. She's dying, she thinks, she's going to fucking die - the in and out of her soaked pussy, through all that sticky, satiny skin, slick fingers diving in, twisting until there's nowhere for them to go.

No other recourse than to fuck in, fuck, fuck, like that, fucking god.

There's heavy silence on the line for god knows how long - well, you have to check the log. But for her, it feels like fucking forever. That was - that was it. It's so fucking mind-wracking how good it was, she can't quite wrap her brain around it. Nowhere near. She thinks she'll have a better idea after two rounds, definitely by four. She'll buy something, use the discount, go shopping - an orgasm just to make sure she's not bullshitting herself.

You clear your throat.

She moves sluggishly, away from the side and against the headboard - the heat still unbearably oppressive, her t-shirt clinging and sticking. "That," she stumbles through the afterglow.

"Do I need to apologize to you?" you ask lightly.

"What? Oh god, no - no way. No way. I just."

"Yes?"

"Like I didn't know it was this-"

"Did you just cum, Ryujin?"

She's laying there with the phone pressed to her brow. A hand palmed over her own racing pulse. The faint smell of her own cunt lingering around her face.

"I don't know," she tells you, and promptly hangs up.

-

The darkness in Ryujin's bedroom is punctuated only by the faint, hazy light streaming in from the hall, and her bedroom fan making its creaking little circles, as she waits in her post-nut-high for her breathing to normalize. Her mind is buzzing, and out of all this, she has a hell of a bill and a couple conclusions:

She's a coward and a pervert, but definitely, definitely bisexual.

Or, like. She's in some weird gray area between not liking whenever anyone buys her drinks, but also the girls at least let her dance a little close. That's a strange thing, isn't it? For how often her mouth does stupid shit - you think at least someone would figure it out for her.

But you, oh fuck. You-

She's fucking shaken up, for sure.

-

(It's a home office set-up, actually.

Your desk isn't organized; you're sure the photos on the wall are askew and the paint looks slightly worse for wear if you were to turn the lights on - which you never really do. There's an aging lamp tucked into the back corner, a bottle of scotch next to your handset that's closer to halfway empty than halfway full, and you can't stop imagining it.

Promise, This never happens.

You've got the name stuck to the roof of your mouth even though you know it's fake. Stuck with something so painfully abstract. Imagining this girl that is probably as brash and bawdy as her voice, or more exciting than either - maybe her hair is long enough to brush along her breasts. Or maybe it hangs just over her shoulders. God knows just how that would frame her features.

You can see it, really. You pump a handful of coconut oil into your palm and the details solidify so easily in your head: her pretty mouth, nose, the dimples in her cheeks - eyes glazed and sultry and gazing at you.

Smelling sweet, all the places you need, skin hot, clit swollen-

Just- fuck. Fuck.

Ryujin, huh, imagine that.

Ryujin.

And you jerk off right into the soft embrace of a tissue.)

-

A little more than a week later:

Ryujin's all wrapped up on the couch, with an arm cushioning her head and watching TV when there's a sudden commotion from the front door. Yuna - her friend, her very nice, very male friend who never shows up after midnight unless there's a promise of sex - comes bumbling into the room.

He has no regard for boundaries.

So,

Yuna starts to say, smug, from where the hallway becomes the living room, "Ryujin - look at us. Stuck on a Friday night. You gotta boyfriend or something?"

She's completely unfazed by this interaction. She's pretty sure he has his own key, so like, he should be used to it by now too.

"Kind of." She shuts off the TV to turn her attention towards the topic at hand. "Why?"

Yuna runs a hand through all her long, silky hair and gestures her cock-du-jour on over to the door of her room. "Waiting for a call, maybe." She waggles her eyebrows. "Are you any good, I mean, you never seem to..."

Annoying brat. 

Ryujin smacks the back of her neck and interrupts, "you gonna fuck him? Go ahead and fuck him, Yuna." She checks the lock. The kitchen. Gets up and tries to ignore the heat flaring behind her ears.

"We could pretend," Yuna muses, tugging the waistband of Ryujin's shorts around her fingers before she's out of arm's reach. The elastic flips back into her waist with a dull snap.

"Dumb idea. That's a dumb, dumb idea," she reasons, because she knows Yuna has no self control. None, and it's showing; the second her shoulders sag forward and her eyes dart, craving, Ryujin steps back in. "Don't be stupid."

Yuna's lips are tilted, playful. Ryujin wants to smack that look right off her face. Like she fucking deserves any kind of victory just because she found out she can fuck anyone she wants while lacking the self-awareness to somehow be contented with anyone. She's not going to call her a slut - out of a matter of principle - but god, does she fucking want to.

"Gotta get ready, is what you should do," Ryujin mumbles under her breath.

"Fine." Yuna shrugs and pecks an annoying kiss to Ryujin's temple on her way to the shower, waving a hand over her head with a casual, "If you want something, you've only got a half-hour."

Ryujin pushes her hair out of her face and does what she does best: overanalyze and overthink the situation.

Whatever. Yuna won't give it up regardless, not in any way she'd actually be able to enjoy. Her cheeks go a little redder while she pretends to not be considering it.

God, a threesome in total functional harmony however: her working her mouth on Yeji (Ryujin doesn't know why she's thinking about Yeji, but she is), Yeji working her mouth on her boyfriend, her boyfriend working his mouth on her -

That'd be something, she thinks. Like one of those Escher diagrams, but one where everyone cums at the end.

The thought makes Ryujin wet enough to squeeze her thighs together and stand up a little straighter.

Then she hears the showerhead turn on, and she wonders just why, exactly, Yuna is such a spoiled asshole.

-

Turns out,

The universe just has this habit of providing Ryujin with what she wants right alongside everything she doesn't.

She’s stretched out in her sweats, sat up at the top of her bed again and touching herself beneath the sheet in a pointless attempt to contain the mess. Fucking horny - it's honestly unbelievable - and her left hand's making lecherous, slick noises until it's absolutely gross. Until Ryujin's gasping and panting and sweating from the nape of her neck and the back of her knees.

All because Yuna's the loudest little-fucking-whore of a roommate anyone has ever heard.

She's moaning like she's getting fucking plowed into the next life. And apparently, the cock she's got in her cunt is fucking huge if those little murmuring whimpers are anything to go on. She keeps begging the guy, coy, for a kiss while she's probably folded up like a lawn chair in there, getting railed, and the fact that the boy keeps obliging is as admirable as it is kind of insulting.

"Goddamn," she thinks out loud, because the walls are paper-fucking-thin. The apartments in the area are built in an earthquake-safe way, which in reality, means they can either withstand a magnitude 6.0 and come out without any severe structural damages - or that it's so cheaply constructed the building will go down like a matchbox house before it stands a chance against a tremor of any significance.

They're easier to replace that way she’s told. And Ryujin's apartment is definitely of the latter; she can hear everything.

The skin on skin, their bodies sliding together in the slippery sheets. Her mouth smacking wet around his tongue as he bucks forward and asks her to do a hundred filthy things, asking her where it feels best - that sort of thing, which gets her wound and agitated and frustrated, and fucking horny as fuck. Ryujin's bent-inward and panting when he really gets to work - the creaks and groans, their mingled pants and the constant thudding and swaying of the headboard smacking into the wall.

She doesn't even need to put her ear to the partition like she's sixteen years old all over again, hoping to catch her old brother going at it while her mom was out. Trying to figure out this whole sex thing - what all the fuss was about.

Just the way Ryujin sighs is nothing short of despondent. Slightly pitiful.

And every tight circle she's running over clit feels so fucking good, until she realizes the room goes real quiet for a bit. The stillness - no slapping, no movement, just wet, panted-breaths and muffled speech. She nearly asks aloud what's wrong - but she hears it: Yuna's hushed but totally undeniable,

"Been so long- don't, don't- hold up," she croons in these high, sing-song little huffs. "That - uhn, ah - that's my - that's my good spot, there, keep - yes, harder!"

Ryujin slams her eyes closed, dropping down onto the mattress and wishing she'd slipped her hands into her sweats sooner. Fuck. And as Yuna's back starts banging against the wall - so rhythmic and fucking thorough - Ryujin can feel the heat curling behind the backs of her knees, radiating along her calf and reaching into the smalls of her feet. Fuck. Fuck, she doesn't even get to watch.

Right there. So good, please, so fucking good, is what Ryujin can’t not hear coming right through the drywall.

She’s three knuckles deep in her pussy, all stretched out, and she's practically drooling - "spread me, baby. Hold the, fuck, spread my lips open. See me- unh. Ah - see me? Please, do it-" - the boy groaning about it as he fucks her, and then, Yuna, needling him with a quiet, breathy, "harder, can't you?"

The answer seems to make Yuna squirm and scream.

And Ryujin's nearly rolling - rocking, fucking humping her own fingers because it's starting to ache a little, a cramping in her wrist and arm and jaw that she's trying really hard to ignore, rubbing and fingering and fucking herself closer, the heels of her feet sinking hard against the sheets, throbbing and aching around the flicks of her knuckles, harder, faster - faster -

"Fucking hell-" she seethes and stops moving all at once - because god, Yuna is un-fucking-believable.

The absolute bitch, she's doing it again: squealing and cursing and calling his name into her orgasm and just basking, it sounds like, right in it. Because she always does this, every single fucking time, she acts like it's the best feeling in the fucking world and she fucking loves everything, and that shit just - Ryujin grits her teeth and grimaces and pulls her slick fingers from her body - that just ruins it.

All that build-up and for what?

Fuck, Yuna really has the nerve to go there too. She's talking about sucking her own damn cunt or some bullshit-

Yeah, it's not fucking fair, Ryujin concedes.

Or maybe she's being punished. She could live with that, but god. The unfairness of it all. She tries, for a half a minute, to let her throbbing stop being a goddamn nuisance. But the noises coming from the other room are making her crankier, more angry, more irate - and definitely hornier than she ever really intended, even though she knows Yuna is thoroughly distracted in there.

Ryujin sits up a little straighter. Squares her shoulders, steadies herself and fishes around in her pockets with her uncoordinated, cum-coated hands until she finds her wallet, a credit card, her cell -

And there's an aching, a sore pulse of neglect between her legs; that's all too much. A quick peek down confirms that, yep, she's practically dripped right out of her shorts and even gotten a dark spot in the front of them. How great is that.

Yuna is over there, all, "thank you - ah - can you please do me a favor and fuck my mouth with your big, big, huge, fucking cock-" and this guy, he sounds so patient, telling her how he wants to do exactly that, but he wants to fill her tiny pussy up first, fuck her here, fuck her there, fuck a baby right into her. Wants to get his cum all over her face, smear her mouth and her throat and her cheeks - 

Ryujin inhales through her nose and holds, eyes falling closed in something between misery and anguish.

He's telling her, yeah, of course he'll fill up her throat - give her so much it's leaking out of her fucking nose - and Yuna sounds like she's moaning and garbling an objection to that last part - but it doesn't actually fucking matter.

"Geez," is Ryujin's quiet, little gasped-out response. He just fucking pounds her right back into place; her next orgasm. Fuck-

And there it is: the slew of moans that start back up and just keep on keeping on.

Shin Ryujin is going to lose her fucking mind.

-

Ryujin only lasts a handful more days before she calls again.

It’s another Wednesday night, if only to increase the odds that you’re working. Yeah, she could go with another guy, but another guy might not do everything you did, talking quietly and calmly - so composed while Ryujin was losing some part of her sanity to the thumb she pressed on her clit. 

No, it has to be you.

That's what Ryujin makes herself say when the operator apologizes and explains you're busy.

"Will he be working much longer? Please, I, um-"

"If you give me your number," the operator tells her, "I can add him as a preferred associate. You'll get him next time instead of going to the line."

Ryujin pauses, finger held to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication isn't there, that maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some people do it already.

Oh god, this is kind of fucked up.

Maybe a little. Maybe.

Ryujin pauses, finger to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication, isn't there, or maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone you like-like for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some of things other people are undoubtedly doing with this service, Ryujin decides, and rattles off the digits so fast the operator asks for clarification.

"If your schedule doesn't open," the line says, "call back and leave a message with when."

Ryujin shrugs and says, "yeah, okay."

-

You make Ryujin sit through forty-five-fucking minutes of on-hold music - this barely audible synthetic noise that signals a connection is still there, truly a genre for no one - all before she just cuts the fucking line and lays down on the couch.

Okay.

Okay, fine.

Whatever.

-

(You are… going through the motions.

Some girl on the other line is barely holding it together; you can hear her thighs making slick noises. God. She sounds desperate, she's holding the phone all tight and saying your name. She's fucking babbling; it's not attractive, not while you're tilted back as far as your office chair will go and staring up in the ceiling.

You're bored, mostly.

"Please, please, I'm-"

"Going to cum, I know, princess." She asked you to call her that. "Mouth all open? Can't help it? Just need to lick it nice and fast?"

The answer comes all choppy: "I can't, ah, a-ah-nymore, no, I, can't, need-"

"Do you have any idea? How hard I'm fucking stroking my cock right now? Sitting right in my lap. Jerking it right for you," you say, and then she makes an embarrassingly wet noise, gasping through a choked whine, "so I'm ready to give you what you really fucking need."

"Yes," she chokes. "There - um, please, I just-"

"The biggest fucking load," you tell her. She has no idea, really, that you've got one hand on the receiver, the other just pinching the bridge of your nose - neither of which are you jerking the cum out of your cock and balls like a fucking hydrant as you’d described. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, and you keep your face turned to the side as she starts screaming. As it starts running into one noise that lasts forever - so unbearable that, this time, you consider going out to the bathroom to grab a glass of water and a handful of painkillers. "Need it deep. Let me pour it in, yeah?"

"Yes," she gasps again, heard on this distant frequency because, yes, yes, you've plugged your ear with a finger.

"That'll satisfy you. C'mon, now, princess - give it right up," you tell her, but your eyes are a little dull when her moan turns out all-gagging and twitchy and spasming through it, until finally:

"Ugh."

You wait a moment for the gasping and hitching to finish.

"Good girl," is your distant reply, followed by a polite, perfunctory, "call back anytime.")

-

Ryujin feels like she's in grade eleven again as she stares at her phone. Boys. Drama. Girls. The drama.

The overanalyzing, the wondering, the hesitating. Fuck. She wishes she knew a way to change this, because she doesn't feel particularly mature and is somehow reduced to this girl, this idiot sitting here all embarrassed and staring and moping about a thousand different calamities at once.

She's looking right at the lock screen: the wallpaper of her and Yeji and Chaeryeong out getting coffee on a random Sunday, all bundled up. Winter. Like three, four years ago, maybe.

Ryujin looks like shit, it's funny.

But Yeji -

How she can make the winter pallor look good is beyond Ryujin's understanding. It's unfair. All the things are. Her brain is back and forth and spinning, spinning like the hands on the old clock hung up on the wall in the kitchen. So stuck on what's not quite normal. Stuck on what doesn't fucking matter - who even fucking cares who the fuck she's attracted to?

She feels it between her legs.

Has been for like a month, or longer, without an outlet. Without anything to give her the hint that maybe she can get back to it - the right it.

She doesn't need to call, she tells herself. She's not some weirdo who's sitting on this for days just in the hopes that her boyfriend is having a bad week with work or whatever. It's only Wednesday, technically. Still way early. Just another few days, she reasons, another few hours - what does it matter?

Wednesday. She can feel the word settle inside of her.

Though only once her bottom lip is chewed to hell, does she pick up her phone and decide she will.

-

(You're in your bedroom this time around, finishing up your own weekday workout - on the bike, fifteen-second sprints - when your phone goes off. A simple dinging. Very unassuming.

The operator comes in with a cool, level, "line two, callback."

Then there's nothing but silence for a few beats.

You towel some of the sweat off your face. It's warm - your skin, flushed. Bouncing your phone in your palm. The same feeling that's been tugging at your throat for the past two weeks starts to flare and swell.

Not quite a hope, not quite expectation: just something close.

"Are they still there?"

The operator confirms. "Shall I put them through?")

-

Ryujin fumbles in her own rush of bravado, hands pressing against the fronts of her thighs in an unflattering, nervous little gesture as the connection clicks and picks up.

"This is him," comes your voice, a little husky and raspy from all the day-to-day talk, but even and easygoing and maybe - just maybe - something she can hang on to. Ryujin gives an acknowledging "Mmmn," like the phone call isn't causing her major inner-turmoil.

"Right, ah." You sound kind of, dare she say, nervous yourself. You clear your throat into the line and ask, "what brings you here, stranger?"

Ryujin pauses at this; the red in her ears reaches her fucking jaw. Stranger. Jesus christ, okay, okay-

She laughs. Stops immediately at how self-conscious she sounds. Clears her throat and tucks some of her hair back - settles herself into it like her life hangs in the balance. "I'm here to get my rocks off."

"It's not usually my place to say," you begin in earnest, "but if you're anything like me, and this is gonna sound completely off-the-cusp, but those two weeks really seem to build up, don't they?"

God.

She pulls her sock off her ankle. There's eczema on her heel, and it's the kind of thing she can imagine Yeji telling her to not scratch - that she's going to fuck up her skin. It's funny the stupid fucking things she can remember and all the things she forgets. Like just now, with your voice in her ear, a little unsure in a way that says you've got other, much more important things you should be doing. But you're here with her.

With Ryujin.

God. She might hate herself a little.

"Um," is how she finds her bearings. "Actually."

"It's a joke. Not that- I mean." She hears some rustling - assumes it's coming through the ear piece. There's an abrupt slamming on her side of the line and it seems like the worst kind of deja-fucking-vu. Her neighbors. She forgets it's even this late into the evening. That other people don't have to work so hard in their free-time.

"Maybe this isn't a good night," she says, not so much as thinking the words.

"What?" you ask. Then it dawns on you. "No, no. If you're there, I'm here." You clear your throat. "Besides, there's nobody I'd rather hear from than a woman so desperate she's signed onto my frequent flier's club."

She stops chewing the insides of her cheeks long enough to give you a tired, irritated sound. "Whatever."

And you nearly choke trying not to laugh.

"I don't, um-"

"What, do I have a nice voice?" You laugh quietly.

Under normal circumstances, that wry edge, the bit of try-hard-humor would have her rolling her fucking eyes clean out of their sockets. So when instead she opens her mouth and a fatal-fucked-flirty-feminine, stop, comes out, the vowel pulled long like a plea or a request - well, Ryujin's forehead drops against her bedspread in immediate regret.

You seem startled by it too, going quiet for a second.

"I-I'm-"

"Cute," you decide.

Her ears are red-hot and her cheeks have to be pinking and god, she hates this. That she's hearing this so soon, and it's making her brain hazy and soft and stuttering through, um's and yeah, well, um's. A part of her can't believe she's paying for this, and then, at the same time, she can't believe she's not actually putting cash down for more right this second.

Because it feels -

Like maybe -

Her shoulders rise. She wants this to be quick; she hates this feeling of embarrassment creeping its way in and grabbing onto her with both hands, like this weird, pseudo-affection. She's a grown fucking woman and here she is, letting all her guard down for someone she doesn't even fucking know.

You can feel the tension, hear it. Your lips purse. You try for something easy.

"Go on and give me the details, Ryujin."

Before you'd even picked up, she'd already half-undone her shirt, the flaps of the collar hanging loose with her hands gently petting her ribcage - so easily giving and pliant that there's a good portion of her, in spite of the doubt, in spite of what seems completely illogical about all this, that has her realizing maybe she wants this more than she can possibly understand.

God, she feels like a fucking fool.

"It's pretty boring."

"Not to me. I've spent the last few weeks talking to a bunch of assholes who don't appreciate what they got in the first place," you reply. She imagines you're a little playful about it. Wonders, momentarily, how good that smirk looks - if your eyebrows are lifting like you've been teasing her since day one. Fuck. 

“Your operator is a total asshole too, by the way."

"Don't say that," is Ryujin's shy reply, practically moaned out. "You sound like someone I'd absolutely fucking hate, jesus, stop that."

"Just because you don't get on with someone, doesn't mean they can't get you off."

"Smooth, or something."

"I'm taking a break, relaxing a little, enjoying an overrated TV show or whatever this is - not really minding my business," you say, but your smile is so audible it's fucking offensive. And she's - she's maybe, definitely into that. Like the fucking embarrassment in this is turning her on. Ryujin puts the tip of her finger in the waist of her shorts, experimentally, gently, this small brush and press to her sensitive lower stomach. And it's true. All she hears is her own breathing in the receiver, a bit labored over the slightest, least indecent touch. It's amazing, how much her body can want even when her head can't seem to catch up.

"What do you like?" she asks. “You’re a person, working bits and all, something’s gotta get you all worked up and flustered, no?”

"Will you believe me if I tell you this is my absolute favorite?"

"Do you always dodge the question?"

"It's just like a courtesy," you clarify, "it's not personal."

"Now I sound like a desperate pervert."

"On the contrary," is your warm, buttery reply, and it is fucking aggravating just how well this works on her. "I think there are much better things people can say about you."

God, that - the thought, the possibility of something about her that has nothing to do with how 'thick' or 'thin' her thighs are, or the silhouette of her ass in safety shorts, or how her voice makes guys want to ask if they can take her home and fuck the answers from her, or any of that; it's kind of liberating, just a tiny bit. That it can be a good thing for some reason. God.

Ryujin rubs herself. "Yeah, well."

She wants it all the same and says nothing, shifting a little until her hips tilt slightly upwards, letting her pull at the drawstring of her shorts, loosening the grip. She's already kind of feeling woozy in all the best ways, soft and feminine in how she slides her hand underneath her shorts. Over panties first, with no clear idea if you can tell and honestly, too distracted to wonder about that, if she should care or not, too caught up with her fingertips over the raised seam in her underwear - where the fabric's wet from her.

A shush comes into the line when Ryujin swallows.

The ache between her legs grows louder.

"You still there, Ryujin?"

"Of course," and then, she finds a little more reassured finality: "fuck, yeah, fuck. Please, I..."

"Ryujin," you say with all the calm and control in the world, "talk to me."

-

(So - truthfully, honestly, factually - you are a total wreck.

You're sitting there in a heap of bedsheets and a cold sweat when Ryujin finally mutters into the silence, "thanks, for that, I, uh- that felt really good, exactly what I needed," and hangs up before you can ask about her day or comment on the weather or suggest calling back tomorrow.

She is just perfect, the way she lets a small "I..." slip when she's close. Perfect, how she groans her little broken, satisfied sigh of a yes, her last, fleeting exhale just a sweet, high, barely there please, her body tensing with every little shudder and moan and pant. How the pace goes fast and then slow - like she's gotta think it out a second, her own fingers bringing her closer and closer until there's nothing but a flurry of movement and ragged breaths - an enthusiastic little mmph noise - followed by Ryujin's wet and slick little laugh that sounds like relief.

Like you did something to help, like she needed you and wanted you.

There's cum sticking all up your torso and along your wrist, the inside of your thigh - everywhere you could manage, frankly - and, shit, it's not fair, you realize:

She can find you, whenever she needs you.

And you -

You're just sitting here. Nowhere near sure she'll even call again.)

-

There's a sizable difference between being lonely and being alone, Ryujin thinks, running the cloth under the stream of the shower and then pressing it damp against her throat, wiping at the backs of her knees.

Lonely means that something's missing - it's something she feels when she catches a glance at the handsome arm reached around Chaeryeong's waist, the way she dances so close to someone she just met, or whenever she tells her that she's thinking about, maybe, probably, definitely, absolutely going home with him if her friends don't stop her from leaving. God, her smile is always so cute when he's near. When someone's calling her over for drinks - hips sashaying like she doesn't know the whole bar is staring at the creases where her thighs flare into her ass - because he gave her a look from across the room, and she's swaying from drink to drink.

Like, of course, they're fucking; it's a known, unsaid thing.

She knows it, he knows it. Chaeryeong fucking owns it.

Alone however, is just what it says on the tin.

That's something else Ryujin has yet to learn - that everyone loves differently, cares for different things. Yuna is still single after all, and she can never shake the feeling that it's simply to spite her for some perceived slight or another; Yuna can't live without company, no matter how brief or short or meaningless, so perhaps it's better she never catches on or finds anyone worth keeping around.

And Yeji?

Ryujin sighs, rakes the comb through her wet hair.

The showerhead is running hot between Ryujin's fingers, and the water coming off of her skin turns to steam instantly, filling the bathroom with a permanent cloud, stuck in flux - rising towards the ceiling. She passes her fingers under it, watches the flow, a quiet hm escaping the back of her throat - and she considers the way it feels beating against her throat and chest.

Down the concave curve of her stomach. How it burns red right over her thighs. The pressure slips and sinks low, lower - and when she puts a palm out for a little stability, her left leg can't help but buckle just so, lifting itself out and off to the side. So she stands, toes pointing against the shower floor, face first into her arm against the cool tile.

Ryujin sees where the rivulets of water have gathered above her clavicle - feels them trail down over the tightness in her breasts and between. A couple images pass through her mind at once - thoughts of fingers trailing a line back up the center of her body and a gentle tap against her chin, turning her face to some perfect all-consuming kiss - a hand squeezing at her calf, rubbing her muscles gently - Yeji smiling into the crook of her neck, the grasp on her hip, wrist flexing. Her back bowed and fingers, broad and experienced -

"Don't need you," Ryujin quietly says to nobody, which -

You're doing so well, Ryujin hears back in her imagination, you're so beautiful, you can keep this up, I know you can. I bet it feels good, doesn't it? Just let go and I'll...

Ryujin whimpers out. She can feel that line deep inside her going taut, buckling in her core, the reverberations down to her wrists and fingertips and toes. If she didn't have the wall in front of her, she knows she'd be on her knees - kneeling to the hot water pulsing around the knots of nerves right behind her clit. The pressure hitting her like the crack of a whip.

"Fuck me," she says to no one, gasping in that way you only can when no one is listening.

Yeji's smile is what's gotten her this close so many times, the smell of the ends of her hair tickling Ryujin's nose. Hell, she can't stop thinking about the way her nose crinkles or her dimples flare just when she finds Ryujin's name in her mouth.

It's not fair.

She's so close to cumming and letting whatever happens happen. The slick of her release pouring right out into the drain of the shower, washed away with the excess. So when her whole hand shifts and catches in just the right, delicious, frustrating way, Ryujin inhales so deep through the end of the sentence that, as a result, her knees wobble.

She feels like fucking crying.

It's that sweet little lilt in Yeji's voice, saying things like: "It's alright. I promise you can keep this up a little longer." And "Oh, god, baby." And, at worst, the way her voice shakes with a "come here, honey. Let me-"

Ryujin has to catch herself when her footing slips a little from under her. Then, your voice, coming in distant at first, grows louder, clearer. Into something catastrophic, right against her throat, like it knows the very inside-and-out of her, "go on. Fuck, please, cum all over me, baby - show me a face no one else gets to see."

And for the first time,

Ryujin gets herself off. Alone.

She moans and sighs out. Gasps, "there you go-" and whispers an, "ah, jesus." She manages the most silent, the least decipherable, fuck, as it leaves her mouth like a prayer. Her left knee twitches, body curling into itself, and her hand moves - fingers closing and her eyes clenched shut, a wave, cresting - she just-

Collapses.

Wanting: Yeji, sure - and she came - but the only thing she can really wrap her head around is the truth that she's so, utterly fucked.

-

"Are you sure there's no one you can bring?" Yeji asks in the middle of slapping the ever-loving shit out of a coffee maker that has, for as far as anyone can remember, never worked.

"Uh," is Ryujin's inconvenienced reaction, the tips of her fingers idly sorting through her credit card statements, which a more-sober, less-horny version of herself is a little out of sorts over. "I'm not sure there's anyone I'd want to bring."

"Uh huh," Yeji replies.

She pauses and rests the bottom edge of the coffee maker on the edge of the kitchen counter, stopping herself mid-smack - leaning away to try and give the stupid thing a once-over.

"Who the hell says it's got to be someone you wanna make babies with? Maybe it's just someone you'd think would look good beside you, smiling at the cameras with. Or."

"Or."

Yeji's lips tilt. "Or someone you wouldn't mind screwing in the bathroom."

Ryujin spins the pen in her fingers and gives Yeji a look that says back off and can you chill out already, in the sort of way it takes years to ferment - the silent understandings, the good-natured naggings, the good-fucking-luck-with-that-buddy's. Yeji knows she's getting on Ryujin's nerves. Knows that has never stopped her before.

"In my defense," Yeji clarifies, "I can count at least a hundred people that would crawl over broken glass to sleep with you and, uh-" She knocks the coffee maker off of its stand and holds it gingerly to her chest like some child, motherly. "-I don't wanna take a bullet for your unintentional chastity, Shin Ryujin."

"First of all, don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor here," she replies. "Second-"

"Can't hurt just asking, right? I could set you up, you know, someone you've never even met - no pre-burnt bridges to maneuver."

There’s a world, and Ryujin imagines it for all of a second, where she stands up and grabs hold of Yeji by her cute little ponytail - if nothing else, just to stop the way it bounces every time she steps - and maybe, she also kisses her on the mouth so hard she stumbles. Or perhaps she could pull that ribbon free of its holdings and unravel it down against Yeji's jaw. Pull a whimper, a tiny little ah that says this was inevitable. Maybe they crash onto her bed. Maybe she gets her fingers sticky with how soaked through the cotton of Yeji's shorts have gotten in those short, heated moments - what a world that would be.

"One of what's-his-name's friends? I’m assuming."

Yeji looks annoyed and proud and beautiful; all at once.

"Yes, and what's-his-name's pillow talk is exceedingly whiny about how my best friend is so incredibly standoffish and abrasive and-"

"Okay. I'll go." Anything to stop the image of Yeji with the comforter pulled up to her tits and hair splayed all over the place; red and flushed. Her lips curling with the curve of the sheets and god -

"Just for an hour?" Ryujin asks.

Yeji finally places the coffee maker back onto its stand.

"I mean, nothing much happens an hour into a birthday party," Yeji reassures. "It'll be fun."

"Uh-huh."

"Trust me."

Ryujin wonders just how far Yeji could go - if she knows that she can snap her fingers together, and Ryujin will be there: ready to do anything.

-

Ryujin is trying to go to sleep, is how she'll explain it if anyone asks. Though she prays to god no one ever will.

She tries books. And she tries scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. And there's this one guy she kinda-sorta-dated's updates: photos of a vacation to Boracay, which seems nice; his chest is a little more defined, more chiseled than when she was seventeen and kind of fumbling her way around a college boy and his stupid fucking preoccupation with who should be paying for drinks at whatever run down establishment was his pick of the night. Ryujin makes a face at the screen, pursing her lips; there's a girl in the photo - she looks too young for how her ass is falling out the one-piece. To the extent that she makes sure to send an unsolicited meme she's tagged herself in - like "here is my past and here are his balls", and gets a block and a report as a thank you.

It makes her feel good. That's what's most important.

And then, with little other distraction and a decent lack of luck, she picks up the phone.

It rings for a while before the operator comes in and says, "You're at number nine."

"What?"

"The queue. This call has you at number nine."

Ryujin slowly leans up from the pillows and squints into her bedroom.

"Huh."

"Would you still like to be connected, miss?

Ryujin thinks it over for a moment. Of course you're popular, a part of her mind comments, because you've got a voice like gravel-slung honey-gold. She's imagining eight other girls just like her, laying in their bed, panties on their ankles and thumbs covered with spit. All desperate for you. All curled up - one right after the other - with no fucking idea.

"Miss," the operator comes back with.

The line goes quiet - a few beats, but not too uncomfortable a silence. Then she gets a soft little exhale out, saying, "can I leave a callback number?"

"If you like." The operator considers the idea. "I can’t promise whether he’ll call you.”

“No, yeah.” Ryujin curls an arm under her chest and plays a finger against the swell of her breast through her night shirt. Gets lost in her own consideration. “Don't think he would anyway."

-

A new day is defined by new possibilities, or something or another you read once stitched into a frame; Something you muse over the rim of your coffee, nose-deep in the laptop at the kitchen counter top.

Last night ended a bit unexpectedly - this not considering the couple's awkward fight which took up two-thirds of the evening. Or the girlfriend-slash-fiancée of that guy, which somehow led you to wonder just how old was too old. But as you were logging your final client session of the night a ping came through the employee portal and let you know that someone had left their number with the operator in the hopes you'd call.

You swig back the rest of your coffee, roll your shoulders and shrug. Oh, there are at least a million reasons not to call a number that randomly, offhandedly arrives in the middle of the night and gets patched through a phonesex hot line under the cover of darkness.

The same number could be out there, defacing the wall of a truck stop bathroom, or inked into the skin of a squat prison convict who's got a brow like the horizon. Maybe, it belongs to that married business man that took your personal phone number as his private line and spent all the time bragging how he was going to quit his wife and make a run for it with you - just you - even though you'd rather stab him with a fork than be involved with that kind of psychopathy and are honestly just looking for that extra bump in commissions every time his wife calls to ask the exact same thing.

Your clients call. You talk.

You take the cash.

The point is: there's more fucking deviants out there than there are stars in the sky. You would know; you talk to a new handful every goddamn day.

Yet it doesn't really matter. You're gonna do it. Because you're feeling restless. Because - and it sounds insane - there's at least some probability, no matter how remote, that you will pick up that receiver and punch in a number and the line will connect with the girl who's been on your mind almost constantly for the better half of two months. That you might listen to the dial tone turn into her answering with a genuinely indifferent, "this is Ryujin," or whatever her name actually is -

You're living in a pipe dream. You're probably reaching, actually. And all you know about this woman, is, what? What does it really, factually, truly amount to, the amount you feel you've come to know about her.

You know more about how she prefers to methodically, meticulously begin, then draw out, and finally end a blowjob to someone that ain't you than you do about any detail in her life story, frankly. You're reaching, and you know it.

You pick up the phone and dial.

-

(It goes straight to voicemail, and get this: that’s her real fucking name.)

-

Yuna has the audacity to ask, as she slides into the booth, "who do you keep texting?"

Ryujin's eyebrow arches.

The younger girl nods towards where Ryujin's thumbs are practically flying over the keyboard.

"No one." Ryujin puts the phone on her lap and crosses her arms over her chest. Then the words seem to echo through the inside of her skull, so she shakes her head a little, in emphasis. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

She's right though - and maybe that's the problem. Maybe that's why it's hard to answer.

Chaeryeong washes the shot of whisky down with a swallow of lemon-lime. Her eyes slide open to Ryujin as she wipes at her bottom lip. Then she spikes a finger into Ryujin's ribs.

"Spill."

It's a dangerous order, and she doesn't realize it at first. Chaeryeong's bad ideas have an annoying habit of flinging themselves on Ryujin, like a bomb dropped at low altitude - sudden, quick, and more than enough to shake everything up. Chaeryeong will make Ryujin go out dancing - and then she'll lose her clutch purse. Chaeryeong will remember she started the evening with a scarf - so they need to walk out a whole block or two to find it.

More importantly: Chaeryeong is not a great drunk.

So, of course she spills. She relays her findings, carefully and as deliberately as she can muster.

"Does he have a nice voice?" Chaeryeong asks.

"It's kind of deep?”

Chaeryeong snorts. Apologizes immediately.

"Not... deep. Sultry. I guess. Smooth, easy to hear." Ryujin tells the two across the table.

Yuna whistles low. "Romantic as shit."

“Fuck, I don’t know. In, like a sexy sort of way." Ryujin raises both palms in a vague gesture. She clears her throat at the two pairs of eyes staring back at her as though the words coming out of her mouth belonged to a foreign language. "Uh. Sort of raspy, or something, sometimes, like he's... on the phone a lot, and you know," Ryujin flushes, suddenly caught and wondering where all the confidence went, "yeah."

Yuna's leaning forward, chin in her palm. "I'm having a hard time believing texting is a sort of standard operating procedure."

"Well try a little harder," Ryujin snaps, eyes finding Yuna's and making herself fucking clear.

Chaeryeong has this look about her, she's trying to keep it all in, but then there's her eyes, cinched at the corners and dead-fucking-giveaways. She puts an arm against the table and points at Ryujin with an up-reaching thumb. "This is the cutest shit, like ever, and you two are texting like actual lovers instead of two, apparently rando-stranger fuck buddies, or whatever."

Yuna - for whatever reason - feels at liberty to throw gasoline on the fire. "Does that mean you think he's going to get jealous if you bring some dude along to Lia's birthday?"

Ryujin sucks in a breath; the fact that he'd never - well.

"Ryujin's in love," Yuna adds for dramatic effect, for the sake of being the worst fucking person. She can be so fucking petty. It's a side of her no one ever sees, because she's just so sweet all the time. Like right now, she's doing that smile-smirk thing that gets Chaeryeong giggling against her hand and then coughing into it a second later.

"Jesus christ," Ryujin starts gathering her jacket and purse. "He's- not- this is- God, I'm done." She slips her shoulder under the strap. "Thanks for listening to me sound like a teenager."

"Isn't that just normal for you," Yuna quips back, pulling at her straw until there's only air rushing through the bend of it. "Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here," Ryujin says as if it's obvious, as well as her point, the argument she's trying to make. "Besides, Yeji is gonna want me to get my dress and shit all sorted out."

"Don't fall in love with one of the robot voices at the cross-walk on your way home, or anything!" Yuna laughs out, giving a flippant wave goodbye.

Ryujin lets her eyes roll because sometimes, she hates her friends.

-

It still throws you for a loop whenever Ryujin pings your phone with a text that says something like:

have you jerked yourself off to exhaustion or is there one more in you for someone like me?

Or,

my roommate is getting pounded through the springs of her mattress, wanna see if you can hear it?

Or,

are you free? I really fucking need to cum. bad.

Each text is something you tuck into yourself. Save and mark and spend all your time in those long-form responses imagining how her face looked when her brain typed out the words for you. You wonder if she's sighing through her fingers or hiding her lips behind a pillow while the heat coils in the pits of her hips.

As time goes by, Ryujin slips a little more. From one text about whatever book or series she was rereading last and another about the sadism of politicians and how people are more likely to agree with what they've heard someone else say than the facts of a given subject, to texts with a few scattered thoughts to strings of sexting that has you cumming into the palm of your hand and through your sheets and in the middle of a dream in which there's no clothes and a pretty fucking filthy proposition.

"How have you been lately," you decide, and consider, briefly, the very strong likelihood this call is gonna send her right through the goddamn roof.

When Ryujin eventually finds herself able to get out: "fine," there's a tell-tale pause, then an even longer pause, that implies she'd definitely rather say anything else. Then she kind of stutters a, "pretty good. Not too bad. All that stuff, I suppose."

And not to say any part of this has felt like routine. Both of you breathing into the end of a telephone and letting your eyes clench tight while you cum all over yourself - imagining everything she told you she wanted you to do to her, how it'd all go: "fucking with my arms grappled behind my back," she'd hum, "head pushed into the bedsheets, you're smothering me, ah- I'd let you cum wherever the fuck you like, but please-" or maybe a bit simpler: "so my thighs are straddling your face?" is about the gist.

A second goes by, another, a third.

"Hang on," you end up having to tell her sometimes, "I need a fucking towel-"

"You really are, huh, jerking off with me- I get you that hot, is what you're telling me? Or is just too much imagining how you'd fuck your way right into my guts through my pretty little pussy? Ah, jesus," the cadence of her voice climbs high before ending up back where it belongs, "Jesus, fuck."

"Can you imagine," is how it'd start, "how good it'd feel? My pussy, or- anywhere, everywhere. I think you'd ruin me for anyone else - you- with how, god-"

You can hear Ryujin shift on the sheets, licking at her bottom lip. Silently cumming. Cumming for you.

"Okay."

"Okay what," Ryujin quietly says back.

The gears turning.

You press your hand into the side of your neck. "Fuck me. Now, in a second. Tell me the last fucking thing in the world you want me to be or do and-"

"Wait."

There's this half-breath. This hmm that almost trips off Ryujin's tongue. Her eyes squinting open to a new thought. You think she's about to be sly. About to surprise you with an offhand fuck yes I'd ride that face like a bus seat; that she might come back with, yes I'll put you right in the middle of the best part of me, god you'll love it, and I promise not to make you cum if you're nice enough not to let your hands wander. But.

It's funny how things are -

"I have a confession," she says, matter-of-factly.

That's not entirely unusual. You've had more of those come through your line in a year than a confessional grate might get in a lifetime. So it doesn't sound like something special to you; Ryujin and you are in this candid don't-ask-don't-tell in regards to payments and the exchange of goods and services, but here you are, still using lines and bits. Practiced.

"In the name of the father, and of the son, and-"

"Funny." Ryujin gets the hint to backtrack. "Uhm, I mean. Remember the roommate I was telling you about?"

You hum a, "maybe."

"Uh," and now the hushed voice from her throat sounds distant, suddenly out of the scope of the receiver, "can I be totally, honestly- just really, extremely honest here, are you- or?"

You stop thinking about the ebbs and flows of her voice, how it dips down then arches up a little. Because now her voice has become something that is nervous, bordering on uneasy. So you stop, take stock and hold on. You weren't expecting a voice of worry or tension, or not at least while she wasn't thrown back into her bed and rubbing furiously at the ache between her legs.

"Yeah, of course," you offer her up.

"This is so embarrassing," she's saying, and some part of you feels ready to sink - you haven't the faintest idea for what, but there is something. Your chest clenches.

You can't help the worry and reply: "Okay, um. I mean- yeah. Me too, I can admit I feel a bit- and you can, y'know, be a little-"

"I'm not straight," she says finally, with a little quiver of her voice right at the tail end.

A blink comes, another - there's nothing coming out of you and you have no idea why that should be at all difficult, so the silence grows long. A new sort of awkward; the kind that you find out isn't just the rush of cum cooling in a pair of sweat-damp underwear. No - this is embarrassment, the kind that taints you.

"What?" You exhale a strained laugh, almost too-bright. "Are you- is this some sort of-?"

"Nope, no, this is crazy, sorry." She laughs. "Sorry."

"You certainly had me fooled." You sit up straighter in your bed, resting elbows on your knees. The moon is filtering through the windowsill and bathing the room in blue - casting light all the wrong ways. Making your own heart beat just a little too fast. "Fuck, um. Can I ask a personal question?"

"Sure." Her voice sounds uncharacteristically soft.

"What are you into?" and you as soon as you ask, you're laughing - because you've heard Ryujin wax lyrical for weeks, pontificate about every manner and way she'd take a cock between her hands, lips, fingers. Every. Single. Place, she wants one in - and now you can't believe this is what you went with: "I mean, like girls?"

"It's probably safe to assume I have some, y'know- degree of- yeah."

You chuckle a bit. The stiffness in your shoulders settling out.

"I've been in love, I realize - boy, with my roommate - for a while."

It's said with a sad laugh - as if this were a little shameful. Some deep, dark secret no one could ever be privy to; some stain on her soul that might wash out only after one final scrubbing with dish detergent and the cruelest bristles. A thing that keeps her up at night -

“Not the roommate, by the way, who we listen to get fucking railed like she’s on-demand pornography every weekend. Just to be clear."

"Good, jesus, that'd be fucking something."

Ryujin sounds more cheerful when her voice comes back through the line, "right?"

You wipe the perspiration of your top lip. You laugh nervously at this girl admitting to being in love over the phone - a stranger, truly, in all ways - to some fucked up audio-fetish sex line personality. And now - the fuck's wrong with you?

"Are you mad?" she asks, and some part of you is wrung. A small string of tension twisting so hard inside your gut, you're losing touch.

"No," you let her know. "No, not at all."

And that is honest. This is honest. There's this itching little scratch all over the insides of your skin that seems intent on driving a fucking wedge. Right at the center of your chest, tearing you apart. It feels as you've lost - not an object, not a material. Not an idea, nor a concept - but a feeling, that for once, was distinctly, overwhelmingly yours, without your wanting, or permission, or comprehension.

Ryujin sighs, this elongated relief coming in. She sinks back against the headboard.

She tells you everything. How Yeji smiles, and it's like the whole fucking room has gone up in lights, just from her and her alone. How there is nothing that she'd rather spend all her days around. She talks and you sit there, silent and listening. She talks about her. Her name and everything Yeji does and everything she wants.

The more you listen, you realize it's all real; she's not confused, or mistaken, or out to play a game or convince herself of something she believes is inherently untrue. She's not frustrated, or longing. She doesn't have this stomach-rolling pit of anxiety digging a cavern at her center because she just can't go through the rest of her life, living a life like everyone else. Not ever.

Because, all you really notice is-

She loves Yeji. The quiet kind. And she's sitting there, legs curled under her ass, crying. Not sad, or frightened, or wounded, just this beautiful sort of awed: it's the kind that only someone who is too inexperienced at crying should have. Where you just-

Look away.

"I'm not taking my phone into the bath with me," is the last thing she says to you, tears flooding out in her last couple words, before you can only offer her a meek: "anytime, Ryujin, I'm here."

-

(Four, five weeks go by in the blink of an eye. A month where you figure it's best to let her text or call or make it clear she wants your voice.

She never does.)

-

Lia is taking her sweet time to apply concealer over the cut Ryujin earned herself trying to get a stupid thing off a shelf - that's how low and unreasonable her tolerance for anything mildly inconvenient is.

"That fucking hurts," Ryujin tells her, wincing.

Lia ignores her.

She keeps on dabbing at the spot on her temple with the makeup brush until there isn't any trace of bruising, or where the jagged scar of a cut ends and skin begins, not anymore. At this point, she has gotten better, has developed a kind of surgeon's eye: zeroing in and unblinking, until every inch of damage is looking like Ryujin did when she was brought into this world -

(which is not perfect, but what it ought to look like, all things considered.)

Lia holds her hands in place on either side of Ryujin's head. "Stay."

It takes less than five minutes, and during those, Yuna just offers from around the bathroom door, "Ryujin, sweetheart, you’re looking hot tonight."

There's nothing more Ryujin wants to do than set the girl straight - the girl can't not keep a chirp to herself, for once in her fucking life. Because this flimsy slip of a dress around her middle feels too tight, the air choked out of her lungs if she shifts her weight onto the wrong foot. The hem rides way too fucking high up her thighs. So, if anyone didn't want a good long look at her ass tonight, they better come up with a plan B if she has to so much as approach a staircase.

"Have I ever not," she bites.

Yuna snorts.

And luckily for Ryujin, Lia feels the same way:

"Yuna, would it kill you to find something productive to do with your time?"

Yuna opens her mouth like she has something to say (she usually does) before retreating further away, the edge of her hair disappearing around the doorway. Then Ryujin's grinning - eyes taking in how Lia glowers a bit back, silently judging the stupidity in Ryujin's expression and also, admiring how good the girl looks. "Not bad, though, really."

Lia tells her with an underhanded wave of the brush and a wink: "historically, you do always get laid on my birthday, remember?"

Ryujin jerks a little, and the scar above her eye throbs into Lia's thumb. "Thanks?"

-

The party is miserable, but it's not Lia's fault. It's not really Yeji's fault either. They tried, that's really all she can say for them - her and her permanent-plus-one whose face Ryujin wants to both claw at and kiss until it’s swollen-

What she really can't wrap her mind around, though, is the guy sitting right fucking beside her. The idiot.

"Really, I'm telling you," her date - who is about 3.5 out of five stars at best and not so much handsome or hot as he is 'okay in a pinch' - grins up at her with the smarmiest of smiles, "if you'd just have taken me up on dinner, I would've spent all our time talking about you. We’d figure out how to enjoy ourselves."

"Likely story."

This fuckwad has the absolute goddamn gall to look wounded when his arm starts circling its way around the space where her dress is suffocating her at the waist, and Ryujin starts to shimmy her way out of hot water - again. God, she thinks, god save me-

"I think," she manages with a stilted grin, "I'm going to make myself useful- drinks, no?"

When he leans forward to grab her hand, it's only so she doesn't leave.

"You're not going to ask for my order?" he presses. The only reason Ryujin hasn't knocked out a couple of his front teeth is because Lia would be the one hearing Yeji whine about cleaning up the fucking mess.

"Just scotch. Neat."

Ryujin's a natural when it comes to smiling fake; it's part of her goddamned job. "Of course," she says, like she's not absolutely loathing him.

"Try the oakier, single-barrel variety, alright," he explains, because what's hotter than a man who's an expert in alcohol and being an insufferable tool? Nothing of course. She hopes he knocks back a few too many and his liver explodes - the painless way out. If god would ever fucking allow it.

She barely manages a half-strangled laugh over the blare of the music before he finally releases her wrist. 

The absolute fucking prick.

-

Here's something Ryujin never thought she'd come to appreciate:

Being alone.

It's just her and the breeze through the open doors of the rooftop garden, which is something every bit as refreshing as it is teeth-chatteringly cold. The wind picks up in gusts and billows, until it starts nipping up the fabric around her knees, like it's any one of the drunk, stumbling guests milling about and looking for a noncommittal lay.

Her left foot slips a step outwards, the uncomfortably tall heel bouncing on the edge of her toe and tapping a tune against the brick. Ryujin slouches on the railing that encapsulates the entire terrace, arms pressed over it, hands folded one-over the other - letting the night sky caress her bare shoulders with its wind-brushed kisses. This, is okay. It's better.

Maybe not ideal, but better.

And all it really took was a few fucking moments where she isn't smiling with pursed, stressed lips; where the pressure in her jaw finally settles out enough for the knot in the back of her teeth to fall loose and for her mouth to actually feel, y'know - good.

Not forced, is what. Not fake, or not real, or whatever-

Ryujin almost fishes her phone from her clutch. Almost. Almost texts to tell you that: this fucking night, like all the others in the past month or two or year, has left her feeling particularly done for, and yeah, no, it isn't helping that she'd take whatever would be the alternative if it meant a face like yours came in handy to lean against, or your shoulder or thigh to use. Like some pillow - that's all.

And you are, like. An option. But not, she sighs out, exactly the right one.

An errant chill shudders through her and down her spine.

"Shin Ryujin."

She'd recognize the tilt of that voice anywhere; even if her ears were pounding and her head filled with static and noise, she'd be able to place Yeji at the end of the world. The truth is easy to see, if only Yeji knew where to look: the corners of Ryujin's eyes screw up tight for a second, an immeasurably long time, in order to not do what they wanted. What it would mean.

She does anyway. "I'd hug you," Ryujin throws behind her with an airy sigh, "but I know where you've been."

Yeji's jaw has set at this point; a twist is still in her lip and she lets out this dry, half-laugh, half-not sound - which is the thing that drives Ryujin a little crazy. Yeji turns her attention from the concrete ground, to Ryujin's profile, her body leaning forward, toes tipping in: "sometimes I wonder if my partner in crime can breathe without saying something incendiary."

"Nope." Ryujin offers no further response or follow-up. Instead, the quiet gush of air makes itself the center of attention and a victim of silence.

"Sorry about-"

"Don't be. Don't give it a second thought." Ryujin stretches, leaning a little over the railing. Her fingers arch before her. Her words sounding the slightest bit cold, "can't win 'em all, right?"

Yeji's eyebrows pull together. "That's not how this was supposed-"

"God, Yeji." Ryujin smiles. Yeji hates that she never knows what that means. "I'm trying, really, I am, but you know - I really, I have tried my best, so can we just lay it to rest?"

Yeji leans over the railing - the fucking moon reflecting in these lustrous pools where her eyes go darker than night - and doesn't say anything for the longest moment. Ryujin chews her tongue, and tries to look as interested in the void of stars and night clouds as possible.

"Fuck's going on with you, lately?"

Ryujin just laughs back.

"Really," and the last word dips in a groan. It's almost childishly tragic how petulantly she insists, "talk to me."

But Ryujin has nothing else to say - no witty, scathing remarks. No deadpan observations or funny asides, not even a morose comment to throw back. There are times and moments and fucking periods of her day where she'd happily chew glass if it meant that Yeji would sit there a second longer, be beside her for a while and smile, just smile at only her, once - for once.

Her only response is the worst kind of lie, this soft: "really nothing."

The moment where it slips and hangs between them, when it lingers the longest -

She could reach out, a hand on her thigh, the small of her back, if she could only reach. And Yeji, she'd listen to her, for once. She'd really, genuinely hear what Ryujin says; like she can see it, plain as day, everything there's in Ryujin's eyes, the thoughts inside her head, written on her goddamn face and across the open night air in neon:

I love you. I'm in love with you, you're too close to me.

The seconds pass. They tick, they stretch and grow thin. Yeji looks at Ryujin expectantly, and Ryujin knows. It is something like being put on the spot and called in. Something like a long, pained whimper caught somewhere in her throat.

She is very much still, unmoving, and feeling nothing at all.

Maybe she can blame the alcohol, the dark, the series of events that saw her hiding away behind a bunch of decorative trees and fighting for breath where the wind blows a little cooler. She can pretend like the stars aren't absent above her, and it doesn't hurt a goddamn bit.

“Yeji, I-” She licks at her lip, ready, willing-

Ryujin grabs at her waist with a hand. Her knuckles white around the black of the railing. And with no further fanfare, she spits it out like venom, with no small measure of shame or guilt or worry for how Yeji will take it - or worse: how she herself would react in the wake of admitting it aloud -

“I love you,” Ryujin says, and it pops out of her mouth as neatly as it had the first thousand times practicing alone in her car.

A blink, and another. The look on Yeji's face is hard and blank, as if she'd understood every syllable, but didn't hear it at all - maybe. Her gaze drops, it trails a path along the long line of Ryujin's pale neck. Of the two ways it could ever go in her head, stuck on loop for as long as she can remember, Ryujin had never considered that Yeji might turn this still and vacant. A sudden feeling, a pull or a grip, starts in the lowest part of Ryujin's guts.

"And not-," she hears her own voice falter, "like-"

Then - it's on the back of Ryujin's head and in her hair, a hand curled at the base of her skull and pulling her head a little downward and her, until their foreheads meet. And before she has a chance to walk it back - to stuff it down where it came from and seal the bottle tight - before she can clench her eyes, shake her head, and spit out anything else like the fact that there was not much that had to change, between them -

Yeji just says plainly: "Yeah, hun. Love you too."

And it's shockingly, the most painful thing - that she just squeezes her hand and pats her back like it's all they could ever be. Without even the wherewithal to reject her properly; to tell her something like "don't ever say that again, god," or "oh shit- Ryujin. Sorry. So, no," or at least to spit back with a scathing laugh: "welcome to the fucking party," like what she always does.

"Yeah." Yeji clears her throat quietly and starts retreating back from the brink - with no apparent aim but to pull away as she draws herself away from the warmth of Ryujin's space, "uh, don't forget to say hello to some of the staffers before they go home, okay?"

Ryujin is left with nothing but the air that follows Yeji's outline; left with her heart sinking into the depths of the night; left trying to make sense of the bitter sting ripping her chest in two.

Left with her own hopelessness - the pining - when Yeji walks away.

To be lonely, to be alone; neither are the same. 

And she hates knowing she is so incredibly both.

-

The worst part is she knows how it looks.

Her pace just on the verge of unsteady, the way her feet come up from the ground: Left foot, the right. The other. Back and back and forth again, faster and then slower and- fuck.

A damsel, severely distressed.

She sits down on the curb. She wants to cry, but even just the way she looks, carrying her heels and struggling with this fucking dress she wishes she'd never bothered with at all - oh, the tabloids would be sure every detail gets pinned under all the wrong lights. A breakdown would only serve to confirm all the right things; it would paint a story for anyone who cares enough to glean from her crestfallen posture and red cheeks that she is yes, a little broken, and that everyone wants to be loved and she's no different - and -

She sucks a breath. This time, when her tears fall, it's a quick, perfunctory action, no show in it.

Her palms rub her face - and she wipes, and wipes, and wipes - smearing at the foundation under her eyes before she takes a long drag of night air. Deep from her core, filling up her lungs until she can't hold anymore. Until it hurts and stings the backs of her ribs - it's enough for a single, fleeting moment. The street is mostly empty; an occasional car will speed by every now and then and it's those few and far between intervals that hurt most, that nearly shatter her: if she can barely do this, alone, how can she possibly be enough for anyone?

Ryujin’s smiling only to hold back her tears, and it fucking stings. She flicks hurriedly past the lock screen of her phone and swipes through the message stream with blurry eyes - there’s a whole host of people that want to know where the fuck she went, if she's safe, why she up and vanished the moment Yeji couldn't keep an eye on her. And well. The girl sighs.

Finds your name in her contacts and puts her thumb right beside it.

It rings exactly three times, and she hates the number. She hates how many things can be associated with that number in those seconds alone.

Four, the pause where you must have had the opportunity, but didn't decide to pick up - just leave it be. Then five - Ryujin is definitely no longer looking forward to any of this.

Six: it stops.

There's this crackle, and through the night -

"Just what brings you here, stranger?"

For an indistinct amount of time, Ryujin drifts in the whirlpool current of that question; it sinks her deeper, into the currents of your voice and the tone and what it's suggesting and demanding from her. All the things your voice is giving her permission to ask of and with and-

Until finally she answers back: "do you ever just, like, wish," a shallow pause for the hitch in her breath, "something, someone was a little more for you- or to- with you-"

The swell of a smile through the receiver; and you can't help your laugh, soft.

"Sometimes," is what you say, "that's just human, don't you think?"

She doesn't understand how something like love or life or desire should be a universal trait.

"Uh, maybe," she shrugs out, and thinks.

"It's pretty normal," you tell her.

Quiet, as if you were right in front of her.

"Look," you start, and you can hear how she sniffs her nose and swipes the pad of her hand right along the side of it, to catch anything stupid and stupid sounding leaking down to her upper lip. "You don't have to. Let's just hang out. Tell me anything."

And for once, she does.

She talks.

-

(The whole story.

From the first time Ryujin realizes the world is never going to be fair - that she shouldn't have to look at herself like she's unlovable because she's seen her friends be held as though they are - or at Yeji like she's completely unattainable or somehow, unlovable, and that someone as amazing as Yeji should have been loved from the moment she was born.

The rest comes through as fragments: the truth of her career. Yeji.

The balcony, the breeze, the bitter-fucking-disappointment.

And what came of that -

When Ryujin isn't a million and one words per minute, it feels, almost, it feels - she'd swear there was less noise in her own head: this thrumming in her brain has settled out; the walls around her and the echo coming off of them - the booming and pulsing - it's, gone.

Because even though there was an indistinct shape for where she had landed, in the aftermath, and nothing much had changed - all that did. You listen, and that alone makes it so you're both exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if this, tonight - you are unsure, if it will actually fix anything - if anything needs fixing at all.)

[artsninspo]

FORGIVELSS -II - I DON'T CARE 'BOUT CONSEQUENCES, I WANT MY LICK BACK

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➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

II - I DON'T CARE 'BOUT CONSEQUENCES, I WANT MY LICK BACK

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Reader

Word Count: 2K

Warning: Mature themes and its 🌶 🌶 🌶 

Summary: The title says it all.

You step one good in front of the other. You can feel your pulse in your throat. Hear it in your ears. Your palms are hot and anger is what’s fuelling you. You keep walking. A patron swings the door open and you scan the establishment. The venue is different to the previous restaurant, less upscale and easier to disappear into. You’re looking for one person and one person only. Sighing out of frustration you head to the bar, a bartender materializes in front of you in a minute.

“Is Rio here?” You ask.

“Anything to drink?” He asks.

Letting out a long sigh you take a look over the top shelf contemplating it. “Nothing for now, is he in?” You ask liable to blow any minute now and the bartender steps away whispering something to another. You watch closely as they disappear. You feel like breaking dishes, trashing the house and vandalising the car. You wish you could scream.

“He’s upstairs” the bartender says, snapping you from your daydream. Standing, you head up the long staircase. You emerge into an office with a Birds Eye view of the establishment. Rio is sitting in the middle of it behind a wooden desk with money piled high on the corner of it. His calm is in stark contrast to the mania you’re feeling.

“Let me guess, you want to commit a murder” he says breaking the silence with his naturally cool demeanour and that distinct voice. 

“Don’t mock me” you warn and he smiles, pouring a glass and setting it in front of you as you take a seat on the couch in the sprawling space. You take a sip only for the liquor to burn your throat due to inexperience. You make a face and the liquor quells your temper a touch. When your eyes reopen Rio’s amusement is clear as day. You spent three hours getting ready for date night the night you met Rio. Your husband's new role at work was demanding and there’d been distance so you were trying to mend fences and reignite a spark. He’d left and for your pride you picked at what was left of your food from the bar. Rio had been forward antagonistic and amusing, but he hadn't lied.

“Don’t be too mad, she’s not sexier than you are” he says sipping from your glass.

“We’ve been married five years,” you confess to the stranger. Anyone else and your life would be blown up forever. 

“No kids?” he asks.

“Not yet, kids are a part of the ten year plan” you confess meeting Rio’s eyes. You have nowhere else to go. No one else to talk to. Sometimes secrets are safest with a stranger. He holds out the glass again and you take a shot of the brown liquor feeling the burn.

“Ten year plan, where the fuck do you find a guy like that?” Rio muses at your expense. Sighing deeply you look down into the club's festivities as people start to dance. “How’d you find out? She came to you as a woman?”

“Worse, I saw it on his phone. Text thread full of nudes and videos…” you sigh wishing you could unsee the messages from both ends. It was clear your husband was absolutely feral for another woman and vice versa.

“So you’re here to have him killed or beat up or what?” Rio asks, misreading you.

“No” you respond not wanting someone to get a charge for your husband's poor choices.

“Then how can I help you? It’s getting late.” Rio says draining the glass. Your time is up for his thin patience.

“I told you we can’t hang out because I’m married.” You respond by holding up your left hand. The ring is on your dresser at home. 

“So you want me to fuck you as get back. But if we start you’re not gonna want him and I’m not marriage material” Rio says candidly. 

“Perfect” you smile liking the sound of that. You’re going to make your husband pay for his recklessness and absence. You imagine the shock when it hits him that Rio has had you. The thrill is your medicine. It’s the only thing that quells the pain of your husband's betrayal.

“Bet” Rio stands holding out a hand. You take a deep breath taking it as you stand. You use another staircase to a back entrance. You hate the city a little less from inside of his G-Wagon. The ride to his place is short. The home is too perfect to be his home.

“Is this where you bring all your girls?” You ask.

“Mhm” he nods. His honesty is a relief. 

“Where’s the bedroom?” you ask, trying to get your bearings.

“I don’t do crazy, you don’t show up at my job or here if we do this” Rio sets a boundary misunderstanding how your pride works.

“Understood” you nod. He closes the space between you with a raised brow.

“But do you?” He asks as you crane your neck back to meet his gaze.

“Mhm” you nod.

“Yes or no,” he asks, putting his hands in his pockets. For some reason it makes you want his touch.

“Yes” 

“Good, because you're beautiful and I want to do this” he says.

Feeling unsteady you stop yourself from getting lost in his brown eyes. “I don’t do crazy either. You stay out of my relationship outside of when I come to you”.

He smiles, “I dont have the time sweetheart, I have my own shit.”

“C'mere,” Rio says, stepping back. You indulge his cat and mouse game. “Last chance to run, or stay and give him hell” he smiles clearly the devil on your shoulder. Just the thought of James losing it is fuel enough for you to place a palm on Rio’s chest. His smirk is golden and all hesitation ceases. He lowers in a flash, lips crashing into yours. His mouth claims yours pulling back with hard suction like he’s trying to drag the nasty out of you. He’s artful with it and unlike James it’s so hot your brain overrides instinct when his hand holds your neck possessively to get better leverage. You feel your body relax, your mouths sync and the feverishness settles into something slower and more seductive. His tongue crowds your mouth before he goads yours into a dance. You find yourself moaning as he sucks your bottom lip before dragging his teeth gently down your neck. His other hand supports your back while his thumb rubs circled into your hardening nipples. You feel yourself pooling from his touch. Under his grip.

“What a clown, to play with a woman as bad as you” Rio mutters, turning you on even more.

 “Tell me how you want me to take care of you baby?” He asks, pouring fire on the blaze he’s set. Your eyes open to him, your breathing levels out and you look to him for guidance. His lips find yours again. This time the kiss is reassuring and gentle, his hold loosens.

 “Tell me how you want me to fuck you mama” he whispers against your ear and you sigh. “He’s never asked you that huh?” Rio scoffs a smirk falling on his lips. “Shame some men treat their wives like the Virgin Mary when they just want to be slut out. That’s what you want right? I ain’t ya man you don’t have to pretend to be a good girl with me” he taunts. Disgustingly right once again. You find yourself nodding before it can register. He takes you to the bedroom and dims the lights sensing you’re nervous. His shirt comes off and his toned frame is a refreshing change from James who spends several hours a week in the gym.

“I thought you’d have more tattoos” you reflect as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“You have any?” He asks as you straddle him.

“Not one” you smile feeling a little more comfortable. His hands slide under your shirt ridding you of it. He can’t fathom what the fuck your man’s problem was. Why did he cheat so openly when he clearly had more than he could effectively handle at home. You get lost in another kiss with him that ends with his head between your legs.

He’s so good that he’ll always be the person you’re comparing James to. He holds nothing back fully attentive to your every moan like it’s second nature. Your effects on each other are electric. You are both trying to bring the other to their peak without inhibitions or restrictions. He talks you through your orgasm praising you like you’ve accomplished something monumental. You lay at his side catching your breath needing more. It’s like a switch has been flipped and the dam of your desire has been opened. All the neglect coming to a head. You feel hellish as he tosses the used protection. Reaching over you stroke his manhood. Rio watches in awe not expecting it. His eyes close from the sensation following an already incredible orgasm. He kisses you rolling onto his side, rolling onto yours you hold your leg over him guiding him back into you slowly.

“Fuck” he groans once fully sheathed. It’s a final fuck you to James. 

“Come inside me” you plead and Rio nods kissing you deep before obliging completely turned on by the levels of fucked up. He could say no to pussy but not yours. He knew that now in you raw, there’d never be another way and pulling out wouldn’t be an option. Instinct kicks in and his thrusts pick up.

“Don’t stop” you continue getting you right at your spot. His size is perfect, it’s the perfect rhythm, the perfect feeling. 

“Like that?” he asks.

“Rio” you moan, finding comfort in your voice.

“Shit” he groans, closing his eyes firmly to remain in control. He could feel the tension building in him from the slickness and suction of your walls. 

“Right there” you moan loving every second of it. And you feel him inside you. The warmth of his climax fills you before overflowing. Rio looks to see his work completely spent. Fucking another man’s wife raw was a first for him. Enjoying it as much as he had was a surprise. He doesn’t pull out right away leaning it in as you lean in needy for a kiss. He obliges doing another first when he doesn’t send you home right away.

…

Rio leans against the counter watching as you take the plan b. It’s another first there’s been no scares during the course of your relationship. Once you finish he places the glass in the dishwasher.

“Want me to drop you home?” He asks as you turn your phone back on. You see thirty missed calls starting at one in the morning all from James.

“I gotta go,” you smile.

“Need a ride?” he asks.

“To the club, sure, that’s where my car is” you tell him and he grabs his keys happily to oblige.

“When’s the last time you let him hit?” Rio asks.

“Two maybe three months” you tell Rio honestly and he laughs.

“Don’t let him, call me if you need some” he says handing you his phone. You give him your number. “Text me if things get crazy. I don’t need anything crazy happening after we just had sex” he says and you laugh.

“Will do” you nod, getting out of his car and into yours.

» next part

Authour's Note: Sound off in the comments, I want to hear what you guys think happens next. THANKS FOR READING AND AS ALWAYS LIKE, COMMENT & REBLOG.

[boofeine]

ripe clementines – bsk

part i | part ii | part iii

pairing: seungkwan x fem reader

genre: fluff, smut, childhood friends to something... it's a really long one shot, if you don't like slow burn or like smut with no plot, maybe don't read this one, there's backstory.

synopsis: "it's you" you said, already a few steps to your home. he didn't say anything but looked reasonably surprised. those five steps left felt like forever in the dead silence it caused. seungkwan never really said anything back... thankfully, your friendship stayed the same.

warnings: mdni, tiny bit angst, stable family relationship, slice of life/timestamp, kissing, very much introductory :)

song: goodnight and go by imogen heap / calma do luccas carlos para meus amigos +55 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

tags: @huen1ngk4i @aaniag @svteensworld @kooqitas @unlikelysublimekryptonite @yorkutis

You've confessed to Seungkwan many years ago. In the middle of your school classroom, during a truth or dare game. You actually didn't have to, not exactly, but you did. You've chosen truth, being asked if you liked someone from the circle, and you simply said yes. Seungkwan, like the noisy best friend he was, turned to you with the most dramatic surprised face you've seen, like feeling betrayed for not knowing about this.

He whispered to your ear, asking who it was and kept peeping in the whole day when you didn't answer, so you had no other choice but to confess. "It's you" You said, already a few steps to your home. He didn't say anything but looked reasonably surprised. Those five steps left felt like forever in the dead silence it caused. And Seungkwan never really said anything back... thankfully, your friendship stayed the same. Besides the fact you had to spend your high school years tortured by Seungkwan jokingly teasing you for liking him at any chance he had like an immature kid boosting his ego. You didn't mind that much, it was just really annoying.

Last year of high school came, with the anxious and thrilling feeling of ending school years. You felt the happiest for getting on the major you wanted and even happier to see Seungkwan get on the university he dreamed of. You already knew this, but it took Seungkwan a few days to kick in he'd be on a totally different province, he'd be studying in Seoul and you near Jeju. You saw the pure happiness on him turn into a mixture of fear, sadness, and deep down excitement, you truly felt like he was a bit lost.

He came to you in tears a few times, and in one of those, he confessed to you. You couldn't help but feel like he was just afraid and confused. You felt wronged because that didn't feel like his true feelings towards you, he was just afraid of losing your friendship. You said that to him, but he didn't take it lightly, saying you shouldn't assume his feelings. You had a big real fight for the first time and were both stubborn and kept to your sides. You both followed your ways and apart, and that first year of college was one of the most difficult ones of your life.

Getting into young adulthood without your best friend was not easy, but you got through it. You got used to the university routine, met really good new people, and found a part-time job at a restaurant. That obligated you to talk with different people, and one of them just happened to be your future boyfriend. You didn't know then, but Seungkwan was also dating someone else by that time, and ironically, your partners were the ones to make you talk to each other again years after. The thought of having feelings for someone else making it stupid to have those lingering feelings in between you two. You reached out and casually talked a few times.

It was summer break when you first saw him face to face again. The 22 years old Seungkwan felt new but also not different to that 15 years old kid. He looked mature, physically and personally, the way he talked was so matured but his mannerisms were still those familiar sweet childlike habits. It was nice to be in his presence again and you felt like you missed it so much and didn't even know it. You kept ties, and you grew comfortable to feel like best friends again. Even though it was still hard to see each other often when he was in Seoul and you here.

He was there when you graduated college and even happier to hear you got a job in Seoul, and you'd be close again. You felt nostalgia, those same mixture of feelings Seungkwan had years before, reaching you in a slightly different manner. You and your boyfriend had talked, you were open to try but he seemed certain that long distance relationship wouldn't work for him. You got to Seoul with your heart up on your sleeve but Seungkwan was there for you, helping you stead the ground and stabilize yourself in the big city. He had to make it with a broken heart as well in the past, he knows how scary it can be. He wouldn't want that for you.

A few months later, Seungkwan had also ended his relationship. You never knew exactly what happened, it just did. He didn't seem broken but strangely quiet and to himself, he never talked about it, at least, not with you. As time passed, he slowly recovered and back to his light self.

Seungkwan's been always attractive to your eyes, he just has this way of presenting himself that it's just... attractive... he's confident but sweet. Straightforward but soft spoken. He's just him. It didn't come as a surprise but it was also unexpected when you got yourself tipsy making out with him in the back of his car during new years eve. Midnight came and you had Seungkwan's tongue on your mouth, his hands sneaking under your shirt when your body squirmed over his. You got startle by the fireworks outside. The windows were blurry and you could only see the smug, colorful flashing ligths. He was smiling when you looked back at him. "Happy new year, yn-ie" He said, pushing your hair back and kissing your cheeks like he hadn't crazily made out with you seconds before. It was an one time thing, but you couldn't deny that sometimes this tension just builds in the air around you both. You've dreamed about his soft skilled lips on yours more than you wished and think you should.

You both were able to get a break from work during the same days, like you planned and talked before. You felt so happy and excited to go on a trip back to Jeju to spend his 25th birthday with him and your families. They've been always close, even when you two refused to talk to each other, they'd still meet up.

And now that you're here, sitting on the grass, feeling the cold winter breeze, eating sweet clementines with Seungkwan by your side, like you used to, but now as grown-ups, this memories just feel a bit too much, coming back again like scenes from a movie in your head. With all the childhood moments with him this place reminds you, it aches your heart and brings that pure innocent teen crush feelings again to surface. You and your families had a really great meal together, and now you both came out to rest and have something sweet.

"What do you think?" His voice takes space, cutting the rush of thoughts from your mind.

"I'm actually craving that" You respond. You were still able to listen to his words about the new cafeteria and how you two could have breakfast there tomorrow.

The sun is beautifully setting across you, the sky tinted in orange, blue and light pink. You make conversation until it starts to get too dark outside. You walk down back home, Seungkwan's jacket around your shoulders with the familiar great smell of his citric cologne.

Once you get home, you find your families on the dinner table playing a game together, the laughter filling the room and warming your heart. You can't help but smile while letting your shoes by the door.

"Ya! You kids took forever, hm? We were getting worried" Your mom was the first one to see you two and approach your presence.

"Sorry, eomonnie. The sun was beautiful, we couldn't help it" Seungkwan responds for you. He's already a few steps ahead of you, his arms coming around his mother to hug her, leaving a kiss on top of her head. Your mom, who is beside his, caresses his arms with a found look.

"C'mon, get yourselves a glass of wine and come play with us" Seungkwan's dad concludes. You both just nod, making your way to the kitchen to grab your drinks, before taking your places at the large table, joining the pictionary game.

"They are staying over today, dear." Your mom approaches you as you sit on her other side and besides your dad. "Take some room for Seungkwan in yours, ok?" She adds, and you just agree happily.

"Dad, have you seen the heater? It wasn't working tidily last time I came home." You ask.

"I did look it. It was working, I hope it is still... Let me know if it crashes again" He replies. The game soon asks for more of your attention.

You guys don't even see the time passing by, deciding it was time to stop after midnight. Seungkwan's parents welcomed themselves at the guest room, your parents back to theirs as you tidy the room while Seungkwan washes up. You try settling up the heater, It was on, but not heating like It was supposed to. You grunt, frustrated, looking and figuring out the buttons. It was in its max capability. Seungkwan gets in the room when you're angrily slapping the machine. He laughs, half entrained, half worried.

"Calm down, Yn-ie" He smiles, approaching you "You gonna really break it like this" He says.

You roll your eyes, already done with it. "So you do it, I'm washing up" You say, already getting up and rummaging through your clothes.

"I will try" He says, jokingly greeting with his hand over his forehead like a soldier, mocking following your oders. You scoff, letting go a bit, it's just his ability to ease out the atmosphere, "It's not that bad, tho. It will get better as time passes. It's warm in here" He completes and you simply hum, making your way to the bathroom.

Once you come back, the room is truly warmer and Seungkwan was right about this. Looking back at him, he's already on one side of the bed, his eyes exhausted, threatening to shut already, that he had to fight from doing so until you are back. You smile foundly, taking the other side as you comfortably tug on your duvet and fall asleep beside him.

You're awake by the shiver your body lets out, it shakes on the spot. When you open your eyes, you come to realize your nose is freezing and your feet aching from coldness. The fucking heaten again, you groan, not taking the courage to leave the still warm sheets. Seungkwan moves beside you, it's dark but you can see the outline of his face looking over his shoulders. "Are you okay?" He says in his low raspy voice from just waking up.

"No! How are you not freezing?" You shout in a whisper tone. Seungkwan quietly laughs, as he moves to face you.

"I am" he confesses and you groan again, frustrated. "C'mere" He simply says, opening space on his duvet and arms for you. You dont think twice in slipping to the offered space. You cage your face on his shoulders, warming your cold nose over his robe, drinking in his scent as he hugs you to his side in an attempt to cut the cold with the warmth of each other's bodies.

"Thank you" you hum, pleasantly as you start to fall asleep again, trying not to overthink the position you're in, your heart saying otherwise.

You wake up in the morning, with the sunlight brushing through the curtains. Your body tugged in the two duvets as you miss Seungkwan by your side. He's not there anymore as you spread, stretching your body, blinking a few times to adjust the daylight.

You finally wake up to be meet at the sight of Seungkwan in sporty clothes and a coffee in his hands on your living room. "Good morning, sleepy bird" He greets as you just blank stare, not really being the morning person type like he is "I took an walk earlier, the weather is really great today" He says "I also bought you coffee, it is over the counter"

You hum, thanking him, already taking your back so you can head to the caffeine that is so much needed in your mornings routines. To the few things you get in common with your best friend, there's definitely the stubbornness and the caffeine addiction.

"Where's everyone?" You spill while walking.

"When I woke up, they weren't here either" Seungkwan affirms "I texted them, they said they were going to pick up my sisters on the train station" He completes, sliding down on the sofa, resting his head on the headboard.

You listen to him briefly, your eyes closing as soon as you take the first sip of coffee down your throat, smiling happily with the bitter taste of it. Seungkwan is looking back at you, smiling too when you open your eyes "This makes me crave something sweet" You add.

"This is the coffee shop we were talking about. They have donuts there" He says.

"We are going" You reply immediately, already running to your room "I'm going to get changed" You scream your way down the hallway.

Once you're inside and far away, you sigh in relief. Everything is going as planned.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Let's Hear it For the Boy

Day #10 - Prompt: Pride | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Famous Older Corroded Coffin, Pride Parade

Eddie tugs at the hem of his shirt, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. 

"What's wrong?" Steve asks, showing up behind Eddie in the mirror.

"Well, for starters, it's mesh," Eddie says, "and I feel a little on display.  I'm not exactly twenty-five anymore."

Steve runs his hands around Eddie's middle, hugging him from behind. 

"You look damn good and you know it," Steve says, fingers pressing into the bare skin of his stomach under the mesh crop-top.

Eddie isn't so sure about that, but he appreciates the thought, anyway. He doesn't have time to argue, because the hotel room door bangs open, and Gareth is standing there.

"How hot do I look?" Gareth asks, and Steve laughs as he heads over to greet him.

"So hot," Steve says, and Gareth twirls around, like he's a six-year-old girl and not a forty-six-year-old man. 

"Am I the first?" Gareth asks, and he is, nobody else has turned up yet and they are supposed to leave for the parade in ten minutes. 

Corroded Coffin was asked to be grand marshals of this year's Pride parade, and they decided to go for it. The community embraced Eddie long ago, and it's about time he really did something to pay that kindness back. 

Gareth is wearing the sparkliest eye makeup Eddie's ever seen, and Eddie lived through high school in the 80s. He could put Chrissy Cunningham to shame, Eddie thinks, and feels a pang in his chest. 

Before he can dwell on it, the door swings open again, and Goodie's there, decked out in all leather, his hairy belly on full display.

"Well, don't you look beary sexy?" Eddie teases, grinning ear-to-ear as Goodie tips his leather muir cap.

"You can call me daddy if you want, big boy," Goodie says, and Eddie would really rather not. And, using Eddie's turn of phrase against him, is honestly dirty pool.

"I think I'll pass," Eddie laughs, but he's impressed Goodie's gotten into this as much as he very clearly has. "Where's Jeff?"

"There was a pants problem," Goodie says, and that's as much as he chooses to elaborate, before adding, "Robin's helping."

And Steve laughs, which makes Eddie smile. He's sure they're both getting the same mental image of Robin trying to dress Jeff. Too tight pants? Split up the ass? Eddie doesn't know, but he's sure it's hilarious, either way.

"We can't be late, we're the grand marshals," Gareth says.

"We won't be late," Steve assures, and Eddie's sure that's true. Steve Harrington never lets them be late to anything. Hasn't yet, in nearly thirty years. He's not gonna start today.

They stand on the street corner and look out over the sea of color. Rainbow flags waving in every direction. Everything, and everyone, is just so bright. It's a vast change from looking out over the crowd at a Corroded Coffin show where the majority of clothing is just shades of blacker than black.

But this is full color. Everything about it is, and it's fun in a different way. A rainbow in every direction he looks. They're branching out, and Eddie is determined to embrace that. There's no reason not to, he figures, and they were invited for a reason. 

Because they were all wanted here.

The float they're supposed to get on is garish and bright, but everyone seems excited to see them, so Eddie smiles back. Accepts the hand offered to help him up onto the platform. Steve is with him, and with Steve, he can do anything. Even this. 

Jeff's stuck zipper problem fixed, Robin is now hugging person after person, and it's her they have to thank for this whole idea, Eddie knows. Without her, they'd have never been asked. Eddie's absolutely sure about that. And that's fine. This isn't really his scene. But if they want him to participate, wave a rainbow flag, whatever, he'll do it. It's the least he can do for the community that accepted him, and his friends, when that wasn't always a given. 

They didn't grow up in a time or place where being this out and proud was ever even conceived of, let alone done so publicly. So it's nice to see the change that has occurred in just a few decades of his lifetime. Things are different now, and that's pretty damn cool.

He may not want to be so front and center here, but being asked, being seen as some sort of gay icon, is flattering. He can't deny that.

The metal band, filled with members that are all some sort of queer, wasn't always destined to make it. They did anyway, beating the odds that were stacked against them. 

They built up a whole community around themselves, and later a fandom, honestly, that loves them for exactly who they are.

The music is pumping off the float, and it feels straight out of Babylon. The thumpa-thumpa, alive and well. Gareth's found some sort of rainbow streamers, and he's waving them above his head. 

Goodie has to be sweating buckets in all that leather in this heat, but he's standing at the edge of the float with Jeff, throwing out beads like it's Mardi Gras. Only, these are in rainbow colors. Jeff is wearing jean shorts that are cut so short, Eddie's scared anyone beneath him might be getting a free show. 

Steve's standing on a chair, clapping and screaming with the music, creating a chant, "Let's hear it for the boy!"

Eventually, this ends with a mic in Eddie's hand as he climbs up to the top of the float, where he can see and be seen.

He raises both hands over his head and waves, and hears the screaming pointed back in his direction.

He finds Steve's eyes, blows him a kiss, and tips his head back and laughs.

"Happy Pride!" Eddie screams into the mic, and the crowd goes wild. It's not a Corroded Coffin show, that's for damn sure, but he feels very loved.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[harrystylesfan2686]

Revenge

Pairing: Eris x Reader

Summary: When your ex destroys your most precious thing what do you do? Cry? Of course but not before taking revenge.

A/N: First Eris fic!!🥳 Reader is Rhysand's sister. I think I went a little overboard... oh well🤷‍♀️

Masterlist

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

What The Fuck?

I gasp the second I walk into my library, noticing the gaps in the shelves. My library shelves never have space. The whole room is filled with my most precious obsession.

My books.

Where the hell are my books?

When I walk deeper into the room, I notice a big box in the middle. The rectangular box is gift wrapped with a red shiny wrap, held together by a orange bow on top.

On closer observation, I see an envelope tucked under the ribbon. I take it out and open it, seeing only two sentences scribbled in perfectly fine handwriting, a handwriting I know by heart. Eris.

Seems like we are at war now, sweetheart. How do you like my gift?

My eyebrows furrow. I put down the note and envelope, and open the bow, tearing the gift wrap, I lift the lid.

I freeze upon seeing ash.

The box is filled with ash. Grey mixing with black, creating a rather beautiful image. Except it isn't admirable. When I touch the ash mixed with small pieces of paper that hasn't fully burned. My books.

He burned my books.

I intake a sharp breath, my vision blurs as tears fill my eyes but I don't let them fall. Some people might say I'm overreacting, but I'm not. My books are everything to me. I love them. I treat them better then I treat myself.

And He burned My Books.

That piece of shit.

He knew how much I love them. I've talked to him thousands of time about my books, expressing my feelings about them. I don't even let anyone so much as, touch my books. But I let him. I trusted him.

I loved him. We broke up because his father attacked us. Barron ordered a few Autum Court soldiers to parad down at the Court of Nightmares and kill innocent people, not that the people living there are innocent in anyway, but by attacking a part of Night Court, he declared War.

I gave him a choice, choose between me and his father. I was stupid enough to hope he would choose me. Of course it would be his father. Even though he hates his father to guts, he would still need him to make him high lord. And being The High Lord of Autum Court meant more to him than anything else, including me.

So now we are at War. Two courts fighting against each other. What could go wrong, eh? Apparently everything.

None of the other courts want to help any of us. They don't want unnecessary violence, which is alright, considering Night Court is much stronger than Autum Court. Barron is a fool to think he can win. And now, Eris is too, as it seems.

I blink my eyes clear of tears and stand up. I count the empty shelves where there once were books, trying to see how many I lost. Sixty–Five. He destroyed sixty–five of my most loved books.

Rage burns in my veins. Hurt overcome by anger. The need to burn him in exchange fills my entire body. But I calm myself before I do something idiotic. I take deep breaths trying to plan what I'm going to do in return. I get out of the room, taking careful steps as I go.

You want to play? Fine. Let's play.

-☆-

I twist my hand, snapping the necks of the two guards standing in front of the entrance. I slam open the doors without touching them, barreling down the halls of Autum Court Palace.

This is too easy.

Killing every guard that comes in my way, I go to the main hall. I almost feel bad for the people loosing their life over something their stupid prince did, but my mind is seeing and feeling nothing but red.

When I first described my plan to Rhysand, he was hesitant to let me leave, but realizing that we would be at advantage in this fight by the end of it, he gave me permission.

Now here I am. Walking through enemy land, like a I own it. Removing every obstacle that comes between me and my destination.

I push the doors to the throne room open, and scoff at the few high fea trying to keep me out by their so called magic. I raise an eyebrow and stand their for a few minutes, giving them a chance to stop me. I smirk at their pathetic attempts of imprison me.

I am most powerful here, and they know it.

I raise my hands and twist my wrists, snapping a dozen necks in one motion. I walk father into the room rolling my eyes at the laying bodies. Such a mess.

I take a look around the room. The red carpet running in a straight line from the door to the throne. The levels containing seats for every nobal in Barron's circle. And finally the throne Eris so badly wants to sit at.

Coloured with different shades of red, orange and yellow mixing together. Backrest shaped like fire, built so tall I have to crane my neck to see the top. It's beautiful, I'm not going to lie. Almost makes me feel bad for what I'm about to do.

I turn back around, walking out the same way I walked in. Passing the fallen bodies, I snap my fingers once. Heat explods behind me as I walk out of the door. When I turn to look at the damage I'm doing, I smile.

Fire is lined up from the throne, quickly catching and burning everything in it's way. I smile brighter when I slam the doors shut and drop a small note on the ground near them. He burned my books so I'm burning to only thing he holds most dear in this entire world.

It seems we are. Hope you like my gift.

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

[blueicequeen19]

Charter Ch. 7

Warnings: drama, angst, public-ish fondling

The amount of rage I feel is otherworldly. After watching him dismiss Shoupe then John B and now me.. I’m ready to break something. I follow him back out front but halt my steps when I see him helping customers, like he didn’t just give me the best two orgasms of my life. But watching him lather on the charm for these two rich bitches seems to piss me off more. Especially as they soak it up and cast me shitty looks. I’m sure I look freshly fucked and I’d love nothing more than to rub it in their faces who’s cock was just inside me but I bite my tongue, busying myself with restocking.

“If you ever need help, let me know. I know good help is hard to find.” I hear one of the bitches say. I shoot her a look at the same time JJ glances at me. I know he’s trying not to laugh but fuck him too.

“I’ll keep you in mind when we’re hiring again.” JJ lathers on the charm and I could kill someone. I make my way out the front door and down the pier. I needed to clear my head. I’m half way down the dock before I stop, panting to catch my breath. He was in me like a sickness. Like a disease spreading throughout my body that would surely kill me. What had started as harmless fun had quickly turned into something else. I fucking missed him

“Y/N!” I startle at the sound of a familiar five years olds voice, followed by fast approaching footsteps. Summer barrels into me just as I turn around, engulfing me in a hug that could bring tears to my eyes.

“We came to see you and daddy!” Summer beams up at me just as Sarah and her daughter approach. I smile and she smiles back.

“She was insisting.” Sarah says, rubbing her daughters back.

“Come on, let’s go say high!” Summer leads me back towards the Charter until her and her cousin decide to race down the dock. Sarah shakes her head with a laugh, falling into step with me.

“John B told me what happened with Chelsea. I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into the middle of that mess.” Sarah says, watching as the girls burst through the door to no doubt bombard JJ.

“Thank you. Definitely wasn’t expecting it.” I shrug, my eyes on the slats beneath our feet.

“Listen, JJ is difficult.” Sarah pulls me to a stop and I face her. “He didn’t come from a loving home. I’ve never even heard what happened with his mother but his father was an abusive addict who was gone more than he was here and when he was here, he was getting JJ to fix up his messes. JJ’s had a shit hand in life and then everything with Summer happened. Despite everything, she brought him back to life. She gave him purpose. But JJ has a tendency to push people away that get too close to their little bubble. He doesn’t want to risk Summer getting attached or hurt so if he’s pulling away, it’s because he’s scared.” I blink back at Sarah, my heart in my throat.

I don't know what to say so I only nod. We agreed in the beginning that this was only sex, no feelings. And so far I'd been wrapped up in baby momma drama and felt more feelings than I cared to admit. Sarah gives me a hug before following after the girls and into the shop. I can see JJ laughing as the two blonde headed girls talk adamantly to him. I was practically blinded by the twinkle in his eyes from how happy he was. Maybe I wanted him. But I didn't want to complicate his life either. I didn't want him to feel like he had to choose. So with a heavy heart, I hung my shop key on the hook next to the door, JJ's eyes immediately finding mine through the window. I turn away and make my way across the street to where I'm parked, refusing to let him see my tears.

It’s been three weeks. To say I miss him would be an understatement. But I refuse to acknowledge it. So I stay busy working at the bar and taking care of Bo. I entertain Jared when he comes in for drinks because I'm bored and need the tips. He begs me to take him back and I ignore him, moving to a different side of the bar. Part of me was afraid that Chelsea or her Goons would show up here but so far there's been nothing. My life had become boring and uneventful.

Part of me had expected some sort of reaction from JJ but I was also glad there hadn’t been one or else I’d have given in to him. Even if it made me sad. That’s why I stayed busy. I couldn’t miss him if I was too busy to breathe. It was the late nights when I was alone that emotion would choke me. I’d picture his grumpy attitude as he roughly bent me over the workbench. Or the spark in his eyes when I got mouthy as he thrusted into me. My stomach filled with butterflies and my pussy throbbed just thinking about him inside me again.

“Y/N, are you even listening to me?” I looked up at the sound of Jared’s shitty tone of voice, having been lost in my own head and going through the motions of making drinks.

“Jared, I’m working.” I signed, handing off three more beers to a couple of rowdy college guys. I could practically smell the fraternity on them.

“You’re always working. You never answer my texts or calls even now that you’re not with that asshole anymore.” Jared scoffed, downing his beer and sliding the empty bottle to me

“I wasn’t with him.” I muttered, uncapping another beer and giving it to him. I almost missed the way Jared tensed and his eyes narrowed.

“Right. You can fuck him all you want but you can’t be in a relationship with me. When did you become such a slut?” His words light me on fire. I could’ve hit him with an empty beer bottle but I resisted, gritting my teeth.

“The moment his big dick pushed inside me.” I spat before I could stop myself. Jared’s eyes flared and his hand on the bar balled into a fist.

“Fuck you, bitch. I’m done wasting my time.” Jared snatched his beer up and stalked off, shouldering other people out of the way.

“I need a break.” I muttered to my help, yanking my apron off and storming into the back. I let the back door slam behind me as I collapsed against the brick building. The bar rested on the pier, the back of the building facing the ocean so I watched as the son disappeared beneath the water and blanketed OBX in darkness.

“Ya know, if he hadn’t walked away from you when he did, you’d be throwing me out of this place.” I startled at the sound of JJ’s calm voice, whipping my head around to face him as he approached. My stomach immediately knotted with nerves and longing.

“What are you doing here?” I finally managed, my heart in my throat. JJ leaned against the building next to me, his bright blue eyes on my face like he was searching for something.

“I needed to see you.” He said it so matter of fact that all I could do was nod and turn away.

“It’s not just sex anymore.” JJ said smoothly, turning so he was leaned against the building and facing me.

“No.” I agreed, refusing to look into those eyes again.

Just being near him again made it hard to breathe. It had only been weeks but they’d been so long. I could smell the salt of the ocean on his skin, the weed on his clothes, the alcohol and mint on his breath, the shampoo in his hair. I blinked away tears as I shook my head again.

“I don’t think it ever was just sex with you.” JJ’s words radiate into my chest and I fight back a sob.

Suddenly his hand grabs the back of my neck and yanks me against him, his mouth finding mine in a bruising kiss I’m too weak to fight. A needy sound leaves me as I wind my arms around his neck and lift up on my toes to get as close as I can. His tongue finds mine as his hands tighten on my body, one on the back of my neck and the other on my back under my tank top.

JJ turns me so my back is against the brick again, his body pinning me in place as his tongue tastes the inside of my mouth. We make out like horny teenagers. Messy and full of tongue and teeth. I couldn’t stop. When he pops the buttons on my shorts and slides his hand into my panties, I nearly groan with relief.

“God, you’re so fucking wet.” JJ moans against my lips, his fingers massaging my slit. My knees felt weak and my legs trembled while he teased me.

“I missed this.” He applied pressure to my clit between kisses.

“I missed you.” Two fingers slid inside me and I gasped, gripping his shirt as he leaned over me to bury his face in my neck. I widened my legs as much as I could but the tight fit felt too good. Feeling him stretch me with two fingers and then three felt too good. His teeth graced my neck as I shamelessly rolled my hips to meet his hand, trying and failing to stifle my moans against his shoulder.

“Cum for me right now then take me home so I can fuck you as hard and fast as I want.” JJ practically growled in my ear, his free hand pinching my pierced nipple through my bra.

“Oh god!” I cried out, the orgasm washing over me like a tidal wave. My body shook uncontrollably and my legs nearly gave out as he worked me through it then didn’t stop. I suddenly heard footsteps off to my right and turned to see Jared there, looking like a deer in headlights before his gaze turned murderous. Why had he come back here? To find me? Hoping I was alone?

JJ turned his head too, looking right at Jared as his fingers worked harder, faster. I could feel the tension between them as JJ claimed me now like he did the day Jared came in the shop. JJ used his free hand to tuck his shirt over something, showing Jared the gun on his hip as he fingered me. I looked away from Jared’s rage and kissed JJ’s Adam’s apple. He swallowed and I bit him.

“One more then I’m going to fill this pussy with something else. Come on, baby. Cum all over my fucking hand.” I cried out again, throwing my head back against the brick as I came. It might’ve hurt if I wasn’t riding out the best high of my life.

My breathing was uneven and I could barely stand by the time he was done pumping his hand. I turned and thankfully found that Jared was gone. He probably would’ve charged JJ the moment he pulled his hand back out of my shorts and sucked them clean then kissed me again.

When I pulled back, I was breathless and exhausted. Yet I felt lighter than I had before. Like a weight had been lifted off. I smirked at the bite mark on his throat and he smirked back looking hungry as ever.

“When is your shift over?” JJ asked, pressing his pelvis against mine so I felt how hard he was.

“Anxious?” I tease, cupping him through his shorts. JJs eyelids fluttered and he pulsed in my hand.

“You think I won’t fuck you against this brick wall too?” JJ warned, leaning in to capture my mouth again. I wanted to give in. I wanted to feel him inside me more than anything else but we needed to talk. We had to have a conversation.

“J, we can’t just rush into this with sex. We have to talk.”

“Then let’s talk. Come over when you’re done. Bring Bo if you have too. Summer is with John B. I’ll make us dinner and we can talk. No sex until we do.” I could’ve melted at the determination in his voice. How much he wanted this.

“Deal.” I said, holding my hand out for him to shake. He took it.

“Deal. I’ll see you soon.”

[sequinsmile-x]

Open Your Eyes Into Mine

Five times Emily and Aaron don't kiss, and one time they do.

-x-

Hi besties,

This is for the lovely @eobangingwhen who deserves the world <3

Hope you all enjoy this. As always...the feelings took over in the middle.

-x-

Words: 5.9k

Warnings: Lina said 'there are no warnings, just sad.'

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

One

He’d intrigued her from the moment she saw him. 

On the surface, he was just like everyone else who passed through her mother’s house - sensible and serious in a slightly ill-fitting suit, but something about him made him stand out to her. He was handsome, younger than all of his colleagues, and the rare times she’d seen him smile, dimples carved out deep in his cheeks, she’d felt her stomach flip. She had this instinctual need to get to know him more, to know more than the fact he was from Virginia and had recently broken up with his high school sweetheart, something deep in her gut pulling her towards him, and she found herself making excuses to spend time with him instead of actively avoiding him as she did with most other people who passed through this house. 

It’s how she finds herself standing in a corner with him at a party her mother was throwing, ignoring all the mingling people she knew she should be talking to, all of her focus on him and trying to ruffle him up as he worked. 

“It’s like looking at those guards in London,” she comments hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass when she sees one of the corners of his lips twitch, “Maybe I should get you one of those tall hats.” 

He chokes on a laugh and clears his throat, shaking his head as he smiles widely at her, “Miss Prentiss, I’m trying to work.” 

Emily rolls her eyes, “How many times do I have to ask you to call me Emily? Agent Hotchner.” 

He smiles again, the back and forth about his insistence to not use her first name they’d been sharing since they’d met hanging in the air between them, “Miss-”

“Emily.” 

She tenses, her smile slipping off of her face as she turns to look at her mother, her grip on her champagne glass tightening, “Mother.” 

“You can’t just…hang out here with the security all evening,” Elizabeth says, her face pinched together with irritation, “There are people here who want to see you. They haven’t seen you since you started at Yale.” 

Emily resists rolling her eyes, her lips pressed tightly together before she paints on a fake smile, “I hardly know anyone here.”

Elizabeth clears her throat, her eyes flicking back and forth between Emily and Aaron, “That’s the point of mingling, Emily. To get to know people. I’m sure Agent Hotchner can do without your charming presence for a while.” 

Emily feels her smile falter, her mother’s barbed words hurting more than she cared to admit even to herself. She hates that even after all this time she can affect her, that no matter how much she prepared herself her mother somehow managed to sneak under the defences she’d helped build with her indifference and the expectations Emily could never meet.  

It’s over in a flash, her smile fixing itself back on her face before she downs the last of her champagne and nods, “Of course,” she says, her eyes flicking to Aaron, something she can’t quite read in his eyes, “I’m just going to go to the bathroom first.” 

She sneaks into a side room as soon as she’s out of the ballroom, her breath stuttering in her chest the moment she’s alone. She closes her eyes and tries to pull herself back together, and she suddenly starts to count down the seconds until she’s back in New Haven and far away from here. 

There’s a knock on the door and she groans, her hand against her forehead, “Mom, I just need-”

“It’s me,” Aaron’s voice cuts over her, the door opening just enough for him to poke his head around,  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

She’s nodding before she even thinks about it, her smile tight as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him, “How did you know where I was?” 

“I saw you come in here,” he stands a few feet away from her, his hands crossed in front of him, standing in the same pose had been in the ballroom, and it makes warmth spread in her chest, his presence somehow making her feel better. She watches as he furrows his brow, clearly trying to figure out what he wants to say, “I’m sorry she treats you that way. You deserve more than that.” 

A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob pushes itself up her throat so quickly it hurts, her ribs aching with it as she crosses her arms over her chest to protect herself, “It’s okay. She’s always been like that.” 

His frown deepens and somehow he’s closer, and she isn’t sure if he’s moved or if she has, but she has to grip her arms to stop herself from reaching out and soothing the deep line between his brows. 

“That doesn’t make it better, Emily.” 

Maybe it’s the way he says her name, or even the fact it’s the first time he’s said it, but she feels like she’s burning from the inside out, her cheeks so warm she’s sure they’re red. “I know,” she chokes out, wondering why she feels so affected, why her voice croaks as he steps even closer, “But it’s just one of those things.” 

His smile is sad, his dimples barely making an appearance as their eyes meet, “Well, if it helps, I’m always happy to be in your charming presence.” 

She laughs, her first real one all night, and she presses her lips together to try and contain her smile. She tries not to think about the fact he’s cheered her up so quickly, that he seemingly knows how to do so, instead she nods, her tongue peeking out to wet her lower lip.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says quietly, her gaze drifting down to his lips before she meets his eyes again, only slightly surprised to find he’s looking at her in the same way she knows she’s looking at him. 

She leans in, her eyes drifting shut as he does too, and she feels his breath skip over her face. Before their lips touch there’s a knock on the door, both of them jumping and putting space between them as one of Aaron’s colleagues asks if he’s in there, and Aaron clears his throat before he responds, throwing Emily an apologetic smile before he’s out of the room, leaving her feeling strangely cold. 

She touches her lips, the ghost of his kiss pressed against them even though it had never happened, and she rolls her eyes at herself, “Get it together, Emily.” 

She shakes off his apologies the next morning, her smile soft as she tells him he has nothing to be sorry for, and they don’t talk of it again. By the time she goes back to college, she’s forgotten about the almost kiss, the moment that could have been.

She doesn’t think about it, doesn’t let it cross her mind, right up until she finds herself standing in his office years later.

___

Two 

He feels pleasantly buzzed, the third scotch Dave had pressed into his hand with a wink and a pat on his shoulder tipping him into what Aaron would admit was tipsy. 

He sighs as he looks down at his left hand, at the paler band of skin where he’d worn his wedding ring for years, and he takes another sip of his drink. Even though he’d accepted that things were over with Haley, that his family was broken, signing the papers had hit him harder than he thought it would. The team had convinced him to go out for drinks after work, their attempts to get him to come with them ranging from Penelope’s bribery with cupcakes she’d bake him, to Emily’s gentle teasing that he owed her a drink from when they’d last gone for drinks, her smile kind and full of something he didn’t want to name. 

He blows out a breath and finishes his drink, placing the glass down on the bar. He turns to Dave, “I’m going to go out and get some air,” he says, and Dave raises his eyebrow at him, “I won’t leave, I promise. It’s warm in here.” 

Dave nods and Aaron smiles at him before he heads outside, sighing as the fresh air hits him. He steps into the alleyway for some privacy and he leans against the wall, his head thunking back against it as he tries to picture what his life would look like going forward. How he’d have even less time with his son, how the person he’d loved for more than half his life would no longer be his partner in everything. He feels his shoulders slump, the weight of everything from the last few months pressing down on them. 

“Hotch? Are you okay?” 

His eyes fly open at the sound of Emily’s voice and he stands up straight. She’s standing just a few feet away, her eyebrows pinched together with concern, her arms crossed over her chest as she shivers, the cool air hitting her since she’d left her jacket inside. 

“We aren’t at work, Emily. You can call me Aaron,” he says, avoiding the question, and he ignores how the smile that flits across her face makes him feel. It’s a call back to a moment that happened so long ago it might as well have happened to other people, something he can barely link together in his head with the woman standing in front of him. It was something frozen in time, a second where everything could have changed if they’d had just a little more time alone. 

“Okay then, Aaron,” she says, smiling again as she emphasises his name, “Are you okay?” 

He chuckles humourlessly and sighs, shrugging as he tries to find the answer, “I don’t know. It’s…hard. I wanted to raise Jack with a family and now…now he comes from a broken home.” 

It was something he’d wanted to avoid, and it was part of the reason they’d waited to have Jack. So Aaron could be more established in his career and be as present as possible, but it hadn’t worked out that way and he wasn’t sure he’d ever rid himself of the guilt. 

“I can’t imagine how hard that feels,” she says, joining him in leaning against the wall, her arm brushing against his, “But I do know how it feels to be raised by parents who stayed together because it was the ‘right thing to do’,” she presses her lips together and sighs, “They divorced the second I went to college and it was hard. And they weren’t very good at hiding how much they hated each other for years before that,” she shrugs and laughs humourlessly, “It doesn’t take an FBI profiler to figure out that’s why I always end up looking for love in the wrong places,” she looks up at him, her eyes wide and honest and he feels his stomach flip again, “Jack has two parents who love him enough to put him first. He’ll grow up knowing that. He’s a lucky kid.” 

He didn’t know that’s what he’d needed to hear until that moment, but it doesn’t surprise him that she apparently had. Her uncharacteristic openness, her willingness to share something she obviously hadn’t spoken about in years just to make him feel better, loosening something in his chest. 

“Thank you, Emily.” 

She smiles, wide and bright and beautiful, “You’re welcome. Aaron.” 

Later, he’d ask himself why he did it, why the way she smiles at him draws him in the way it does, but he leans in, closing the gap between them that was smaller than ever. She sucks in a breath as she pulls back before their lips touch, her smile achingly kind as she sinks her teeth into her lower lip.

“Aaron-”

“Oh god,” he says, his eyes wide as he clears his throat and steps back from her, “I’m so sorry. That should never-”

“Aaron,” she says firmly, cutting him off, “It’s not that I wouldn’t want you, you know that,” she says, coming the closest either of them had ever come to addressing that moment between them almost a lifetime ago, “I just won’t ever be someone's consolation prize.” 

His eyes go wide and he shakes his head, “Oh no, that’s not…you could never be…”

She smiles sympathetically at him and reaches out for his hand, squeezing it for a second before she drops it, the touch of her skin against his almost electric, “I’m not saying no,” she presses her lips together to suppress a smile, “I’m just saying maybe not on the day you signed divorce papers.” 

He laughs, the sound surprising even him, “Yeah, okay,” he says, “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

They’re silent for a moment. Both of them smile at each other, a silent promise passing between them, and she points over her shoulder to the bar, “Come on, you still owe me that drink.” 

He nods and follows her out of the alley, embarrassment still churning ever so slightly in his gut, “I think after that I owe you two.”

She laughs as they walk side by side, “Well, I won’t argue with that.” 

___

Three

She could no longer pretend she wasn’t in love with him.

It was something she’d been denying to herself for a long time, telling herself it was nothing more than an inappropriate crush on her boss, but all of that went away the moment she saw the blood stain on his living room floor. The panic she’d felt was overwhelming and she’d never felt more grateful for her ability to compartmentalise, that she’d been able to hold herself together until she got home that evening, encouraged to do so by him after she’d held her vigil at his bedside long after he’d sent Haley and Jack away. 

Emily had cried the moment she’d locked her apartment door behind her, her chest caving in on itself as she came to terms with the fact that if things had been even slightly different she could have lost him before she ever had him. 

She’s grateful when he lets her look after him. When he doesn’t question her driving him to and from work even after he’s cleared, their poorly covered conversation about his first case back still echoing around in her head weeks later. 

“He has Tommy. He’s not alone.” 

He invites her over to his after they get back from a case and she accepts gladly, happy to spend as much time with him as possible. She doesn’t miss how his eyes linger on the now clean carpet when they sit together on the couch, empty Chinese food containers on the coffee table. She could still see the blood stain every time she blinked, a flash of one of the worst moments of her life that wouldn’t go away even though there was no trace of it left, the professional cleaners she’d hired to remove it worth every dollar she’d spent. 

“Do you have any plans this weekend?” He asks, barely covering a wince as he settles back into the couch. She groans in response and he smiles at her, the familiar flip in her stomach no longer a surprise. 

“My mom is in town,” she says, huffing as she settles against the back of the couch, “So unless we get a case I’ll be having lunch with her on Saturday,” she scrunches up her nose, “Think you can do something to make sure we’re working?” 

He chuckles, “Short of becoming a serial killer myself I’m not sure there is,” he placates, “But maybe we could think of something else to get you out of it?” 

It’s the lightest he’s seemed in weeks, the heaviness that had settled over him ever since he’d sent Haley and Jack away lifting, and her heart feels like it’s being squeezed, pressed out of place as her love for him takes up more space in her chest. 

“What do you have in mind?” 

“My physical therapist keeps suggesting I take up running to try to gain back some of the fitness I’ve lost,” he says, his smile flickering into a brief frown before he shakes it off, “I was thinking of going for the first time on Saturday at around lunchtime if you’d like to go with me.”

His smile turns shy and it makes him look impossibly young, and she sees a glimpse of the boy that Haley would have fallen in love with. It drives her to say yes even though she hates cardio, the opportunity to spend even more time with him something she would grab with both hands. 

“Someone will have to make sure you don’t push yourself too hard,” she says, smiling coyly, “So I guess I’m in.” 

He laughs, which he hasn’t done in weeks, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling too much. It was fast becoming her favourite sound, the almost goofiness of it at complete odds with the rest of him, and she wants to do everything she could to make him laugh as often as possible. 

“You will have to go easy on me,” he says, shifting so their shoulders are touching, turning his head to look at her, “I’m still not up to full strength.”

She hums, “Of course,” she raises her eyebrow at him, “But I won’t let you win.” 

“Now it’s a race all of a sudden?” He asks and she laughs, her eyes flicking to his lips, and she knows in any other circumstances she’d lean in and kiss him, that this could finally be their moment. 

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game, honey.”

The levity between them dies the moment she lets the term of endearment slip free and she curses herself internally for tripping them over the line they’d so delicately walked for months now. He sighs and reaches for her hand, “Em-”

“No, it’s okay,” she says, swallowing thickly to push down the emotion she won’t let herself feel until she’s home, “Not now. I know.” 

“I couldn’t be everything you deserve right now,” he says, squeezing her hand, letting it linger around hers, the way his fingers linked between hers almost cruel in its perfection, “I wouldn’t want to risk this because I wasn’t ready.” 

She nods, hating that tears gather in her eyes, and she clears her throat, “I know, it’s okay,” she repeats, squeezing his hand before she lets go and stands up, desperate to put some space between them so she can gather herself, “It’s probably time I get going.” 

He shakes his head and stands up so quickly he winces, the movement pulling at his still healing wounds, “No, stay-”

“I’ll see you on Saturday, okay? Just text me where you want to meet.” She says, and she stares at him, hoping that he hears what she isn’t saying, that he won’t actually make her beg. He nods and the relief is palpable, carving a hole in her chest as she grabs her purse and turns back to look at him, “Bye Aaron.”

He sighs, his hands in fists at his sides so he doesn’t reach out for her, both of them held back the knowledge now simply wasn’t their time. 

“Goodbye, Emily.”

She cries when she gets home and Sergio climbs into her lap, his purrs and headbutts doing nothing to help ease the ache in her chest. 

___

Four 

She’d been acting strangely for days. 

He couldn’t put his finger on it, couldn’t work out why she was suddenly avoiding him after weeks of them getting closer and closer. He’d been about to ask her out on a date, finally in a place where he felt like he could be what she deserved, but then she started to pull away from him, a tightness in her smile that scared him for a reason he couldn’t figure out. He’d asked her what was wrong but she’d lied and said everything was fine, and he was convinced she’d figured out that single fathers weren’t her thing and she didn’t know how to let him down gently after years of build-up. 

When he finds out she’d thrown up at a crime scene his concern only increases. It wasn’t like her, and they’d seen far worse over the last few years without her even blinking an eye. 

He’s distracted, unable to focus on pulling the final bits of the profile together, a heavy weight in his gut that tells him there is something they do not know. He spots Emily out of the window of his office and sees the tension in her shoulders, a shiftiness she’s covering less and less as the days pass, and his curiosity wins out. He opens his office door and calls out for her. 

“Prentiss, my office.” 

By the time she makes it up the stairs, looking strangely dangerous in her all black outfit and tight shoulders, he’s closed the blinds to give them as much privacy as possible. 

“Is everything okay?” She asks she steps past him, her hands grasped together in front of her, her cuticles torn to shreds. 

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he says, closing the door and turning to look at her, his concern only heightening when her eyes go wide, “What’s going on Em?” 

She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest in some kind of defiance as she tightens her jaw, “What do you mean?” 

“You aren’t acting like yourself,” he says, stepping towards her, the rock in his belly getting heavier when she steps back, “Derek said you threw up at the scene.” 

He watches as she sucks in a deep breath, her lips pressed together as she visibly folds in on herself, “He shouldn’t have told you that.” 

“He’s worried,” he says, stepping closer again, relieved when she doesn’t move this time, “We all are. What’s going on?” He asks, reaching out for her, his hand on her elbow, “We can help.” 

Her eyes go wide like he’s just threatened her, panic and fear and something he can’t name flashing across her face as she shakes her head, wrenching herself from him, “No. Nothing is wrong. Why won’t you believe me?” 

“Because you’re lying to me, sweetheart.” 

He half shouts it, and it hangs between them. Thick and cloying in the air, the only sound her heavy breathing as she shakes her head, desperate in a way he’s never seen. They stare at each other and time drags out around them like syrup until she starts moving, her hands on his shoulders as she leans in to kiss him and he moves out of the way, her lips catching his cheek instead, her devastated gasp brushing past his ear. He holds her in place, his hands on her waist as he closes his eyes and breathes her in. 

She tries to pull away but he doesn’t let her, his grip tighter as they stand there in silence, her cheek warm against his, damp with tears he won’t acknowledge and knows she won’t either. He wanted her so much it hurt. He loved her in a way he didn’t think was possible after Haley and he wanted everything with Emily, but he didn’t want whatever was happening right now, whatever she was keeping from him, to break what they’d both been waiting so long for. 

“Not like this, Em,” he says, the two of them still standing cheek to cheek, an awful dance made of defiance and sidestepping that he worries they won’t make it back from this time, “Just tell me what’s wrong and I can help you.” 

She’s silent and tense in his arms before she shakes her head, her lips stamped against his cheek again, something she lingers in before she pulls away, “I’m sorry.” 

She’s gone before he can say anything, out of his office and back in the main bullpen, and he tells himself that he’ll try again later. That he’ll go to hers and stand at her door until she has no choice but to talk to him. 

He doesn’t get the chance. 

He stands on the other side of a closed door from the rest of the team as they cry over her untimely death. He barely holds it together, the tears in his eyes real even though what they were all mourning wasn’t, and he hates himself for not pushing any further, for not saving her from herself and from this. 

When he gets home that night he doesn’t sleep. He sits on the couch she’d sat on with him countless times, his eyes fixed on the spot on the floor where he almost died, and he wishes he’d let her kiss him. 

___

Five

She winces as she lowers herself into the chair next to her hospital bed, curses in more than one language aimed at her physical therapist as she gets as comfortable as she can, every muscle in her body screaming at her. 

She felt like crap, which, she thought, was rather fitting for a dead person.

She closes her eyes and leans her head back, desperately trying to pretend she was anywhere else, that she’d made different decisions and hadn’t ended up here. Dead to almost everyone who knew her with the exception of the man she loves and her best friend. 

JJ had been to visit a couple of days ago, her smile shaky as she explained what she knew of the plan, that she’d be back to pick her up and they’d take the jet to wherever she was going together. She told Emily that Aaron could come before she was moved, that he was insistent on doing so even though it wasn’t advised, a glint in JJ’s blue eyes that lets her know she knows about the shifting dynamics of their relationship. The relationship that Emily was now sure she’d never get to have. Her future torn to pieces by her past in a way she felt stupid for not anticipating. 

There’s a light knock on the door and she calls out that it’s okay to come in, sure it’s one of the nurses who always looked at her a little too kindly, and she continues to sit with her eyes closed. 

“Em?” 

She moves so quickly at the sound of his voice that it hurts, pain lancing through her body as her abdomen burns, stitches and skin pulling at each other in a way that makes her cry out, “Fuck.” 

“Take it easy,” Aaron says, already by her side, his touch gentle as he rests his hand on her arm and perches on the edge of the bed next to her, his knees knocking against hers, “You’re okay. Just breathe through it.” 

She nods and places her hand over his on her arm, his skin impossibly warm, and she does as he’s said, breathing along with him until the pain fades back down to a bearable level. She focuses on him instead. The sound of his breathing. The touch of his hand. The smell of his cologne. She stores it all away, like an animal stocking up for winter, not wanting to be starved of him for how ever long she is away. 

“Sorry,” she eventually breathes out, her smile weak when she finally opens her eyes, “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he replies, smiling softly at her, a sadness he can’t hide from her lingering in his eyes, “And you have nothing to apologise for.” 

“JJ said she tried to talk you out of coming,” she says, her eyebrow raised and he shrugs, a nonchalance to it they both know he’s faking, “You could be putting yourself in danger.”

“I had to see you before you left,” he says as if it’s that simple, as if he’d tear the world apart just for her, “I…” he clears his throat, his jaw tight as he clenches his teeth, “I didn’t want the last time I saw you to be the last time.” 

She knew enough to understand he’d seen her during the worst of it, and she nods, pressing her lips together to try and stop herself from crying. She almost apologises again, but stops herself, not sure what it would achieve even if he accepted it, so she squeezes his hand with as much strength as she can muster. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

He smiles, one of his dimples making itself known, “I’m glad I’m here too.” 

She doesn’t ask about the team because she isn’t sure she could take the answer, the awareness that she’d caused them pain too much to bear, “How’s Jack?” 

He clears his throat, “He’s good. He asked about you,” he says, and she frowns, confusion pushing its way past the medication she’s on, “I didn’t tell him that you’d…he thinks you’re on a secret mission,” he laughs humourlessly, “I thought it would be easier to explain rather than undo everything he knows about death when you come back.” 

The guilt washes over her, how her desire to protect one little boy years ago had now impacted another and she knows if she wasn’t sitting down she’d collapse with it, “Aaron.” 

“Hey,” he says gently as he leans forward, his forehead against hers, his hand in her hair as he scratches at her scalp, “None of that. You did everything you thought was right,” he says, pulling back just enough to stamp a kiss against her forehead before he presses his against hers again, “I’m not angry at you. You’re the bravest person I know. And when you come back, we’ll figure everything out.” 

She doesn’t pull away, instead, she watches as his gaze drops to her lips, and she wonders what would happen if one of them closed the gap, if the other would stop them this time. Neither of them tries, content to sit there in the promises she hopes aren’t empty, a future of maybes and hope wrapped around them like a threadbare blanket. 

“Can you stay a while? 

He nods, his forehead knocking against hers, “I can stay as long as you want me to.” 

She doesn’t know how to tell him that she wants him to stay forever.

___

+One 

She felt giddy. 

She thinks even a year ago she would have felt ridiculous for it. That she should have chastised herself for acting like a teenage girl in love, but she couldn’t bring herself to, because she was entirely sure that after everything she deserved this. 

That they deserved this. 

She doesn’t let go of Aaron’s hand as she leads him to her apartment door, instead digging through her purse one-handed because the idea of letting go of him now she has him is almost absurd. 

He laughs at her, his smile hidden in her hair as they come to a stop outside of her apartment, his chest warm and full of love, “Need some help, sweetheart?” 

She can’t help but smile as he holds her purse steady for her and she finds the keys easily, her thank you a smile that she throws at him as she lets them in. 

It had been a perfect first date. 

He’d shown up in one of his suits, missing his tie at her request, and a bunch of sunflowers in his hands, his smile shy as he admitted he asked the florist for cat-friendly flowers. He’d booked a table at a restaurant she’d idly mentioned once, long before she’d been sent to Paris, and it had taken all of her self-control to not tell him that she loves him then and there. 

Aaron had been her rock since she came home, content to just be her friend and confidant as she desperately tried to pull herself back together. To slip all the broken pieces of her life into place as she tried to get used to the new cracks that had appeared. He’d expected nothing from her other than her honesty, and after everything she knew she owed him that. In the end, it was she who asked him on a date, her smile coy and shy as she let him know one evening that she didn’t want to wait anymore. 

Part of her had expected him to kiss her on the spot, but he didn’t. Instead, he’d smiled and said he’d plan something, and it turned out he meant for the following evening, just as keen to finally be here as she was. 

A small part of both of them had worried it would be awkward. That there had been too much build-up over the years and that maybe they weren’t destined to be more than friends. They soon realised they needn’t have worried, dinner had been exactly like the countless ones they’d shared before only in a dimly lit restaurant as they held hands over the table. 

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” she says as she dumps her purse on her kitchen counter, smiling as she turns in his arms, only letting go of his hand so she can hook her arms around his neck. 

He smiles and places his hands on her lower back, pressing her closer to him, revelling in the fact he had her this close, that they had made it here, “No problem, Em. I’ll let you pay next time I promise.” 

She laughs, smiling widely at the memory of how they’d playfully argued over the bill in the restaurant. Eventually, she’d relented, aware of his desire to be a gentleman. “Next time? You’re going to take me on another date?” 

His smile gets wider at her playfulness, and if it hadn’t taken them this long to get here he’d say it almost felt too easy to be with her like this, “Another one,” he shrugs, “Or another 20.” 

She bites her lower lip as he pulls her even closer, her eyes flicking down to his lips before she meets his eyes again, “Or 50?”

He leans in, his breath skipping across her lips, “Or 100.”

When they kiss, it’s everything they’d both imagined and more. Something entirely new and coming home all at once. As if every awful thing they’d both been through since that first almost moment between them almost 20 years ago had been leading them to this. The path rocky and treacherous at times but worth every step.

She sighs contentedly as she pulls back, her hands on his cheeks as she rests her forehead against his, his palms wide and warm on her lower back and between her shoulder blades.

“You didn’t stop me this time,” she says, slightly breathless, her tongue peeking out to lick her lip and chase the taste of him. 

“You didn’t stop me either,” he replies, just as affected as she is before he leans in again, kissing her soundly, tasting the groan she releases from the source. When they break away this time he kisses the corner of her lips and then her cheek and then her nose, wholly unable to stop now he’d started, “Worth the wait?”

She chases his lips, catching them as he’s about to press them against her jaw, and she barely pulls back enough to speak. 

“Worth the wait.” 

[bluedabadeedabadie]

https://www.pcrf.net/news/pcrf-s-urgent-gaza-relief-food-parcel-initiative.html

Opening writing commissions! Donate to any of the initiatives here^, or to any of the fundraisers I've reblogged, message me your idea, get something out of it too.

Proof I can write prose, if nothing else:

Why do I do that? Just hoping it can give people one more reason to donate. You are helping people in need and get some of your school work or an email you've been putting out for forever taken care of or just a silly little story out of it. And you donate the money yourself, so you can be assured they're going where you want them to.

So how does it work?

1. Pick a GoFundMe and donate a minimum of 10 USD *

2. Send me a screenshot as proof (no personal data, I feel like this goes without saying but better safe than sorry)

3. Pick one of the following:

- short original story

-short story using your world and characters

- fanfiction one-shot**

- an oratory piece on a given topic

- an essay

- a school assignment

- up to five official/business emails***

4. After you DM me we can discuss details like when you can expect the finished piece, what you want it to be like, etc. Do let me know if you want to get updates during the progress before you get the final product.

DISCLAIMER: Expect an initial reply in an about 24-hours window, but keep in mind I am a college student so I apologise for the iffy replies.

PLEASE read the clarifications under the cut:

* If you can't donate 10 USD, that's alright. Donate what you can and I will fill the rest. However, that's the preferred amount.

** If I am not well-versed in the fandom I might either turn that down and offer for you to pick something else or need additional time to make myself semi-familiar with the characters.

*** I myself am an introvert and know how daunting emails can be, which is why that's one of the options. Please don't send me any private information about you or the receiver (like names, addresses, company names, etc.), I will add blanks for you to fill. I feel like it goes without saying BUT I feel like it's still important to mention.

Edited on 05/09/2024 to include more options for donations and better reflect on my availability.

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

I'm baaaaaaaack!!!!!!!!!!

My sister, Honey, brought me home last night so I could surprise everyone at her early birthday party (today is her birthday). I was going to be coming home anyway, but I'm glad I didn't have to rely on the buses to get me home since none of them go directly from Northfield to Ware. The party was great, I didn't get home until almost eleven, and I didn't get to sleep til after midnight, but I have been writing for a while to get some of my ideas out. It's good to be home, but I'm not really looking forward to heading back to work in about ten minutes. I can just tell it's going to be so much fun (she says sarcastically).

Now, putting that whole mess aside and moving onto something absolutely amazing, I saw your graduation post on Insta! Congratulations, El! All of the hard work you've put in over the last five years has finally paid off and I am so over-the-moon happy for you. You deserve a looong break after all of that. I'm hoping to finish making a little something as a congratulations, but the only hint I'm giving you is that it has something to do with a particular Chicago-musical-based trend on TikTok.

Now, I wanted to get everything that happened at camp - good, bad, and weird - out of my head, since a lot happened. I realize I never said it before, but I arrived at camp on the 5th of July - a day earlier than everyone else - because, as the pseudo-niece of the camp's director (he was my aunt's ex and has been a friend of the family since long before I was born), I wanted to be there to help get everything ready for the staff weekend. I've worked the summer there before and been a camper since I was maybe eight or nine, so I know the place inside and out. A majority of Camp Wanamaker's layout is similar to Camp Northfield's, and if the name sounds familiar, it's the camp name I used way back during the winter prompts of 2022 - Making an Effort, I believe it was.

Camp Northfield is different in the way the cabins are laid out - boys on the west side of the grounds, girls on the east side, and co-ed lodging (usually for workers and families) in the middle. The swimming pool, sports fields, campfire pit, and medical areas are similar, if not the same, but the music hall, dance studio, ropes course, and playhouse are something I based off of an all-girls camp I went to for a couple summers that was, thankfully, paid for by my friend's family as I definitely would not have been able to afford the $9,275 price tag - Camp Wicosuta.

To be honest, it's been years since I was a camper there, but now that I've given the Camp Wico map a glance, I can see how most of Camp Wanamaker's layout is the same. I'll put up a picture of Camp Wico's map, but you'll definitely see I moved some stuff around to fit my mental layout better. Like, for example, the changing rooms by the lake would be on the right side instead, as it's currently where I see the Lakeside Lodge being; the Main House and Bungalow are where I picture the Library and Art Barn; the Art Barn on the map just doesn't exist in my head as I've just expanded the playground area (that's where Royce and Miles had that water balloon fight with some kids); the dining hall and main office are closer together in my head; and, well, I'll let you imagine the rest as you've read Camp Wanamaker and have your own vision for it, I'm sure.

I don't know if you can see the resemblance here, but I know I can. It kind of makes me wish that I'd taken the summer to work there as it feels very much like what I picture Camp Wanamaker. Well, apart from the fact that it's an all-girls camp, that is lmao.

Now, onto what's happened so far!

There was a huge thunderstorm that lasted all day and into the night. Because of high winds, a wire from a telephone pole landed on the front porch of a nearby house, and it burned the front porch of that house but didn't damage the rest of it; a tree fell on a car in the parking lot - yay for insurance - and the power went out for almost four hours, which meant no air conditioning, no fans, no showers for the sweaty abominations we called campers, and no popcorn for movie night. It was a catastrophe.

Baby’s first sunburn. That's right - ya girl is naturally tan due to my dad's family being a blend of Mediterranean and Native American, and despite the mix of Irish and French on my mom's side of the family, I have never gotten a sunburn before in my life. However, I got my very first sunburn after falling asleep on a floating unicorn in the lake while listening to an audiobook I saved to my phone. Naturally, I was in a bit of pain, but it turned into a tan after a day or so, so it wasn't nearly as horrible as my pasty-white older sisters always make it out to be.

Nacho night! We spread tin foil over the tables in the mess hall and had a nacho dump night. It wasn't nearly as messy as we thought it would be, and I really enjoyed it. I wish I had taken pictures of it, but I leave my phone in my cabin for meals, so my Mount Kilimanjaro of nachos will have to remain in my brain. Just know, they were incredible.

Made a librarian friend, Susan. Susan is a 73yo librarian who, frankly, doesn't give a damn anymore. I adore her and her no-bullshit attitude, and I wish she worked at the library down the street from my house. Susan gave me a stack of extra books they were going to toss out soon, including some old copies of S.E. Hinton's books and some books that they mistakenly bought 2-3 extra copies of. She said I could visit her anytime, and I plan to. I love Susan. She’s a real one.

A group of Amish people visited to help fix the horse stables. We had multiple children try to “help”. The Amish didn’t mind and let them. They are cool and enjoyed the snow cones we made them before they left.

Multiple days of sun showers. Danced in the rain a lot this summer. Felt very reminiscent of Can I Have This Dance from HSM3. 10/10, very fun.

Apparently, someone shot Trump at a rally. We didn’t know anything about it until the newspaper came for one of the office ladies. Seriously... what is this country coming to? I'm contemplating moving abroad once I have the money to do so. It's getting ridiculous out here.

On a better note, we had a visiting camp join us one weekend. Camp Nero. They are a medieval/renaissance camp where everyone runs around in full costume. I "jousted" very beautiful, very sweet Lady Gilmoira Embers of Willowdale (or, as I later discovered, Kenzie of Salem). She was epic. I lost. A group of us played a DND one-shot that night. I ended up just barely making my second death-saving throw against a 50s biker-esque tiefling warlock whose gang chased us on possessed motorcycles. Twas epic. Would absolutely join them again.

I managed a puppet show. We had a talking lion. I feel like whoever wrote the script must have smoked something before working on it. It was hilarious. I'm waiting for my CIT to send me the video she recorded of one of our rehearsals, but if I get it, I'll post it.

Last week, staff members had the chance to do fun presentations on their favorite things that we would present after the campers left on Saturday. Three completely separate people did presentations on sleep. Two girls did a shared one on the Romanovs; it was very informative and well-researched. 10/10. I did one about the Titanic (big shock, I know), and two of my friends recreated the Jack and Rose thing with one of those dolly push-cart things while singing Celine Dion. It was not planned, but they did great.

A literal eight-year-old called me “Mom” on accident because I’m the same age as his mom… Yeah, I had to do some mental math and suffer through a bit of an existential crisis with that one, but he was sweet and really well-mannered. I gave him extra marshmallows at campfire time. 

Two teen morons dumped vodka into the orange juice during adventure week. Both got sent home after drunkenly confessing to their crimes. Thankfully, the staff caught it before the children could be affected. I’m grateful I prefer tomato juice.

To keep this list relatively short, I befriended our camp babies - Smores, Elvira, and Mochi. Smores is a mouthy cat (as you can see) who wandered onto camp property years ago. Some campers lured her in with bits of graham crackers, and she never left. She now resides in her own little area of the main lodge where campers go to spoil her with treats before going upstairs for lunch in the mess hall. Elvira is an all-black cat who Chief Byron and his wife brought to camp as an emotional support cat. She doesn't take this job seriously anymore and will automatically climb onto people's shoulders just to lay across them like a scarf. She loves to cuddle and makes excellent biscuits when she wants to be snuggled or get belly rubs. Mochi is the camp's two-year-old husky. She's taken over for Elvira as the camp's emotional support animal, and loves all the attention she gets every day. She's very spoiled, but I had to put Mochi in jail (her crate) because she ate a kid's unattended mochi ice cream, and cannibalism is frowned upon at our camp. Her eyes were killing me internally, but she had to remain there until dessert was over.

Also, I got the chance to work on some old drawings I had started drawing on my phone waaaay back. I mean, like, 2019-2021. I think the only one I completed is one I started back in 2022, right after you posted the first part of the prologue for TMM, which feels insane now that I think about it, but these are the lengths I went to in order to keep myself from boredom between archery groups. Some of the pictures are faceless, as I can't draw faces realistically all that well, but the one I did for TMM is one of the last "cartoon-ish" pieces I've done, so that one has faces. It just felt wrong to not give them faces when I feel fairly confident drawing in that art style. I was originally going to draw everyone in outfits I've seen in my mom's yearbook and my family photo albums from that decade, but I ended up with only Bentley and Kona before I got home. Before I go into detail on the other pictures I finished, here's the one for TMM as well as the more saturated version of it (on the right) that my C.I.T (counselor-in-training) Lily, said looks cooler:

Personally, I like the og, but that's just because I'm used to looking at it. I was going to go back in and add more details as the story progresses, but I kept it simple in the end. I might add more characters if I feel up to it, but for now, it is what it is. Kona's little friendship bracelet, her Kool-Aid dyed hair, Bentley's perpetual injuries, and his watch, despite him never being on time for anything in his life (including his own birth, lmao) are the only hints to anything that I ended up keeping. I was also going to do their DnD characters once I figured out what they would be, but maybe that'll wait until later on. After all, now that I'm playing DnD myself, I want to make it as accurate as possible.

My gang's characters are chaotic at best and are definitely not a great example to work off of, but DnD art is so much fun. In our little group of six, we've got a 500lb Tortle Bard named Nik who flirts with everything that so much as looks his way; a Dragonborn Fighter named Oybek who is all brawn, and absolutely no brains, but eats the flesh of his enemies after he kills them to absorb some of their abilities; a variant human Warlock-Sorcerer named Denji who has chainsaws for arms and has some kind of deal with the mafia; a Half-Elf Gunslinger Rogue named Jordeau who wears only red and has this weird obsession with dragons; and my character Irynia, a High Elf Twilight Cleric of Apollo whose only mission is to restore light to the Underdark, but she gets tied up with this group because they're a bunch of absolute morons who think with their fists more than their brains. Yeah... we're an odd bunch, that's for sure.

Anyway, my unfinished, (mostly) faceless drawings include a very shakily finger-drawn, unpolished picture of Vivien playing drums, an old, semi-finished drawing of what I originally thought Mick and Butchy would look like together on a beach date, a very clearly unfinished partial sketch of something that will eventually become Jade playing guitar (ignore the fact that her skin is super pale, I have yet to add any shading), a half-assed attempt at drawing Miles sleeping that will, presumably, take forever to get further than its current state as the coloring for the background has become my undoing, and a somewhat blurry picture of a few OCs in the Five Nights At Freddy's: Security Breach universe (Juliet as a Mazercise instructor, Mick as a Kid's Cove snack stand worker, Carrie as a Roxy Raceway race starter, Vivien as a nail artist in the GlamRock salon, and Kona as a photographer for the photo ops in Rockstar Row). The last one is super blurry, but I think that's because I layered each image onto one canvas instead of editing it properly later on, so that's entirely my bad. I don't have the originals of each, so this is all I have to work with. I am going to go back and edit everything now that I can actually use my tablet to draw instead of my phone, but that'll take a while.

I could nitpick these pictures all day since they're not finished, but some of these were my first actual attempts at doing something realistic, so I'm giving myself a bit of a pass on them and allowing myself to feel alright with how they look. It'll all improve with time and effort, I'm sure. All the same, I had fun with them.

So, yeah, have fun with those. They are just rough drafts right now - especially the faceless ones - but I enjoyed working on them a bit this last month, so I wanted to share them before I finish them off. I might go back to my old style in some ways - like I did with the Miles one - as it's super hard to draw realistic features, but I'm pleased with them for the most part.

Now, hopefully, I'll be able to sit down and read through everything you've posted lately because, tbh, I feel like I've missed a lot while I was gone, lmao. I am super excited to read through your post about Starlight Express since it's just not possible for me to see it over here. If you have a slime tutorial 👀 hook your girl up! I can't find one for The Outsiders, sadly. I have the script, so I've been reading that and riding that emotional rollercoaster (or train, I suppose, since that's a huge theme in the background of everything), but I would love to watch Starlight Express if you have that.

Anyway, I promise I'll be back to writing STDP and CW2 soon as I need to adjust to my old schedule again, but for now, here's a sneak peek of the first five-ish pages of the first chapter of Camp Wanamaker 2 (still calling it Electric Boogaloo, ngl, but yeah)!

Warm summer air filtered through the open window, rustling the curtains that danced along the sill. Air conditioners had yet to be put into the upstairs windows of the Birch family cabin as their arrival the night before had been more of a drop-your-belongings-by-the-door-and-crash kind of arrival than a calm, well-planned one. The air conditioners stored in the basement would be taken out sooner or later, but in the meantime, the slightly overheated log cabin was cooled by open windows that allowed the sixty-degree air to clear out the dust that had settled since their last visit to New Hampshire and a handful of oscillating floor fans that send waves of chilled air circulating throughout the rooms.

The group’s mid-afternoon departure from the California airport had been a rush of overstuffed backpacks and hastily checked baggage, making their late-night arrival at the Logan International Airport in Boston even more chaotic. The almost two-hour drive from the airport to the log cabin had been… entertaining, to say the least. The Birches had rented a fifteen-passenger van ahead of time, allowing everyone a seat as well as providing extra room for their belongings in the trunk and on the roof rack. Miles had sandwiched his girlfriend between himself and one of their additional guests - a certain blonde Texan who seemed oblivious to her best friend’s raging red cheeks. Ignoring the conversations around them, Royce had watched from the far seat as Bentley’s face smushed against the window within the first few minutes of the long drive, his steady breaths fogging up the glass, but it wasn’t until Kona’s head landed on his shoulder that Royce had felt the pull of exhaustion himself. 

It had been Vivien’s idea to invite Kona. The two had become rather close during Vivien’s initial stay with them - something Vivien chalked up to having a sister the same age as the younger blonde - and after spending another spring break with them to celebrate her early graduation, Vivien decided to invite Kona along for the summer. Kona had initially brushed off the invitation, claiming she wouldn’t want to intrude on the girl’s summer of fun, but after some pushing from Bentley and Vivien, telling her about all of the fun activities she could do without her parents even knowing she had left their small town, Kona relented.

Royce remembered how excited Vivien was after that, spouting off about all the things they could do and how fun it would be, all while Kona just smiled and nodded. Vivien had tried to convince Juliet to join them as well that day, but the blonde Texan needed a bit more convincing. Camping just wasn’t her thing. She hated bugs with a passion, hiking had never been her forte, and the last time she went fishing, she had ended up driving her dad to the emergency room after her hook had embedded itself into his arm. It wasn’t until after Vivien began showing her pictures of the camp - the log cabins Vivien made sure to mention had plumbing and air conditioning, the playhouse all decked out from their performance of Hairspray the year before, and, most importantly, the dance studio - that Juliet admitted to being tempted to join them.

Carrie had settled the matter entirely, only slightly joking when she mentioned to Juliet that, if she stayed at the camp, she would get to spend not only time with Vivien and herself but also with a certain auburn-haired boy they knew all too well. Juliet had initially argued that she and Riven had nothing between them - something neither Carrie nor Vivien entirely believed - but after much talking and more than one drink, Juliet had been convinced to join them “for the sake of the dance studio.”

Vivien had gone back home not long after getting Juliet roped into her scheming plans for the summer, but that wasn’t the end of the list of people joining them at the summer camp that year. After telling their friends about her planned trip north to visit the future, Kona had managed to rope August and Zack into the group, using her knowledge of August’s people-pleasing tendencies and the ease with which Zack argued with her to her advantage. After practically begging August so that she "wouldn't have to go alone" and taunting Zack about him not wanting to go because he was too much of a wuss to climb the ropes course, it wasn't long before Kona sealed the deal, adding two more members to their ever-growing party.

What she had forgotten, however, was to tell the people in charge of bringing them that she had invited extra guests. 

It was quite the sight. They had shown up on their bicycles with their backpacks filled to the brim with clothes, ready to leave at a moment’s notice, only to find out that nobody other than Kona had any idea that they were joining them. Upon questioning, Bentley insisted he hadn’t known, something corroborated by August and Zack as they had simply been asking questions about what the camp was like, not if they could join. Faced with the reality that she had been too excited about the trip to think about asking anyone to let them join the already large group, Kona asked if it was alright, something Mick encouraged Butchy to agree to as the kids were already there and ready for the trip.

After arriving at the cabin, everyone had pretty much gone to their respective rooms and crashed, but with the five extra people under their roof, it wasn’t as simple as assigning rooms and hoping for the best. The upstairs rooms were filled easily by the usual suspects - Royce and Bentley took up their usual room while August and Zack shared an air mattress they pressed up against the dresser for the time being; Mick and Butchy had Mick’s old bedroom that still had a handful of glow-in-the-dark stars that no longer glowed plastered on the ceiling that was too high for anyone to get down without a ladder; then, Miles and Carrie had the room Miles’ had been given years prior - the scent of his cologne and, now, her perfume clinging to the walls. The only difference, really, was that Lela’s usual room was shared with Juliet and Kona - Kona using the plush, oversized chaise as a base of operations while the older girls decided to share the queen-sized bed for the next night or so until camp started.

Nobody really complained about their sleeping arrangements, not that anyone felt inclined to argue at all as the clock ticked over to two in the morning just as they walked in the door. Normally, Royce would have to bite his tongue to keep himself from complaining about the snoring that filled the room he now shared with not only his brother, but also Bentley’s friends. However, once his headphones were on and an ASMR video was playing just loud enough to block out the noise, he found himself drifting off in the hopes that he would wake up in a matter of minutes, wanting nothing more than to see his Vivien. When he woke up almost five hours later, the sun glaring through his bedside window, he had to force himself to go about his normal routine of writing something about the previous day in his journal as he realized Vivien wouldn’t be home from her final skating practice of the summer for at least half an hour.

Royce’s pen wiggled between his fingers, the nib tapping the pages of his open notebook with each downswing. He had been contemplating what to write for the greater part of a half hour already, yet nothing had come to mind apart from the only thought that consistently came to mind whenever he opened his eyes - Vivien. Was she on the ice already? Was she having a good day? Did she make herself another picture-worthy coffee with a foam heart in it? Would she show it to him later, even if it wasn’t? For what must have been the hundredth time since he woke up that morning, Royce turned toward the open window beside his bed and imagined her climbing in through it the way she almost always did while they were there.

Granted, Vivien didn’t know they were there. They weren’t supposed to arrive in Sanbornton for another day. Still, the idea of her setting the ladder against the house and climbing up to crawl into his bedroom window made Royce smile. Now that he had admitted it to not only himself but also to Vivien, he couldn’t wait to see her, wrap her in the tightest hug he could muster, and tell her how much he loved her. Two months was simply too long a time to go without her. Even though, technically, it had only been two weeks in his world since he had seen her, it had been almost two whole months for her. He had gone back with her to her graduation that took place just after April vacation, but had returned home after her family’s celebration with the excuse that he had to go back to school. He had missed her since the moment the Birch's van left her family’s driveway, but she had left his world on the first of June - his two-week wait a lot shorter than the month and a half she had to spend waiting for him.

His two weeks without contact with Vivien had felt like torture; he could only imagine how it must have felt for her to spend nearly two months without being able to contact him.

He knew he had to see her before all the workers began arriving at camp the next morning. He wasn’t going to be able to sit around, waiting for another day, knowing she was within walking distance from the house. Glancing around at his slumbering roommates, Royce took in a deep breath and scribbled out a note for his brother and friends on a spare piece of paper before slowly tearing it out of his journal so as to not make much noise. Making sure they were all still asleep, he quietly closed his journal and tucked it away under his pillow before slipping out of his bed, grabbing his phone, placing the note on his blanket, and making his way out of the room, grabbing a hoodie on his way out. Pulling the hoodie on over a t-shirt he was sure he had gotten from Butchy at some point, Royce rounded the banister and headed downstairs, avoiding the creaky steps to the best of his ability before padding over to the mudroom to slip on a pair of sneakers he had abandoned over winter break.

Sneaking into the garage and softly closing the door behind him, Royce jogged over to the bicycles he and Bentley had gotten dirt cheap at a garage sale, swiping away cobwebs and dust as he pulled his bike into the early morning sunlight that poured in from the still-open garage door. Forgoing his helmet for the short trip, Royce ensured his tires were full enough before swinging a leg over the bike and gliding down the small hill the Birch’s cabin was perched on. The air was crisp and clear as he pedaled down the street, morning dew still lingering on the grass and leaves as wind whipped through his hair, but Royce didn’t care about the way his cheeks burned or the way the rubber of the well-loved handlebars flaked onto his palms. He was going to see his girlfriend, and, frankly, that was all that mattered.

Smirking to himself as the O’Brian family’s winery came into view, the event barn on the edge of the property appeared first as he pushed himself to stand and push through the rest of the ride. The home’s large veranda was typically vacant; however, that morning, a head of honey-brown, nearly blonde hair swung limply from the porch swing as it creaked back and forth. Dismounting his bike as it rolled to a stop, Royce grinned and stepped up to the edge of the porch, reaching up to tug a strand of the person’s hair. Whipping her head back over the edge of the swing, Abigail’s olive green eyes widened as she realized just who had pulled her hair.

Nearly colliding with the wooden planks that made up the deck, Abby scrambled off the swing as Royce jogged up the stairs, her arms flinging around Royce’s middle as she laughed, “What the hell, man!”

Awkwardly patting Abby on the back, Royce chuckled, “Good to see you too, Abby.”

Releasing her sister’s boyfriend, Abby took a step back and glanced back at the house as she rested her hands on her hips, “Did you two keep this a secret or something, ‘cause that’s so not cool.”

Royce shook his head, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, “Actually, she doesn’t even know I’m here yet.”

A smirk took over Abby’s face as her eyes practically glittered. She loved surprises, especially if she was one of the people working behind the scenes to make someone else happy. Being able to surprise her older sister - the same sister who prided herself on being some all-knowing, unsurprisable being - brought an almost maniacal laugh rippling through her. “Sissy’s gonna be pissed I saw you first. I hope you know that.”

With a soft laugh, Royce gestured to the front door and asked, “Is she upstairs?”

As she ascended the front steps once more, Abby shook her head, a sigh falling from her lips as she picked her Kindle up from where it had tumbled to the creaky veranda floorboards. “She’s out with Riven still. From what Riven told Dad on the phone, though, practice didn’t go well.”

As Abby sat back down on the swing, toeing her fluffy socks against the creaky boards to push herself back and forth slightly, Royce took in a deep breath and leaned against the railing, sighing out his question, “That Lexi girl didn’t stop in again, did she?”

Abby was quick to shake her head. “Thankfully, no. She’s fucked back off to Maine and is probably back to harassing the people up there.”

Relieved to know that Vivien’s ex-girlfriend was no longer trying to weasel her way into Vivien’s head, Royce crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “Any idea what happened, then?”

“I didn’t get the whole gist of the conversation,” Abby sighed, her shoulder just barely tugging into a shrug as she glanced out at the driveway, “but Dad said it would be a miracle if she made it home without working herself into a panic attack. Something about her dance teacher, I’m sure.”

Umber eyes rolled as Royce fought the urge to cuss out the elderly ballet teacher. He had met the woman twice in his nearly two-year-long relationship with Vivien, and neither time had been pleasant. Her constant remarks about Vivien’s “obvious lack of feminine grace” made Royce’s blood boil the longer he was subjected to her snarky, nasally voice, but it was her remark about his girlfriend’s “almost manly build and borderline morbid weight” that resulted in him having to be carried away by Riven. With the ease of someone who had been subjected to the old bitty’s torturous bullying, Vivien handled the woman with a blank face and calm tone, but Royce had a hard time refraining from lunging into the classroom and pushing the woman out the nearest window. He knew all too well how deeply the woman’s words hurt Vivien internally, especially as most of the things the woman took issue with were things Vivien couldn’t change about herself, but she always kept a stoic expression in front of the woman just to keep herself from scrambling to find a new teacher.

Glancing at the front door, Royce met Abby’s olive eyes and asked, “Think I should talk to your dad about it before she gets here?”

“Probably,” Abby nodded, shifting to lift her legs onto the swing, folding them, and resting her elbows on her thighs as she scanned Royce’s eyes. “Riven called Dad, so something has to be wrong, but since they’re not rushing to the hospital, I’d say there's a good chance it’s something psychological rather than something physical." The blonde thought for a moment and sighed, tipping her head to the side in a sort of shrug before tacking on, "Although, given how much Vivien hates hospitals, I guess we can't be sure. My advice: brace for the worst, but hope for the best.”

Nodding to himself as he sucked in a deep breath, Royce pushed off of the railing and headed for the door, turning back to offer Abby a small smile as he said, “Thanks, Abby.”

Brushing off his gratitude with a shrug, Abby grinned, “Anything to keep my favorite ship afloat.” Unlocking her Kindle and turning her attention to the novel on the screen as Royce pushed open the door, she called out, “I won’t tell her you’re here. She needs a happy surprise after this week.”

Poking his head back outside, Royce observed the middle O’Brian child for a moment, waiting until she slowly lifted her gaze from the device in her hands before saying, “Seriously, Abby, thank you.”

Although she had always gotten along well with Royce - even before her sister began dating him - Abby suddenly found herself grateful her sister had better taste in men than she did women. All things considered, Royce was a total upgrade from the psycho stalker Vivien was previously with. Nodding minutely at her fellow middle child, Abby allowed herself to smile as she said, “You’re welcome. Dad should be in his office, by the way. He’s avoiding Mom like the plague-” she paused to glance back at the event barn where she knew her mom was lurking, making sure the woman wasn’t outside before turning back to Royce and stage-whispering, “-and, TBH, I can’t blame him.”

Nodding in understanding, Royce lowered his voice and muttered, “Thanks for the heads up.”

Giving the nearly eighteen-year-old a mock salute, Abby turned back to her sticker-covered Kindle and said, “Godspeed, soldier.”

[yuyusuyu]

blurred lines and lies — kang yeosang, it was you in the beginning and it's you in the end

synopsis. you were always with yeosang, hips stuck together and hands glued to each other. he was all you knew and you were all he knew too for a while, but then you both grew up, one moving at a faster pace than the other. yeosang left you behind to awkwardly navigate the rest of an adventure—high school—without him while he embarked on a new one—college—by himself. the line of being best friends blurred somewhere along the way, and you find yourself crying on the night he promises to be someone else's because you love him. you've always loved kang yeosang ever since the days where he was trying to figure out who he was (an awkward and painful era for any teenager in middle school), loved him ever since his voice began cracking as it's tone deepened, loved him ever since he took you to that stupid and overpriced school dance in middle school despite not liking being in a huge crowd, you loved him ever since he began to become a quiet and reserved man. you hoped to be on the other side of things for once, on the other side of the line of being just best friends with kang yeosang; you realize now that it was stupid of you to ever have that sort of hope. and while you began to calm down, you wonder about what it's like being on the other side of a friendship. you don't know, but you hope to find out as you embark an adventure without him. but you didn't realize what it would it do to you and yeosang, and what it would do to you and choi jongho, your other best friend.

warnings. crying, small displays of affection. if there's anything i should add, let me know!

wc. 2.1 k

reblogs and comments are appreciated! helps with not getting shadowbanned!

“hey, choi jongho! stop fooling around, you punk!” YOU chide the older man that keeps taking long strides past the dining table where you’re currently sat, clicking away with your mouse. jongho merely laughs in response.

“you need to loosen up,” he says, shaking his head. “moonhee says that you need a break because you’re driving yourself crazy.”

“oh, moonhee,” you coo, “she’s such a sweet girl. unfortunately, as much as she's in the right, i can’t take a break. everything needs to be perfect for the opening.”

jongho opens his mouth to comment on something, but you interrupt him, glancing at him. “how is moonhee, by the way?”

“she’s doing great! she just got a promotion,” he gushes, smiling widely. “and last week we went over to busan for our second anniversary. you should head over there sometime: it’s really healing.”

you snort. “you are so in love, jongho. i’m happy for you.”

“thank you,” he says. he takes a seat next to you and wiggles his eyebrows, making you blink in confusion. “so… what’s going on with you and yeosang?”

you turn to look back at your laptop’s screen, feeling embarrassed. clearing your throat, you answer, “he’s been doing well. he also just got a promotion, so we haven’t spoken much because he’s been busy with that and… well, the time difference is also a pain.”

“so that means you two aren’t going to date yet?”

“choi jongho!” you whine, grabbing the nearest item, which happens to be a roll of paper towels, and fling it towards him.

jongho laughs loudly, catching said item before it can even hit him. he places it down on the center of the dining table, leaning towards you. “i’m being serious, though. it’s been five years and you two still haven’t gotten together?”

“he’s busy,” huffing through your nose, you continue to click away. “and i’m busy, too. the timing… it just isn’t right… you need to leave, by the way! wouldn’t want you getting late to your game night ritual with moonhee.”

“right,” jongho stands up, patting your shoulder. “i’m just looking out for you, you know. i don’t want you getting hurt because of him.”

“i’m a big girl now, jjongs. i know what i’m doing.”

he hums. “i would hope so. i’ll see you later, then.”

after fetching his things, jongho leaves you alone in your apartment. you’re doing some finishing touches to the document you’ve been working on when your phone rings. fishing it out from your pocket, you beam at the caller id and accept the video call. yeosang’s face appears on the screen, his tired expression brightening when his eyes land on you.

“yn!” he grins, looking around him quickly. it’s very noisy on his end of the call, and you assume he’s looking for a quiet place to talk to you. “wait, give me a second.” you watch as he walks around, bowing his head occasionally until he lets out a breath of relief.

“okay,” he nods. “now we can talk. how have you been?”

“busy,” you chuckle, “but good. and you?”

he repeats your answer, making you giggle. “i hope you’re not overworking yourself now that you got that promotion you’ve been working so hard for, yeo.”

yeosang smiles, nodding. “don’t worry, i’m not. i’ve accomplished my goal, so now i can rest easy. well… i’ve almost accomplished everything,” he pauses, pouting slightly. “there’s just one more thing i have to do.”

“oh?” with your interest piqued, you tilt your head to the side, a teasing grin on your lips. “and what could that be?”

he shakes his head, laughing. “it’s a surprise. i—” an announcement interrupts him, and you furrow your eyebrows.

“yeosang, what was—”

“i have to go,” he says quickly, “i’ll see you later, okay? take care for me, yn.”

“oh? wait, yeo—”

the call ends. you repeatedly blink down at your phone until another call comes in. you rush to answer it, the caller being your assistant, and walk into one of your rooms. you soon forget about that odd call with yeosang, focused on the opening of your studio set in two days instead.

you’ll just ask him later the next time he calls you.

you fight the urge to wipe your hands on your beige dress, and instead readjust the black coat hanging on your shoulders. your assistant hands over a pair of silver scissors, and you thank her quietly and turn back to face the people who were invited to the opening of your photography studio. you smile at them, seeing a few familiar faces like some of your clients and colleagues from your old job, seeing jongho and moonhee beaming at you and flashing you a thumbs up. it’s a small group of people, but they’re all important to you because they motivated you to follow your dreams of opening up your own photography studio. you turn around and open the scissors, snipping through the red ribbon and watching the satin flutter to the ground.

and then you hear clapping accompanied by the loud beating of your heart. you thank everyone as they take turns to come up to you and hug and congratulate you before looking around at some of your photos that hang on the walls. your lips hurt from how hard you’ve been smiling when it’s jongho's and moonhee's turn. moonhee hugs you while jongho stands behind her, hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“look at you!” moonhee says, pulling back. “you look so pretty, yn!”

“speak for yourself, moonhee,” you giggle. “you look like an angel!”

“oh, stop it,” she flushes in embarrassment and takes a step back into jongho’s side. his arm instinctively wraps around her wait and you tease him, laughing loudly when his face is a bright pink color.

“thank you two for coming,” you hold both of their hands, slightly shaking them. “it means the world to me.”

“you're our best friend,” jongho says. “we wouldn’t miss it for the world, yn.”

with one last hug from each, jongho and moonhee head to mingle with the other guests. you exhale slowly, ready to join them when you stop.

“hi.”

“you… how are you here?” you stare with wide eyes at yeosang, who stands right in front of the entrance to the studio. he’s wearing a white turtleneck paired with black slacks and a black long coat, and he holds a stupidly large bouquet of flowers. “i thought… wait, were you at the airport when you called me?”

he smiles nervously, nodding. “i was… surprise?”

you stutter, feeling overwhelmed by yeosang’s sudden appearance. you stop talking when he walks until he stands in front of you, your breath getting caught in the back of your throat.

“my promotion,” yeosang’s eyes trail all over your face, and one of his hands comes up to gently caress your cheek. you subconsciously lean into his touch, still staring at him. “do you want to know why i worked so hard for it?”

you slowly nod.

“whoever got the promotion would get transferred to the main office here in london. i… i came here because of work—wait, no, that’s wrong, sorry.” you bite the inside of your cheek, amused at how yeosang stutters now, the hand holding your cheek slightly trembling. “i mean, at first it was for work but… i really came here for you. i just… i really hate not being with you, it’s the worst feeling ever. it’s like i can’t breath and i don’t know what to do and—”

“you’re rambling, yeo,” you lift your hand and brush away a few strands of his black hair from his forehead. “how are you… even here? at my studio?”

his neck feels hot from how you’re looking at him with such a lovesick look in your eyes. yeosang takes a deep breath. “you mentioned it once,” he whispers. “back when you first started remodeling the building. you also mentioned that the opening would be tonight not too long ago.”

yeosang looks away from you and at the flowers. “i also promised i’d be there for you no matter what,” he shakes the bouquet slightly, still refusing to look at you. “i’ve missed so many important events in your life for so long… and i hurt you.”

you cup his cheeks when he sniffles, gently turning his head so he could look at you. “yeo, it’s in the past. you’re here now, aren’t you?”

he shakes his head, frowning. “i don’t… i don’t have the right to love you after everything that i put you through.”

your own hands start to tremble in shock. he loves you?

kang yeosang loves you?

“and i’m angry with myself,” yeosang continues, furrowing his brows. “i was so blind to how you felt and blind to my own feelings as well.”

“as well?” you repeat, your voice quiet.

“it was always you,” yeosang says in a hushed voice, barely audible but you hear it loud and clear. it rings in your ears and makes your chest feel warm. “and it will always be you.”

you’re the one that starts crying this time, and yeosang wipes away your tears gently with the hand that still holds your cheek. “you’re the one i wanted back then, the one i want now and tomorrow, forever and always.” his hand falls from your face to hold onto your own that holds his face. “i always think about you.”

“you do?” you ask in between sniffles.

yeosang nods. “always. when we were apart, i missed you. it just feels weird not being next to you all the time… i honestly think i have some separation anxiety when it comes to you,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “everytime i thought about you, my chest would hurt because i missed you so much.”

your laugh takes him by surprise, and yeosang feels like heart might just jump out from his chest when you suddenly hug him. thankfully, he reacted fast enough to move the bouquet out of the way as he wrapped his arms around your waist as best as he could.

he drops his head onto your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into your skin. “i’m so angry that i love you because you deserve better than whatever mess i am.”

“but there’s no one better than you, yeosang,” you say, your arms holding on tighter around him. “my yeosang.”

“i can’t believe it took you three years to propose to her,” you tease, leaning against the wall as you watch jongho pace around the room. he throws you a harsh glare, to which yeosang raises an eyebrow at him.

“did you just glare at my wife, jongho?”

jongho huffs and looks away. “i didn’t.”

yeosang smiles. “mhm, that’s what i thought.” he wraps an arm around your shoulder, holding you close to him.

you turn your head to look at him. “can you believe that it took jongho three years to propose to moonhee?”

he shakes his head, tilting his head towards jongho and grins. “not at all, my dear wife. it only took me less than a year to propose and get married to you.”

jongho snaps his head over to the two of you when you start laughing. “shut up,” he hisses.

“hey, watch your tone when you speak to my wi—”

the door to the room swings open. you and yeosang flinch, and jongho laughs at the two of you just as san walks in. he points at his cousin. “auntie and uncle want to see you before the ceremony starts.”

after the door clicks shut when san and jongho leave, yeosang steps away from you and holds out his hand. you look at him, huffing through your nose in amusement. “what are you going, yeo?”

“dance with me for a bit,” he shakes his hand, prompting you to take it. yeosang pulls you towards him as soon as you grab his hand, humming a song as you two sway to it. you laugh at him, shaking your head at his antics. yeosang continues to hum, watching your every move.

you pout and look away from him. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“because i love you,” he sings, twirling you around. “you love me too, don’t you?”

“i do,” you respond, coming to a stop and laughing again when yeosang frowns.

“say it the right way, yn.”

“say what the right way, yeo?” you tease, pinching his cheeks.

he only repeats himself, his hands resting on you waist. he steps close to you and presses his forehead against yours. you kiss the corner of his lips, “i love you, yeo. always and forever.”

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BLURRED LINES AND LIES | yuyusuyu 2023

[pigeonmilk-216]

House MD makes me absolutely FERAL.

For instance, I finished rewatching S3 E15, "Half-Wit", the one when House fakes cancer so he can get high (typical). And

AHHH

Everyone's response to House potentially dying is EVERYTHING. And displays both the characters and their character growth SO WELL.

Wilson, ofc, is offended that his best friend *cough* *lover* *cough* didn't say anything, and hid it. And something I think (and forgive me if this is not actually how it went down to everyone else, it's 1am and I have brainrot) is really interesting, is that beyond Wilson giving House shit for not saying anything, Wilson doesn't give any of the platitudes that everyone else gives. We don't see Wilson trying to "fix" anything or say, "House your dying, can we have an actual human connection for once?". No no, Wilson just lets him be.

Now, either Wilson is pissed and reeling from this news , and is just distancing himself (which tbh feels ooc, like House has crossed worse lines before, and Wilson deals with cancer everyday, idk).

OR you can look at the option of Wilson knows House well enough (and cancer, let's be real) that trying to fix it, won't change anything, that coming up to House and trying to "console" him won't do anything. House is House, and Wilson KNOWS THAT. Wilson knows that if House really and truly wants a conversation about it, or any comfort, House will just be like, " Yo, can we go get wasted?" and that's that.

AND THEN HIS FUCKING ANALYSIS AT THE END AND HIM FUCKING LAUGHING AT THE IRONY.

And Cuddy, I feel like, is the middle ground between how Wilson and the kids react. She doesn't go out of her way to say something, but in an almost hand-on-the- doorknob-as-I'm-leaving type way does she say something. AND THEN THEIR BANTER IN THE HALL IS FUCKING EVERYTHINGG. And her FUCKING smile as House grabs her ass (istg I can only say this in real action to this fucking show) but still dismissing him coming to the bedroom with her

Like both her and Wilson and obviously hurt, right, but they don't outright change their behavior toward House or anything, but they accept it (kind of) and don't go out of their way to change anything,

AND THEN THE KIDS' RESPONSES. ANHHH

I love Chase's moment. He's just like, "Dad, shut up and let me hug you" AND FUCKING STARTS CRYING

CHASE IS LITERALLY THE ONLY ONE WHO CRIES

He's like, "Goddammit, I'm going to lose two of my parentals to this cancerous bullshit. Tf."

AND HUGH LARUIE'S ACTING I CANT

YOU CAN SEE HOUSE REALIZING THAT, "oh shit, they really care and this is really going to hurt them" LIKE WHAT THE HELL. MY HEART, FUCK THIS SHOW WTH

And I love how Cameron is shown in this episode, over the first three seasons, we can see her kinda of coming to her own, and learning from House, so instead of like, backing down from helping House she just fucking kisses him so she can steal his blood. Like. YES CAMERON. GET IT.

AND AGAIN

HUGH LAURIE. YOU CAN SEE HOUSE'S HESITATION, WEIGHING THE PROS AND CONS BEFORE KSSING BACK.

And tbh I feel like House is low key proud of Cameron for a moment in a "she is taking after me" type way.

And Foreman trying not to care, but caring the whole time, and HIS FACE WHEN HES TELLING HOUSE HE DOESNT HAVE CANCER. LIKE. JXNKSCVJVXFBJKBFVSKJ

And I just love everyone's reaction five seconds later when they realize

"House is an addict. Right. Fucking this was a sham, fuck"

AND THEIR FACES ARE EVEYTHING

Cameron is crestfallen, outraged. Foreman is slightly pissed but completely nonplussed almost? Like a I should have expected this/this is such a House thing, which is why I dislike the man. And his sarcastic response is EVERYTHING And, Chase, oh Chase. He's so disbelieving and hurt. Like my baby I'm so sorry.

And House like really understanding how much this hurt them, and kinda of being a fucking TOTAL IDIOT and like slightly scared I feel but arrogant enough to just fucking like. Trying to blame so he doesn't feel guilty (he does) pushing them away so he doesn't have to face consequences (he's spiraling) and and after Wilson (finally) talks to him, having to stop and THINK about how fucking miserable is he really (he's such and idiot) and just AHHH

AND THEN HIM FUCKING GOING INTO THE RESTAURANT AT THE END?????? ITS A FUCKING CRIME THAT WE DON'T SEE THAT CONVERSATION BETWEEN HIM AND THEM. LIKE SIR, I WANT TO THIS POTENTIALLY EMOTIONALLY CHARGED MOMENT. LIKE

And honestly, Ilove how House interacts with the patient in the episode, it's on par with the boy who had autism earlier this season. Like the piano part is what really intrigues him, but still goes forth to give him his life back. Idk, just felt special.

Okay, um so thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. Idk what happened.

[punsmaster69]

3/MAR/20XX

i lost what the actual argument was about, but i remember this started with a stuffed animal hitting my face.

it smacks into me, and i toss it back to frisk. frisk catches it and continues talking with flowey about something, before tossing it back.

we go back and forth tossing and catching this little plush-butterfly thing while frisk goes back and forth with flowey in conversation.

that quickly derailed into an argument, and the toy was thrown at flowey.

normally this is relatively fine outside of the fact that throwing things isn't nice and i'm s'posed to tell them that, per request of tori.

this time was not normal though, and flowey toppled over backwards off the box he and his pot were placed upon.

so, i have an angry flower wrapped around my arm like he's trying to choke it to death while we pick out a new pot for him.

"Well, no nice ceramic, clearly."

"Can't have anything shatterable like THAT anymore."

"we could put you on wheels or somethin'."

"....What?"

"like a racecar."

"I could have been on wheels this WHOLE TIME?!"

"probably."

"𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭 shame you didn't shatter that thing sooner."

i can't stop myself from wincing when he tightens his vines around my arm suddenly.

"𝐇 𝐞 𝐲."

he freezes.

"kid."

"maybe.. 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 try n' break my arm, alright?"

"What the hell was that?"

the vines loosen significantly.

"That... that was NOT comic sans."

"been the same guy this whole time, buddy."

flowey just keeps staring at me with that look on his face.

ignoring it, i pretended to be looking closely at the pot selection from asgore (that undyne and papyrus carried over) intensely.

"you picked out a pot yet or are you gonna keep complaining about fragile ceramics?"

"Whatever it was that made you bring up wheels, I want that."

"you wanna go 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭 to the medal, huh? i'll talk with alphys, see what we can cook up."

"for now though, you still gotta pick something to attach the wheels 𝙩𝙤."

he rolled his eyes and glared at the choices in front of him, acting as if his selection of a green pot was completely random.

——

frisk's punishment is helping flowey with his chores for a week.

flowey insists it isn't long or harsh enough,

"They could have KILLED me, you know!!"

but frisk gets in a surprising lack of (serious) trouble very often, so toriel was certain that a week is all that's needed.

he tried to get 𝘮𝘦 to ground 'em for longer instead.

"i don't have any jurisdiction over this, kid."

"You do over THIS KID!!"

"nope."

"They even said it themselves!"

"What else do you want? Death penalty?? C'mon, man."

frisk tried to push their bangs out of their face, forgetting that their hair isn't as long as it once was anymore.

"Here- listen..."

"Mom already made me apologize, but."

"I really am sorry, Flowey. Threw the stuffed animal because I figured it'd be the least harmful thing to throw and didn't think about you possibly going off-balance. I didn't mean for it to happen."

"Obviously."

"I'm still going to be mad about it."

"..That's fair. Broke your pot, and probably almost your face too."

"I'd be p-"

they glanced at me.

"Upset if YOU did that to ME."

"I get it already, you're sorry for being an idiot, this was an accident, yada-yada."

"Shut up now."

"Okay."

"And get this trashbag out of here!!"

frisk looked at me, and i gave them a shrug.

"ok. seeya."

like a magic act, i pulled a sheet from their bed and held it up to hide me. i dropped it and stepped backwards into our house.

papyrus and undyne were sitting in the middle of the living room floor, chatting loudly.

undyne gave me a quick high-five greeting and went back to their conversation.

met with a slight eye-rolling-minus-the-eyes gesture from my brother, i tossed myself onto the couch and rolled over onto my chest.

——

shoulda known.

got put in a pillow and sheet maze again.

[jjcanshift]

a little scenario I scripted where Bakugo gets kicked in the balls ｡𖦹°‧

(Jiyuu is me)

The tension in the recent weeks didn't seem like it was gonna die down anytime soon. All UA students and close family members moved into the UA campus for some tightened security, the calm before the storm before the upcoming war. The systems were state-of-the-art, but there was still fear that it could be breached.

Jiyuu never really noticed the thick air of stress put upon everyone, mostly because she was busy overthinking the current situation to think about anyone else. How else could she be prepared for the fight? If she didn't have a solution for every possible scenario she could conjure, she would never hope to gain the upper hand on the villain she was to face alongside her classmates Shoto Todoroki and Tenya Iida.

She allowed herself to take her mind off things and have a little break when her little brother Benji proposed to spar with her, just like they did before Jiyuu moved to UA. Benji was also an aspiring hero; their father being one instilled that need to help in any way possible.

They started their spar session inside of gym gamma, a place with tons of room to do, well, whatever training was needed. Upon seeing the massive space, Benji started getting giddy. Finally, he could use his quirk without needing to watch out for things in the way.

In the middle of their session, however, he notices something.

"You're going easy on purpose! I'm not that weak, y'know..." Benji whined, obviously offended at the fact that his older sister had to hold back on him. He had been doing some of his own training while she was gone, so he believed he himself also got stronger. It didn't seem like this was the case, unfortunately.

Jiyuu let out a sigh, "Benji, Ma's gonna kill me if I go too hard. Trust me, I know you've been training, but I have to. I don't wanna accidentally hurt you."

He crosses his arms with a pout and grumbles, "I thought this was supposed to be fun..."

Jiyuu was about to scold him when she heard the door to the gym creak open. Mina sticks her head in and notices her, "Oh, hey Yuuyuu! What are you doing here?"

"Just some training!" she yells back, "You need the gym?"

Mina enters the gym, more members of the squad following behind, "Yeah, some of us wanted to run a few sparring rounds--" she pauses when she notices Benji, an excited smile creeping onto her face, "Aww! Who's this cutie?"

Jiyuu chuckles and ruffles her brother's hair, "I thought I told you I had a brother. This is Benji I've been talking about."

"Hii!" Mina eagerly waves at him, "He looks a lot older than the pictures you showed me."

The pictures in question were taken almost a year ago. Benji had more of a baby face back then and was a little shorter. His eyes were a lot bigger, too. Now, they rest in more of a squint with a hint of curiosity, whatever that means.

He looks up at Jiyuu with a raised eyebrow, "You showed her pictures of me?"

Jirou takes a good look at him, "So this is him, huh? You guys look alike."

In a way, she was right. Jiyuu Barikaze was practically the spitting image of her father while Benji took more attributes from both their parents. They had the same black hair, but he had a few brown streaks. Benji had his mom's eyes, a light orange in contrast to Jiyuu's dull blue ones.

Benji crept closer to his sister, a little overwhelmed with the amount of people that were in front of him, "Did you tell the whole world you have a brother or something?"

Sero's the next to share a remark, "He really is a mini-you! Same attitude and everything."

"Hey Baribro!" Kirishima approaches him with his hand extended out for a high-five, "We're your sister's friends."

Benji takes a moment to stare at the hand in front of him. His eye flick to Kirishima's face, then to everyone else, then back to Jiyuu. "I thought only Momo was your friend?"

Jiyuu gave him a sheepish smile. Her and Momo have been tight since middle school, but staying in such close quarters with everyone in her class made it a lot easier to get to know other people, whether she liked it or not. She often closed herself off, but it was nearly impossible to do so at all times.

"Ooooh...I know that stung." Kaminari and Sero giggle at the backhanded insult.

Jiyuu lets out another exasperated sigh, "Yeah, she still is. It seems like you can't believe I made more friends since then."

"You really can't though! You barely get out of the house anyways and wanna stay boarded up in your room all the ti-"

Jiyuu clasps a hand over his mouth, "Oookay, no need to put my whole life story out there.."

The rest of the squad takes an opportunity to introduce themselves. "It's Benji, right? I'm Jirou." she starts.

Mina is next, "I'm Mina! Or Ashido, I don't mind." She stands beside him and begins gesturing towards everyone else, "That black haired idiot is Sero, the idiot beside him is Kaminari, the red haired one is Kirishima, and the blondie standing over there is Bakugo!"

Bakugo stands to the side with his arms crossed, furrowing his eyebrows at Benji, "This kid's your brother? No wonder. He's just as deadpan as you."

Jiyuu is about to fire a remark right back at him, but Benji says something first, "I don't like him," he says while pointing. "This was the one you called annoying the other day, right? He looks stupid."

"You aren't supposed to say that..." she facepalms. No matter the situation, Benji always speaks his mind with complete honesty.

Sero nudges Bakugo, "You just got insulted by a 12-year-old, dude!"

"I'm 13!!"

"Personally, I wouldn't let that slide." Kaminari riles him up further.

He is fuming. Nothing hurts his ego more than an insult by a child.

Bakugo marches towards Benji and leans down to his level. To Jiyuu's surprise, Benji doesn't show a hint of fear on his face. He really just looks bored.

"You tryna go, kid?" he seethes, "Your sister has beaten me only once so far, so don't even try picking a fight--"

Jiyuu watches as her little brother winds his leg up and kicks Bakugo right in the balls.

Benji. Kicked him. In the balls. What a sight to behold.

Immediately, everyone erupted into uncontrollable laughter as Bakugo let out a loud groan and curled into the ground clutching his family jewels.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! THAT SHIT HURT!" he yells at everyone. Everyone's laughing so hard to the point where they can barely speak.

Unexpectedly, Midoriya pops his head into the gym and sees everyone in their current state. "Uh...why is everyone on the ground laughing?" he asks, very confused.

"Barikaze's brother just kicked Bakugo in the balls!" Kaminari barely manages to choke out.

"Holy shit, you shoulda seen it Midoriya! He got his ass handed to him!" Sero breathes, clutching his stomach that cramped up from laughing.

"Oh, okay." He giggles. Visualizing that scenario was funny enough.

Kirishima stumbles over to Benji, still laughing, "You're my new best friend, lil' Baribro! Nice!"

Once everyone calms down, they start a mini-tournament for sparring.

(I'm sorry this was a little too long 😭)

[havenmoon1369]

It's Personal- Chapter 1

November 23, 2023- Tennessee

It's Thanksgiving day at Drew's house. A lot has happened in five years but all for the better, he was in the kitchen helping his wife cook the fixings for their turkey dinner and reminiscing the things that happened over the past five years. He met his wife Amber when she started working for the WWE as a hairstylist in 2019. It was the old cliché of love at first sight, they began dating and a few months later Drew introduced Quinn to her. Quinn and Amber immediately took a liking to each other since they bonded over art and video games, and it was nice having a woman around since Quinn's real mother took off when she was nine years old. Drew knew immediately after he was going to marry Amber. He proposed to her Christmas day 2019 and she said yes. Soon after Drew became WWE champion at Wrestlemania but couldn't celebrate properly due to the pandemic shutting everything down and no fans were in attendance. He was happy to celebrate the win with Amber and Quinn however, and they celebrated every time he defended and won his championship matches. Amber and Drew tied the knot in October 2021, they wanted to get married sooner but decided to wait until things with the pandemic and their careers calmed down a bit. Quinn was changing a lot during these years. Her interests in art became something she wanted to pursue in life outside of school and she was an amazing drawer. She won many contests in school and in the state. She decided in high school she wanted to be a tattoo artist and took all the art classes she could. Drew was so proud of how far she had come since the traumatic year of 2018, she had her anxiety under control, her nightmares were few and far between, and she was looking to a brighter future. In 2022, things slowed a lot for Drew, he was mid-carded for awhile until he got a chance to fight for the championship in Wales at Clash At The Castle, he was so happy because he could wrestle in front of his family who came from Scotland and win, but it didn't turn out that way. He lost the match due to interference and he was mid-carded once again and stayed that way all the way through to middle 2023. In that time though Quinn turned 18 and graduated high school, she chose to go to the university close to home to study Art and begin looking into tattoo apprenticeships once she had a good drawing portfolio made, Drew and Amber were so proud and excited for her. Drew got another championship match at Crown Jewel but failed to win it again, and he began to turn heel not long after leading up to Survivor Series. 

"Honey, you okay? You seem distracted." Amber asked Drew, "Oh just got a lot on my mind right now with Survivor Series this weekend and Christmas right around the corner." Drew assured her. "Speaking of Christmas, any news if your family is coming from Scotland?" Amber asked, "No unfortunately not, there's just too much going on right now. I really hate that they can't come though, we haven't seen them since Clash At The Castle, but I'm glad they'll be here for Wrestlemania, always thinking positive nowadays" Drew said as he went to kiss Amber. Just then they heard the front door open "Mom! Dad! I'm home!" Quinn yelled out, "In the kitchen!" Drew answered back, she walked in there and hugged them both. "Smells good,  when do we eat?" Quinn asked, "In about an hour, Stephen and Erin are joining us this year" Drew said, "How's uncle Stephen doing? Any news when he'll be back to wrestling?" Quinn asked, "No news yet, neck problems you always have to be careful with, you think you're doing good and then one wrong move you're in worse shape than before" Drew said. "You don't think he's going to retire do you?" Amber asked, "Stephen? No! That Irish brute will wrestle until his limbs come off" Drew said laughing, everyone else laughed as well. "Well I'll be up in my room, let me know when it's time to eat" Quinn said. "Hang on Quinn, you are coming with us to Survivor Series this weekend yeah?" Drew asked, "Yeah as long as I get to say hi to Rhea." Quinn said with a big smirk on her face, "Mhhhmm, of course." Drew said sarcastically as Quinn went upstairs to her room. "Leave her alone Drew, she's got her favorite wrestlers who aren't her dad or her uncle Stephen" Amber said hugging Drew from behind, "Now she likes Damien Priest, Rhea Ripley, Seth Rollins, and Jey Uso. Time flies when you're not looking, she's grown up on us" Drew said turning to hug his wife. "Pretty soon you'll be walking her down the aisle and we'll be grandparents" Amber said jokingly "I'm not ready for that yet, besides I don't think she has a boyfriend" Drew answered, "You never know!" Amber said with a sarcastic tone in her voice, "What's that supposed to mean?" Drew asked intrigued", "Oh Drew I'm just joking, now let's watch some TV and relax before dinner okay?" Amber said, pulling Drew into the living room. While sitting there waiting for Stephen and Erin to arrive, Drew was lost in his thoughts again, but he was thinking about how everything was going smoothly with his career and how the future looked clear for him to eventually become world champion again. Nothing was going to get in his way, or so he thought. 

November 25, 2023- Survivor Series

Quinn was in the crowd watching the matches while Amber and Drew were backstage. Amber was working, doing everyone's hair while Drew was warming up for the match. Once Amber was done she went out and joined Quinn and waited for Drew's match. He was wrestling with The Judgment Day in a Wargames match. Usually she would give Drew a good luck kiss before his matches but he had been called into a meeting with a bunch of other wrestlers tonight. Drew came out and was put into a cage with other members of The Judgment Day and they would be let out every so often to go into the match. Once it was Drew's turn, he stormed the ring and began the fight but Quinn and Amber noticed he was a little bit more angry than usual. "What's up with dad? It looks like he's gonna have steam coming out of his ears any minute" Quinn asked her mom, "I don't know honey but I didn't get to see him before coming out here, maybe he's just overplaying it a bit" Amber said trying to reassure Quinn. They continued to watch the match until Drew and The Judgment Day lost, not long after Drew left very angrily without even catching a glimpse at his wife and daughter, just then the referee came over to Amber and Quinn and told them Drew wanted them to go backstage immediately, they both knew then something was really wrong. 

Amber and Quinn made their way to the locker rooms and saw Drew coming out in a hoodie and shorts over his wrestling tights. "Baby what's going on, the referee told us to come back here and you looked pretty pissed off in the ring" Amber asked, "We're leaving right now, I'm not sticking around" Drew said in his deep angry voice, "Dad what's wrong?" Quinn asked but before he could answer they all heard a familiar theme song playing and the crowd going crazy. It was CM Punk's theme, he had returned.

[theflashdriver]

Birthday-versary (A Sonic 06 Anniversary Fanfic)

Despite outside appearances, Sonic didn't really consider himself the partying sort. Sure, whenever a party happened he'd show up for a while, but the blue blur would never linger long. He'd grab some grub, share some laughs, and then speed off before things could get stale. Sometimes that meant hanging around for five minutes, sometimes he'd last up to an hour, but rarely if ever would the hedgehog linger till the end of such an event. Perhaps that was why no one ever invited him to help set up a party. Well, he'd hadn't been until today.

Sonic the hedgehog was stood looking out at the sea, his foot tapping against a varnished wooden deck and stomach only slightly churning. His fear of water was usually quelled by the security of a vehicle, frequent flights in the Tornado had more than proven that to him, but there was something different in the air today. It wasn't that the boat he stood upon was constructed by Marine the Raccoon, he'd rode her vessels before too. They hadn't even left port yet; the anchor was buried in the depths and the ship was bound to the dock. The waves weren't even splashing high! No, this present discomfort was something else.

Well, he had already spent his social quota and partying at sea meant no escpae, Maybe things were that-

"Need some help Sonic?" A familiar voice asked, arriving to lean against the taffrail beside him, "Looks like you're working way too hard."

"Hey Ames, how's it going?" He worked up a smirk, turning to her, "Is that all the baking done?"

"Just iced the last layer of the cake, but the host insisted on preparing a couple of things by her lonesome and sent me off on an investigation," She relayed, a smug look claiming her muzzle, "We couldn't help noticing the tables haven't been set."

"Oh, really?" Sonic feigned ignorance, leaning back against the ship's wooden railing.

"Yes," Amy hummed, "It seems someone went to the effort of getting the tables tables and chairs from the palace, tossed a table cloth over each, and then just dumped all the cutlery and placemats on top before calling it a day. They didn't even get the glasses from below deck."

"I wonder who did that," The blue hedgehog had to look away.

"I have my suspicions," He felt Amy push in closer.

"I guess we'll never know..." He half sang, a hand in his quills.

Sonic felt a hand on his chest, both pinning him in place and pulling his gaze back to her. The pink hedgehog still had an apron on, worn over her red dress, that instructed him to kiss the cook in writing that was overly speckled with hearts. She'd pulled her quills back into a ponytail for the work, but just one quill had slipped astray of her scrunchie. An icing smudge marked her left cheek, on that same side. She was leaning in much too close, now walking her fingers up to his shoulder; a game had begun.

"I could see myself to finishing that work, taking on that important task abandoned by a certain somebody..." Her fingers stopped just before the left side of his collarbone, "But I'd want them to do something for me in exchange."

"Oh? "In that moment, Sonic saw his opportunity, "And just what would you want that hypothetical person to do?"

Before she could answer, Sonic reached to cup the pink girl's cheek. With a brush of his thumb the icing mark was removed, their eyes locked and he caught the sparkle in her emerald eyes. He ever so deftly reached with his index and middle fingers to push back that stray quill, looping it into taut green ribbon at the back of her head.

"Marry me?" She breathlessly asked.

Seizing her moment of surprise, the blue blur slipped out from the pink hedgehog's grasp to spin around and position her against the boat's edge with his hand now shifted to her shoulder, "That's a real steep price for forgetting some placemats, I don't think I can make that deal Amy."

"Oh, so now you're admitting to shirking your duties," She rolled her eyes.

"Well yeah," He smirked wider, "I'm winning."

"Of course you are," She smothered a laugh, her gaze dropping, "You're entirely at ease."

"What's that supposed to mean? I totally am," He leaned in further, managing to relock their eye contact.

"You've totally not been hiding over here, dodging the work you promised would be no sweat, because you're overthinking spending some time at sea," That truth was followed by another, "That and, well, the energy on deck is admittedly a little tense. Doesn't seem like your scene, at least at the moment."

Ah, perhaps that was the real reason he'd retreated to the bow of the ship. The vibes on the ship had been positively electric at first, but tension had travelled like chain lightning from one person to another. Today's host was the original source of that shift, no number of passing jokes had seemed able to quell the anxiety plainly bubbling within her. That much was to be expected from most party hosts, but the guardian of the Sol Emeralds seemed rather new to this particular duty. An overthinking Blaze on a very wooden boat was an undeniably dangerous combination.

"You're not wrong," He confessed, though put on his strongest smirk yet, "But, I mean, between us, I am winning right now."

"I don't know about that either. I'm exactly where I want to be," Now her eyes were sparkling again, "And you're exactly where I'd want you."

The wind fully dropped from his sails as his hand left her shoulder. When it came to Amy, even winning meant he'd lose, just a little. Sonic swivelled around to lean beside her again.

"Alright Ames, let's cut to the chase," Maybe he had won now, she looked annoyed that he'd left that position, "What's happened and what do you actually want me to do?"

"I might have tried to calm Blaze down, only to end up making things worse," She admitted through gritted teeth, "She really wants Silver's surprise party to go well..."

Ah yes, the reason they were all here, Silver's birthday. Invitations from Blaze had arrived atop the Master Emerald a little more than a week ago, along with requests for specific aid from some individuals. Knuckles and Tails had seen to delivering Blaze's writs and everyone from Vector to Big had agreed to attend and offer their aid in setting up a surprise party of the psychic. A boat based shindig with music, fireworks, and food.

"I've got to be honest, he doesn't seem the type to care all that much for parties in general. I'm kind of shocked she even thought to do this, neither of them are the partying sort," Sonic recalled aloud, "Ninety percent of the time they're all duty and justice and hard working. It's only the ten percent of the time that we see them around each other that I'd say they're anything close to social."

"That was my thought too, I tried to get her to sit down for a while and relax, leave this to us," Her gritted teeth turned into a full blown grimace, "That went..."

"Poorly?" Sonic suggested.

"Poorly," She confirmed, "When I made that suggestion, she insisted that she bake some things by herself..."

Realisation struck the speedster, "Didn't she specifically write that she wanted your help baking? Because she can't-

"Yes," Amy cut him off, "So, actually, we should probably hurry and sort this out before things can get any worse."

"Alright, what's the plan," Sonic asked, finally starting to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

"Well first I'm going to drag you back onto the deck to finish setting the tables, I'm going to help you with that," Miss Rose first insisted, "When you see an opportunity, I want you to slip over and talk to Blaze. Try to get her to calm down and take a proper break from giving orders?"

"Woah, Ames," Sonic raised his hands, "What makes you think I can talk her out of this? I peeled off for a reason."

"You've helped her before Sonic, you're better suited to this than you think," Amy sweetly nudged him.

"Helping her work with others to save the world is one thing, I just went with the flow and trusted my instincts on that," The blur professed, "Helping her get less anxious about party planning? Wouldn't you be better at that? I've never planned-

"I might have also, sort of, been teasing her about Silver while we were working together," Amy cut him off to sheepishly admit, "I really don't think I can be the one to do this now..."

"What do you mean teased her about Silver?" The speedster tilted his head.

"Sonic," Her tone was chiding, "Are you really that oblivious? Why do you think she's going all out like this?"

The blue blur blinked, racking his brain for an answer, "Because-

"What do you mean he's on his way to the palace? If he makes it, he'll realise I'm not there!"A shout, plainly not befitting of a princess, caught the pair of hedgehogs' ears, "We need more time!"

"Alright, I'll give it a shot, regardless of the reason," Sonic cringed, pushing to make his way back to the deck, "Just don't blame me if things end up even worse."

The deck was already in a partying state, even if the vibe didn't match it. It was as if Blaze was commanding a deck of sailors battling pirates at sea, rather than a group of friends setting up decorations. Tails was toward hull of the ship, currently entangled by a mess of wires while attempting to program a fireworks display. Knuckles was carrying goods from shore, ranging from more boxes of fireworks to fruit and lighting for the coming evening. Espio, aided by Charmy, was scaling the outer edge of the boat to hang banners and other party fixtures. Vector was handling communications, relaying secret messages from Marine. As a result, the crocodile was receiving most of the cat's current ire.

Blaze was positioned near the centre of the deck, behind a pop-up oven that Marine had purportedly made specifically for the event. The cat's hands were bristling with embers as she loomed over the device. Her sharp eyes gouged Sonic, so he quickly busied himself- doing as he'd promised. This was going to be tough.

"Apparently fishing her scuttled ship from the ocean was a lot easier than she thought," Vector barked back, "It's already back on the west dock, good as new."

"Tell her to drag her feet and kick up a fuss, to slow him in town as much as possible," Blaze responded immediately, not giving the reptile a moment to breathe.

"She says she'll do her best, but she doesn't seem confident," The crocodile awkwardly responded, "Look, Blaze, maybe-

"We need to speed things up!" The cat cut him off, "Tails, are the fireworks ready?"

"Almost!" He called from the back, "They'll be ready well before sunset."

"Get them finished as quickly as possible, I need you to help Big set up the music," The smaller cat insisted.

Big himself was wandering around with a massive set of speakers in his gloved mitts, thoroughly lost but also plainly unaware of the tension on the ship. Sonic managed to clear his way across the deck, setting glasses and placemats and more as he went. He could have been going faster, of course he could have, but the hedgehog had no idea what he was going to say. Regardless, he'd began to slip into position.

"Cream," The cat called out, "How is the paper-craft going, are you almost done?"

The blue blur tossed down a few placemats, roughly in the right places, still moving down the deck.

"I've ran out of ideas Miss Blaze," The rabbit almost sobbed, "I can't think of any more decorations, I've cut out so many Chao faces..."

"Just do your best, don't worry about making replicates at this point. Timing is what matters most," Though her words were kinder, panic still undercut the cat's words.

Sonic flattened a bunched section of tablecloth, still making his way around, trying his hardest to be subtle.

"Knuckles, how much is still piled at the dock?" The cat asked, her attention turned.

"Just the presents, everything else is set," He answered, setting a massive box down, "Can I take a breather?

Sonic found himself at the head of a table, he started to pull cutlery from a box and mindlessly spread it out. Only a few more steps and he'd be right in front of the purple feline.

"After the presents are on board, he'll know what's about to happen if he sees them," Blaze instructed, giving the echidna no quarter.

The cat continued to check in and give orders, going from person to person. Though she was never overly harsh with anyone, Sonic could see a pressure mounting beneath the surface. If he didn't step in, catastrophe would eventually come. Was party planning supposed to be so intense? No wonder he'd dodged it for all these years.

"Hey, Blaze," Sonic slid in front of her, positioning himself to spare anyone else her interrogation.

"What's going wrong now?" The cat grumbled, lit daggers in her eyes.

"Whoa, nothing is, I promise," Sonic took a half step back, hands up, "Just saying sorry for vanishing, had to get my party face on," His right hand slipped back to scratch at his quills, "Maybe you should take the time to do the same? You've been going all out since-

"That's because I need to keep on top of things, to ensure this is perfect," The feline bent down to the rickety oven, "The table needs set, these cupcakes will be-

The cat opened the oven door. Smoke immediately obscured the princess' entire form, flaring up to darken the sky. There was a single beat of silence, the deck seemed to freeze despite the sudden skyrocketing of temperature. From within the dark void a hint of red quickly expanded, soon the grey of smoke was thoroughly mixed with sparks of flame.

Sonic thought fast, dashing back to a table Amy had been setting. A pitcher of water was snatched up in one moment and just as quickly thrown. A splash resounded over the silenced deck; the flickering flames within the smokestack were snuffed and but moments later the grey clouds themselves fully vanished.

The revealed feline was thankfully dry, her conjured flames looked to absorbed the majority of the water, but she looked as regretful as a soaked kitten. Wide amber eyes looked out over the deck, lingering on those who were helping her. Sonic couldn't help but cringe, the cat was surely meeting bewildered and concerned stares that she'd loathe to feel bearing down on her. He had to act, go with the flow.

"Come on Blaze, let's go for a walk and get some air," He tried to shoot the feline a grin, though quickly turned to the pink hedgehog by his side, "Ames, you can pick up the baking in the meantime, right?"

"On it," Amy was keeping up her bubbly tone, "Everything will be ready for Silver arriving, I promise!"

By the time he'd turned back to Blaze, the cat was already stepping down the gangplank and off of the ship. He followed behind, giving her just a bit of space so as to both let her breathe and give himself a moment to figure out what to do next. In situations like this, going with the flow could only get him so far...

The sturdier grounding of the dock was a welcome change from that of the ship. A good five metres separating them, the pair paced past a gathered pile of gifts wrapped in various coloured papers. When the gang had first arrived the dock had been fully stocked with things to move and set up, now it was almost empty. Just those gifts-

"I know I'm being foolish, but I must look completely mindless," Sonic heard the cat grumble before turning to look back, "I'm sorry I didn't accept your suggestion immediately, leaving immediately would have been for the better..."

"Hey, it's no big deal," Sonic shrugged, "No one got hurt, don't think you left a scratch on the deck."

Realisation seemed to strike the cat, "I didn't check, I need to go back there. Getting the wood replaced will take-

"Whoa, whoa, Blaze," Sonic put his hands out, halting the cat as she turned. "Remember why you left the boat, take a moment, have a breather."

The cat did hesitate, he could tell she was anxious to return to the ship but beyond that the cat's thoughts were completely lost on him. Sonic usually prided himself on being good at reading the room, but when it came to the likes of Blaze or even Shadow only the most extreme of feelings were plain to him. For the feline, that usually meant noticing long built frustration mere moments before it was primed to detonate.

"This whole party thing really has you wound up," Sonic pointed out the obvious, stalling, "Gotta be honest, it seems pretty minor compared to your usual work. There's something else going on, right?"

"No, there's nothing else going on. It's just this party," Blaze refuted before biting her lip, "Although, I don't think I've explained the full context of it," Her fists balled, "This is Silver's first birthday."

"What? How's that possible?" Sonic blinked, "Has there been some sort of time travel mistake? Has he been turned into-

"No, it's simpler than that," Blaze shook her head, "Not simpler. More foolish. Naive."

"I mean, simple things can still cause stress," Sonic quickly responded, still befuddled, "If you wanna explain, I'm all ears."

"I probably should, just to... so that I don't seem quite so pointlessly terse," The cat unclenched her fist, taking a deep breath, "Silver doesn't know his true birthdate, he never has. Growing up in a long destroyed world, what mattered to him were seasons rather than specific days or months. The cold of winter and warm of Summer were far more important to him than any given day. Regardless, there was no one to maintain any sort of calender."

"Right, that makes sense," Sonic thought aloud, putting two and two together, "So there must be some reason we're doing this today of all days? Like, if the date wasn't an issue we could just push it back and avoid all this stress."

"He picked a birthdate for himself, he picked it in a suitably foolish and naive way," The guardian responded, "After my own birthday, I thought to ask him about his only to find out the truth. When I suggested picking a day he..." Sonic swore he could feel her temperature from these metres away, "He picked the day we'd met again, the day we'd reunited."

"Oh wow, that's pretty intense," The blue blur blinked.

"It wasn't for him, he just suggested it off the cuff, so stupidly casually," Blaze recalled, looking to the ocean, "His exact logic was that good things are meant to happen to people on their birthday. Since that was, in his words, the best thing that ever happened to him... he decided that day must have been his birthday."

"I mean... there's a sort of logic there," Sonic concluded, not really following the psychic's train of thought but going along with it, "But the stress you're feeling makes a lot more sense now, of course you're worried about today going well..." Sonic scratched his ear, "It's like it's you guys anniversary or something."

"Don't be so blunt!" Burning eyes returned to Sonic for but a moment before tumbling to the dock, "But.. yes, and with today being his first... it's a lot and it has been weighing on me, even prior to today," Her fists clenched as she took a step toward the boat, "I need to get back to work."

"No," Sonic raised his hands to halt her, again just going with the flow, "Don't sweat it, I'll handle the set up from here."

"You can't be serious," Exhaustion was plain in the princess' voice.

"Hey, when am I anything but serious?" His joke didn't land so he tried another angle, "But, I mean, look at it this way, why did he pick today? You said it yourself."

"Because it's the day we reunited?" Blaze bluntly replied.

"Because reuniting with you was the best moment of his life, the best day," Sonic reinforced, "I think he'd rather be with you today than spend so much time apart. Think about it, he'd get onto the boat only to be swarmed by other people when you're finally together again. He'll barely get to spend any time with you," The hedgehog hypothesised, "Does that sound right?"

That took the cat a moment to process, "It does, but I-

"And if you're really so worried about the party, think about it this way," She was surely frustrated at being cut off, but he had to make sure she understood, "You were worried about him arriving early; now you can make certain he doesn't. Just leave it to us, we'll let you know when everything's ready."

"I..." Words seemed to fail her for a moment, "No, you're right," And then for a moment longer, "Silver isn't even expecting some party, he just thinks I'm busy with work today. I can arrive and he won't suspect a thing," Relief began to buzz through Sonic's head, "That and... you're right, he'd probably rather spend today with me than being led around by Marine."

"Go to him and spend some time, get here when you get here. Don't rush or keep him away," Sonic advised, "Just kick back for a while, you've earned it."

The cat looked as if she was going to fight him again, but that expression faded into contemplation, "Alright, I'll just, um," She did walk past him, toward the ship, but stopped at the pile of presents to collect a long box wrapped in blue paper, "Right, yes, he's on his way to the palace. I can beat him there if I hurry."

The guardian began to race across the dock, no longer hesitantly pacing as she had before. As if it was a cape tossed from her shoulders, the apron that had covered her front was thrown from her form to land on the flat wooden floor. It was only as she reached the land that Sonic thought to say some final words.

"Blaze!" He called to the cat, cupping his mouth.

The feline stopped in her tracks and turned back.

"Don't forget to have fun, that's the whole point!" He shot her a thumbs up, "And we both know that's what he'd want, more than anything else!"

The cat didn't return his gesture, instead giving just one last nod before hurrying off with that gift under her arm. Sonic wiped the sweat from his brown, a wave of relief washed through his form as he crossed his hands behind his head and turned back to the ship. He made it around three paces before realising someone was staring down at him from the top of the gangplank.

"You know you've just promised to take her place, right?" A familiar voice called from the ship, "Now all of this is your responsibility," Now close enough, he could see Amy's taunting smirk, "No more slacking off."

Sonic's struggled to keep up his smirk, beginning to rise the gangplank, "Well, no good deed goes unpunished."

He had no idea what he was going to do, but he knew he'd done a little bit of good. That had to count for something, right?