#I feel so lost like I’m not made for people at all

[yunniverse]

You’re My Dream

౨ৎ PAIRING— rockstar!jeong yunho x reader

౨ৎ GENRE— fluff, ended relationship, fem!reader

౨ৎ WARNINGS— angst, fluff

౨ৎ WORD COUNT— 1.4k

౨ৎ SUMMARY— you broke up because he was too focused on his music dream, but maybe you and love were the real dream all along.

౨ৎ A/N— i saw a lot of people saying they wanted a oneshot with the concept photos from the 2025 seasons greetings, so i made one! i hope you like it, even though it isn’t quite as angsty as you probably wanted :( still, feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading, lovelies! <3 (i’ll tag a few people who said they were interested if someone wrote one: @beabatiny, @goldendynastys, @kibs-and-bits)

Staring at the fire crackling, you try to hold back the tears that threaten to escape. When had it all gone so wrong?

Just last year, you had been enjoying your boyfriend’s Christmas show with his rock band, and now you’re sitting alone, the night before Christmas.

The crackling of the fire adds to your melancholy, the harsh cold winds blowing outside creating a gloomy atmosphere. You know you should forget like he has, but you can’t throw away two years of your life that easily.

The memories of last Christmas come flooding back to you, even as you try to suppress them. Memories of sitting beside the fire with Yunho, cuddling as you watched a cheesy Christmas movie. Or baking Christmas cookies together at his apartment, laughing as you threw flour at each other.

Turning to the remote controller, you press the power button, not expecting to see him on the screen. His band is playing, and you immediately feel a pang in your chest at the sight of him, his fingers dashing across the keyboard.

Even though he’s the keyboard player and not the lead singer, he has an air about him that draws you in, making it unable to look away, even as you know you should. Why is he still having this effect on you?

The song is one you recognize. “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call,” by Bleachers.

It’s a song he’d introduced to you last Christmas, and, even though it’s sad, it had been a source of joy for you in a way last year, because you remember dancing to the song with him, smiling and laughing.

Now, it really is sad.

When he gets up at the end of the song, leaning into the microphone, you furrow your eyebrows, listening.

“That song goes out to someone I lost a year ago today.” He looks right at the camera, his brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, baby. I wish it had been different, but know that I never really stopped loving you.”

You gasp, only momentarily questioning if he’s really talking to you, before you jump up, now determined to make things right for some reason. You know it’ll probably end in more heartache, but you have to try.

Grabbing your keys and coat, you hurry out the door into the winter storm, unlocking your car before hopping in.

Even though the roads are horrible tonight, you know the way to his apartment like the back of your hand, only slowing because of the snow.

About twenty minutes later, you arrive at his apartment complex, hurrying out of the car, through the blinding snow, and into the lobby of the building.

You try to calm yourself down, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button to the fourth floor.

When you get to the floor, you walk down the hall, slowing to a stop in front of his door. Taking a deep breath, you knock.

It takes about two minutes, but the door opens, revealing a messy-haired Yunho, a few locks of his dark blue hair having fallen in front of his brown eyes, which widen at the sight of you.

“Y/N?” he whispers, his hand clutching the doorknob so tight you think he might break it. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw the program.”

“Oh.”

With a sigh, you rub your arm, biting your lip, really starting to wonder what you’re really doing here yourself. “H-How have you been?”

“Is that really what you’re going to ask?” Yunho asks, giving you a half-smile.

“What else would I say?” you question softly, suddenly feeling stupid for coming to see him. “I can’t just say Merry Christmas or something stupid like I’ve missed you—”

“Can’t you?” he asks, his dark eyes searching yours. “Because I’ve missed you.”

Sighing, you frown slightly, “This can’t be happening. I don’t know what I was thinking. Let me just—“

He grabs your wrist as you turn to leave, making your gaze snap back to his. “Every day without you has been torture. You came to see me for a reason. Do you feel the same?”

“Yunho, it doesn’t matter how we feel. It can’t work now anymore than it did then. We have different goals.”

“We don’t have to!” he exclaims, almost desperately. “I can give up the band if that’s what you want. You were upset it took up so much of my time? I’ll quit.”

Your eyes widen as you shake your head, “Yunho, the reason you couldn’t give it up for me before is because it’s what you love to do. I can’t take that away from you. I can’t make you live without it.”

“Well, I can’t live without you.”

His words hang heavy in the air, making you suck in a sharp breath, “Yunho…”

“Don’t say anything,” Yunho tells you, taking a single step closer. “Just tell me…”

“Tell you what?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What do you feel?” he asks, just before he leans in, his face inches from yours. Your heartbeat quickens as his warm breath fans across your lips. “If you feel nothing, I’ll leave you alone.”

You’re torn between wanting to close the distance and knowing you shouldn’t.

You don’t have to wait for long.

It feels like the world stops when his soft lips brush against yours for the first time in months. It isn’t like an electric shock, with fireworks exploding, rather it’s like coming home after a long time away. Like warmth and softness and… love.

It only takes a few seconds for you to melt into him, the kiss deepening as he lifts his hands to cup your face, your hands finding his chest, his heartbeat quickens beneath yours fingertips.

After a few moments, he pulls away, his forehead resting against yours as he pants softly, waiting for you to respond.

“I wish I could say I felt nothing,” you whisper, feeling a little helpless against your emotions. “But I can’t. I’ve never been able to.”

“Then give us another chance,” Yunho pleads, his thumbs brushing across your cheekbones. “I meant what I said during the program. I’ve never stopped loving you.���

“But what about the band? What about all the reasons we broke up months ago?”

“You and I both know we were being petty then. And I can quit the band, like I said,” Yunho replies, his tone serious.

“I don’t want you to,” you respond quietly, making him furrow his eyebrows.

“What?” he asks slowly, confusion etched into his features.

“I don’t want you to quit what you love,” you clarify. “That’s what ended things between us before. We quit on our love, and I won’t let you quit on the band now. I was stupid to think you loved me any less because of your passion for music. Please don’t stop playing, Yun.”

“Are you sure?” he asks slowly. “It’ll still take up as much time as it did before, maybe more, since we’ve grown a little more popular now.”

“I don’t care,” you smile softly. “All I care about is being with you again. And I won’t let my jealousy over your time get in the way again… as long as you let me come to your shows.”

“Every single one.”

With a small laugh, you lean forward, pressing another soft kiss to his lips before burying your face in his neck, inhaling his calming scent you’ve missed so much.

“Maybe we should get out of the hallway?” Yunho chuckles, tugging your hand, guiding you into his apartment. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

You smile shyly, nodding, as you let him close the door behind you both.

Three months later, you’re cheering for Yunho and his band as he performs, smiling widely when he finally comes backstage, his arms open as you laugh, throwing yourself into his arms for a hug. “You did so well, Yunnie,” you whisper in his ear.

He grins, nuzzling his nose into your hair, “Thank you, baby. You’re always the best cheerleader.”

“Can’t say I don’t like the fake tattoos on your hands either,” you tell him wryly, tracing the markings with your finger.

“Oh?” he asks, chuckling softly, his eyes sparking with mischief. “Maybe I’ll leave them on for a little while. And I’ll be sure to tell the stylist you like them.”

“Good,” you grin. “I’m good with anything now as long as you never tell me ‘please don’t call’ like you did last winter ever again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[hyukascampfire]

OKAYYY FINALLY I GET TO RN THIS. first of all, thank you so much for reading :,) just know that i read this so many times over. this was just the best notif to receive.

MC is also SO me. which means we are TWINSSSSS. i’m around the same age as her, and also just so sad to be letting childhood go. i tried writing that sadness out in MC, and i think the best thing ever is getting multiple messages abt how so many people relate to her. it means we’re all in this together. we’re not alone in our feelings, which is honestly the biggest comfort to me.

COMPLIMENTING MY MUSIC TASTEEE. you are the loml. AND you listened while reading. as intended. i literally could not be happier. i was feeling that playlist while writing🤤

and then you compiled all your favorite quotes here 😭 stop. i am so giddy. those are some of my favorite from the fic as well. especially “you clutch childhood to your chest like a wild animal guarding scarce food; you refuse. you refuse to acknowledge its end.” that one i am so proud of, for how incredibly powerfully it illustrates how i feel about this stage of my life. im glad that the stars aligned and my brain was in the right mood to put that on paper.

and oh my god, if that’s the same erin morgenstern as the night circus, i will absolutely be reading it. ABSOLUTELYYYY.

I LOVE FLORENCE + THE MACHINE. and ALSO dog days. i think our music tastes are lovers. dog days is so so so perfect. thank you so much for reading, kipo. i think you’ve made my whole life with this rb. i’m so deeply in love with the way this story came out. at first, it was just a few bare bones scenes, and it just kept on growing and growing and i really knew i had to see it out. i think it flourished so beautifully:,))

THE BLOCK OF TAGS hell yeah.

ribs playing at the ending and scott street and more than this during the confession oh shuffle had it OUT for you 😭 but i also think those songs at those specific scenes are PERFECT.

and yeah FUCK yeonjun!!! it was tough writing him like that 😕

IM SO PROUD OF THE MOTH SYMBOLISM. i wanted it to feel like, even when kai and MC were lost and confused and apart, they were never really alone, and there were perhaps bigger things at play here. or maybe even the instances of moths appearing were nothing more than coincidence (of course except for at the creek and during the confession). i want to leave it up to the reader to decide that.

OKAY I GOTTA CUT THIS RB OFF because it’s lagging to even type because it’s all so long. i wish i could say more omg i could talk about it forever with you. thank you so much for reading, like really so so so much. T^T

𝑯EART 𝑊ORM ⸺ hueningkai ℘˒´ˎ˗

  ⨾𓍢ִ໋ ˒˒ 𝚑𝔢art𝚠𝔬rm

[𝑛]. a relationship or friendship that you can't get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

〝﹙ 📼 ﹚“I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?”  ˛ ､､

wc ➛ 17.9k

𝔭airings childhood bsf!kai x reader (lowkey soulmates?) ⤷ ft. asshole!yeonjun x reader

𝒢 ‎; smut ˒ angst ˒ some fantasy

𝔴arnings angst, family issues, fingering, jealousy (i’m sorry i just love ts), yeonjun really is an asshole, orgasm denial, thigh fucking, unprotected sex (they're stupid!), strength kink a lil bit, breeding kink, possessiveness, creampie, choking... i think that's all, lmk if i missed any

✎୭ ashlynn's note omg. this was such a fun palate cleanser to write. this wasn't supposed to be as big as it is, but it just kept getting bigger and bigger, and i got super into the story. this kai is SOOOO!! yeah. i’m so nervous posting this because i’ve only ever posted TSFAWC, but…. here you areee (^^;; this is not proofread, so if you see a mistake... give me a sec. i'll get to it. hehe

Though you fan your hand furiously over your face, the little breezes washing over your clammy skin are not enough. The air is thick and heavy with summer’s heat. So thick that you almost feel it each time you swallow. It’s better than just letting yourself melt away, though. The cushion at your back doesn’t help much. It holds your warmth and returns it to you the longer you sit slumped back into it. You suffer it though—you’ve gone too sluggish to move.  

You let a leg dangle over the arm of a chair, watching a hopeful moth dance in the light of the buzzing porch light overhead. It flutters frantically in it, making a grand fight to reach that false moonlight, only to drop away when it realizes that it’s being burnt. You watch it rinse and repeat, relentless and sure, for who knows how long. It’s no special moth—no luna moth or the ones with the pretty pink wings—but the light falls down on it and colors it a pleasant stardust silver.  

You delight in letting your conscious brain turn off to watch it. It lets you forget the sweltering under your skin, and also that Kai had drug you out here. His dad gives him shit when he plays inside, but it’s way too hot to be out here. Isn’t it supposed to cool off after the sun goes down? It doesn’t feel like it. The deep acoustics are drowned out each time a car whirrs by. Playing outside should be the best option, but you and Kai live right on a busy road.  

When the roar of some car going ten miles over the speed limit doesn’t obscure his playing, though, you admire the intricacy of it. His fingers work up and down the neck, jumping frets that you imagine would be impossible to anybody without those long fingers of his. You had always been a loud supporter of his playing, even way back when the most he could play were simple chords, but you became especially so when a few years back he put a guitar in your hands and tried teaching you. Even with his fingers guiding yours, it was quick to learn that the effortlessness with which Kai handles the instrument is hard earned.  

He practices on the acoustic guitar, but that’s not his domain. With houses just a dash across the street from each other, Kai had grown up at your home more than he had at his own. So vividly, you remember the stars in his eyes when he’d listen to your dad’s music. Metallica, The Smashing Pumpkins, Linkin Park, any of it. He had fallen in love with it a long time ago. Your whole life you knew that it was only a matter of time before he was in his own band, chasing his dreams with a boundless mind and an indelible vision of himself on stage. How had that time come so soon, though? You don’t know if the notebooks full of inky lyrics that live wherever he deems inspiration might hit him make you proud or nervous. He’s making good on his dazzling aspirations, and you? 

You speak finally into the air, cutting through heat waves and his music and the night. “Isn’t it weird that we’re not going back to school after this summer?” 

He doesn’t have to even stop playing to answer you. Playing comes to him as a second nature. “Kinda,” he answers, brown eyes flitting up to you. “But it’s not like you won’t be back to it in September. College is the same shit.” 

The leg you’d been dangling and bouncing pauses. That’s right; you’re supposed to be going to that college you’d chosen because it was only a three-hour drive away from here. You pluck at the seat’s threadbare fabric, and the moth, still there, becomes oh-so-interesting once again. When his playing stops, you drop your head back with a cushioned thud and a groan that you wrangle in your throat. 

“Why are you acting like that?” he says, voice gone sharp like accusation. He doesn’t even know the truth, but he’s known you too long.

Can’t you just keep secrets for yourself, sometimes?

Kai, arms clad in a well-loved hoodie even in this dreadful weather, lays the guitar down. You maintain your silence. “Seriously, what?” 

Some secrets have timers, though. This one could only last you until about September, or even August when he realizes that you’re not preparing to return to school. A controlled sigh from your chest isn’t enough to soothe the nerves that sparks. “Nothing.” 

“Secrets, huh?” Kai says. When you do finally look to him, black spikes of hair frame his eyes and the accusation in them. 

It’s a simple poke, but it gets under your skin as sharp as any thorn might. It’s not like you don’t keep secrets from him, and you’re sure he keeps some from you too. But those are the little kinds, the inconsequential ones—like I ate already when asked why you’re not eating or like Yeah, I’m fine when it’s been a bad day. You don’t hide this kind of stuff from each other. Usually, you’d run over to his place to tell him whatever’s bothering you. Why not, when he’s known even the worst details of your life for almost the entirety of it? You’ve been holding this one close to your chest since somewhere around the end of senior year, though. The longer you let it fester, the worse your nervousness snowballs. “C’mon, Kai. Let’s not do this. Can you keep playing?” 

He doesn’t like that, of course. But you watch recognition dawn over his chocolate brown eyes, helpless to stop it. “You’re not going,” he says. It’s not a question nor a suspicion, it’s a bone-dry fact.  

Well. There that goes. You want to tear every hair on your head right out. Why had you even thought you’d keep him in the dark about it? When he’s not out in some garage making music, you two are together. The conversation was going to stroll by at some point; this was only inevitable. His disappointment radiates off him in waves and blisters you. He hasn’t even said anything yet, but you know exactly what he thinks of it. It’s why you kept it from him in the first place.  

Your silence is enough confirmation for him. “Why?” he says. “I thought you were excited to move out.” 

Wincing, you nod slowly. You were. Even went through the whole application process, along with most other kids your age. Ultimately, you never went through with declaring a college. You don’t exactly know why, but somewhere weaseled down in the shadowy recesses of your soul, you know. Taking those steps, the massive and terrifying ones from adolescence into adulthood, meant agreeing that this form of your life was over. It meant that at some point, you’d be moving away from here to where living your days away in Kai’s room would not be a choice. Everybody has to do it eventually, you know that. Kai’s music gig could take off any day, too. He’s going to make it happen. And then what? All this stalling and wishing on just a bit more time would mean nothing, he’d be off and chasing that dream. As excited as you are for it to finally become reality for him, there’s a nasty bitterness that’s budded in your chest, infecting your person.  

Can’t things just stay like this? 

“I was,” you say. It comes out of your mouth heavy.  

“Then why aren’t you going?” he says. Crickets, never seen but always heard, sing their song into the night’s darkness. “You didn’t get rejected. You’re too smart for that.” 

An ache sits heavily somewhere near the center of your chest, maybe over your heart. All those good grades, nights spent bent over a desk and AP paperwork—you’re wasting it. You shake your head. “No... just...” It’s an effort to dress your thoughts in a way that might appease him. A quiet moment stretches with your thinking before you continue, “I don’t know what I want to do.” 

He doesn’t like that, the yellow wash of the overhead light dancing over his taut lips and hard eyes. “Don’t know what you want to do?” he says, bringing his legs up onto the seat to crisscross them. He wears his favorite jeans. They’re heel-bitten and baggy enough over his legs that he can wear them around the house without any bother. “You’ve wanted to be an artist your whole life. You know exactly what you want to do.” 

Your chest only seems to ache harder. When the both of you were only young and hopeful, you both had big dreams. Kai was going to be the face of a metal band, and you were going to be an artist. A painter, potter, sculptor, even doing animation for those big companies like Dreamworks and Disney. You wanted any of it, just as long as you were doing art. You’d even promised him that you’d do the cover art for his albums with interlocked pinkies and flushed, hopeful cheeks. That passion and love wasn’t gone from you, it blazed strong in your veins. This blaze wasn’t the kind that kept you warm and excited to push forward into life, though. It had morphed into something that scalded you when you got too close or started imagining yourself pursuing its call. It’s a taunting silvery glow, no longer a guiding north star. Taunting words of family members stamped down on that hope hard. When you were little, it was said lighthearted and in passing. The older you got, though, the more serious their faces became. They wouldn’t say it outright perhaps, but you hear what they think well enough. Art is a dead-end career.  

Shifting in your seat, you tell him, “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean?” Kai says. “There are good colleges for that.” 

“I just... don’t know.” 

Shaking his head, he tells you, “But you love it.” 

You do. In its every form, you love creating. But loving it doesn’t mean that it’s right for you, or that you should trust your future in its hands. “I think I can do it in my own time,” you say, finally pushing yourself upright from the cushion. “Don’t wanna kill the passion by doing it for a living, you know?” 

He thinks on that for a moment. “If you love it, you should do it,” he says. 

An awful frustration bubbles in your chest. Kai has always had a clear life path, the steps ahead of him set in stone and waiting for him to follow in them. It’s hard for him to see why you might not want to do the same. There’s nothing that makes you as happy as the fact that he has it all figured out, that he knows just where he’s going and that he’s so incredible at it that he doesn’t have to worry about meeting the requirements, but your path seems obscured and untrodden. Punctuating a deep, resonant sigh, you say, “It’s not that easy, Kai.” 

“If you’re not doing that, then what are you going to do? Are you just going to settle for a nine-to-five?” he says full of accusation, the tapping on his knees gone still.  

A dry laugh, you say, “Maybe I’ll marry a super rich guy and just do my art for a living. No nine-to-five.” 

His face flashes. He’d always been a bit reserved, especially around others, but he bared his emotions freely around you. You hold them dearly to your chest and made sure to do your best to make good on that trust. He says, “You’re more than some guy’s housewife.” 

Cheeks radiating in the heat, you snort. “I know, dork. I’m a rockstar’s best friend. It’s my personal favorite achievement.”  

His face sours when you reach out and pinch hard at his cheek, but he doesn’t pull away or brush you off. The skin there is warmed and clammy. Really, the two of you should go meet the cool AC inside before you suffer heat stroke. But this moment feels so nice—your shoulders feel tons lighter without something to hide. If you had it your way, things would stay like this forever. Just the two of you, sat here like you have so many times before, just taking for granted the time you’ve got together.  

His mouth opens to banter, probably something about how he’s not a rockstar yet or to get you back for calling him a dork. Wingbeat and sterling dashes about your face send the image into a blur, though. You’re a quick mess of limbs and a whipping head, as if it’ll chase the thing away from you. 

“Seriously?” Kai says. You’d climbed halfway over him, elbows digging into him and knee doing a number on his thigh. “It’s a moth. You’re not scared of moths.” 

Lingering for a few moments later to ensure the flying thing was nowhere on you or around you, you hold back a laugh before you climb off him and fix your hair with undignified tucks behind your ears. “He was in my face,” you say around a laugh, because you know it was a bit too much. Nobody likes wings in their ears and spindly legs in their face, though, and you’re in no control of what you do when anything with six legs tries and get too friendly. Even moths.  

“You just wanted me to protect you,” he says. A sarcastic, shit-eating smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.  

“Oh,” you scoff, batting your eyelashes and clasping your hands together all saccharine-sweet. “Yes, Romeo, won’t you kill that bug for me? This girl’s heart just can’t take it!” 

Kai’s nose crinkles, and the playful light twists into a glare. “Nasty.” 

“That’s how you sounded,” you say. “I only reacted accordingly.” Laughing, you kick your legs out over his lap and sprawl back out. He takes the guitar back into his hands. 

As much as you want to escape the mugginess, you’ll survive it for just a little while longer—if only with the force of an indulgent heart. The eternal moments are those you allow to linger.  

⚝⭒ 

Some things, you forget when you’re older. Maybe it’s time’s hand, eroding memories down and stuffing more in the longer you live to experience them. But also maybe because they’re the sort of things you can’t say in the adult world without a laugh in the face and a look from down their noses.  

This memory is one of those forgotten things. It’s moth-bitten and dusty, something you one day folded up in a moving box and decided to never revisit. 

You’d been down at the creek. Kai and you had spent so many summer days there. It wasn’t too far from home, just past the filbert trees and into the shallow neck of the backwoods, but there you were out of sight and free to get up to nothing good. It was a wonder your mom ever let you do it. Kai’s dad didn’t care too much where he went or what he did, but your mom dug her claws in deep. You like to think that she imagined you two would have each other, if anything ever happened. 

Usually, you’d be there holding your jeans up from the stream and Kai would be letting his jeans go dark with it. The bite of water was nice as it washed over warm skin. Fun was a simple thing to find, then. You dug your fingers into the mudbanks and tossed stones way too big to be throwing at each other, just because you two remembered how much the adults hated it when you did. Then, you’d drag tired limbs home avoiding sweetgum tree spikes that had fallen to the ground and dug splinters out from your feet.  

This day, you had been in the blackberry bushes. It was maybe late July or early August, and they’d gotten heavy on their branches. You’d waited until the smell of them, summer-warmed, was sweet and cloying in the air to pick them. With buckets in your hands, you plucked only the fattest berries from their bunches. Your fingers were stained a delightful purple and perhaps a bit thorn raw, but you didn’t mind much then. You plucked for hours, and it was dusk before you could catch it. Dinner was no doubt waiting for you back home. 

“There’s a bunch over here,” Kai had said. He reached a long boyish arm, still awkward and lanky with puberty, up high for ripe bush. You finished off picking before climbing around thick branches sticking out to take a peek. A bunch, there was. 

When you went to drop a handful of them into your bucket, Kai hissed. He’d been snagged by a vicious looking branch, those ones as thick as a finger with thorns to match and you’d warn each other tongue-in-cheek to watch out for that one. He’d worn those ridiculous shorts that day, the ones that looked half pants half shorts with how long and baggy they were, and the claws of the bush had jumped at the opportunity. At first the scrapes were white, but then red blood crawled out and down his leg.  

“Kai,” you said, some parts chiding and some parts just wondering how he’d managed that. You surveyed his leg for a bit, and then determined that he should wash his leg off in the stream. He walked there strong, but of course you noticed the hobble beneath his acting. When you squatted down into the dry grass and cupped water to wash off his leg, you laughed. 

“What?” he had said, holding the shorts up. You covered your laugh with a hand, but it erupted past your palm. You remember the glare on his face very well.  

You still laughed. “You’re stupid,” you had told him. 

“I didn’t see it,” he said. “I tripped over it because it was sticking out.” 

That time when you brought your hands to catch some water, there was a twinkle in its surface. You didn’t notice it for a second. The creek moved fast and you could see a lot of things in its reflection. When it lingered, that’s when your brows furrowed. It seemed to twirl, dancing around like alive over the stones. 

The sound of Kai’s voice remains with you. “Hey,” he had said, strong to call your attention but also wavered with uncertainty. 

When you looked up, there was silver dust dancing around you. 

It was fluffy and whorling, fine silver stardust. It’d moved weightless in the air, as though it barely existed. In the center of it were a few moths. They seemed to be made of sterling powder just as the dust was, and they glowed against dusk’s backdrop. If your memory serves you right, there had been a sweet hymn of coos from them. They beckoned you. Summer’s heat felt lighter, and so did your chest. You wondered where they had wanted you to go. 

Almost afraid that if you spoke they might have fluttered away, you whispered soft and low to Kai. “What is that?” He was stood frozen there, pant leg still scrunched up in his fist. Stardust glowed soft in his brown eyes while he took it all in, you remember. It wasn’t a scared frozen. You weren’t scared, either—rather, it was as if that lightness had found its way into the core of your being and brushed over it with mending hands. 

He whispered back, “I don’t know.” How could he have known? It was absurd. 

Those whisps had beckoned you, flowing toward the deeper woods. The soft moths, their murmuring brushing up against your ears, seemed to wait for you to follow. You remember a pull, soft tendrils wrapping themselves around your heart and the yearning it planted there.  

But there was also this reluctance, a bone-deep answering that had told you: No. You’re not ready. 

“Kai, I wanna go,” you told him. 

You didn’t even need to tell him twice. Berry buckets forgotten; the journey home was a stranger one. When your dad asked why you returned from berry picking emptier handed than you had left the house, Kai and you only shared a look. You pair kept that evening at the creek hidden so well that it became more forgotten than shared secret.  

⚝⭒ 

Once, you had been the type of girl that loved being around family. Some of your favorite days of your life were spent in this living room, T.V. roaring over bouncing conversation. Some of those nights ended in rosy cheeks and laughs, and some ended with words thrown angry like fireworks. You never knew which you’d be getting, but you endured the fear of not knowing because it was a simple love—the basic kind built with biology into you the moment your infant skin touched your mother’s. You endured it because eventually, sleep washed away the bad taste left in your mouth and you forgave them quick, sometimes quicker than you ought to, and things would go on as if it hadn’t even happened. You endured it because you could handle its burden, if only to feel the warmth you feel when it’s a good day.  

Kai was always there—his dad was hardly home, so he found family in yours. When you were younger, you’d been embarrassed he was there for caustic, spitted words and intimate fights. Now, you’re just grateful for his shoulder.  

So, yes. Once, you had loved being around your family. But things feel tenser now, nights spent all together less frequent and when they do happen, they’re tainted by a strange air. You think that this strangeness is new, but an awful worry also makes you think that it’d always been there, that you only feel it now because you’ve grown into your adult mind. A hollow ache stakes its claim in your chest, declaring that it won’t leave until you find that youthful ignorance and joy once more. You think that it might stay there forever. 

Bare feet bounding down the stairs, you make a rare appearance downstairs. The cupboard is only half open to make way for a snack raid before your mom’s voice cuts through the air. You know quickly just by the look on her face that you should’ve stayed upstairs. 

“Hey,” she says, gathering laundry into a basket. “You’ve been applying to jobs?” 

With an anxious belly, you tell her, “Yeah. A few. They’re not really, like, ideal, but I sent applications.” You don’t remember when it got hard to look into your mother’s eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to do so now.  

“Not ideal?” she says. “It’s not like you can be picky. Mcdonalds or wherever, I don’t care, you’re going to need to get a job if you’re staying here.” 

“I know. I applied,” you reiterate around a mumble. You close the cabinets, not so interested in a snack anymore. “I just... I don’t know, ma. I don’t want to do that for a living, going between those sorts of jobs.” 

Face hard and abrasive against the truth you bare, she does that awful taunting smile that makes you feel small. Stupid. “You’re not going to college, so that’s what it’s gonna be. You can’t sit up there and draw for a living. You’ve gotta get into the real world, get some real experience.”  

There’s a burst of hurt in your chest, dazzling and gnawing. She’s getting closer to saying how she really feels about your dreams out loud every day. Your face burns and so do your eyes, knot thick in your throat. “Yeah, okay. Got it,” you say, nodding. You’re at the front door before you even know it, slipping on shoes and fighting the greatest internal battle to will back tears. She’d use those against you, no doubt about it. “I’m going to Kai’s,” you throw over your shoulder.  

Whatever she barks back at you, you’re glad you don’t hear. Bells on some old Christmas decoration hung on the door that had yet to be taken down, even into summer, jingle and wash it away for you. 

Kai’s brows shoot up when he opens the door to your face crumpling. You’d done so well at damming it up, but the wall cracks and the water crashes through once you see him. If it were anybody else, you’d feel icky and attention seeking, but you’d held Kai to your chest through gut-wrenching sobs as much as he’s done it for you. Without question, he takes you into his arms, warm hand running up and down your back. The warm soothing is so familiar. You melt right into it.  

He keeps you there for a long moment. Then, his chest rumbles as he tells you, “Come on.” The walk through the AC to his bedroom is nice. Having a house like Kai’s to come to where it can just be you is nice, too. You step around the mess of clothes and scattered belongings on his floor like you have a muscle-memory roadmap of his room. Boxsprings creak and hard mattress welcome you back home. His room is dark as always, a night-dweller you call him. The array of peeling band posters plastered over walls you two had painted blue some years ago, when it’d been his favorite color, don’t help to lighten it up. He keeps a low lamplight on.  

“She never listens to me,” you say, crying gone to occasional sniffles from your chest. You rest your cheek on your bent knee. 

“I know,” he says. “But at least she cares about you. Pays attention to you.” His voice is soft and deep and right next to you. Always right next to you, there for you even when you might not appreciate it as you should.  

His dad cares too little what he does, and yours care too much. The grass is always greener on the other side, you know it. Still, you hold a fantasy where you’re able to do teenager stuff. Where you’d allow yourself to do bad things, because you weren’t so intent on painting yourself with their will. You two hold eyes for a long moment, your twinkling ones caught in that steady brown. “I just want to get away. Be my own person.” Your words are muffled in the softness of your skin. 

“You had the chance to do it,” Kai says, hand playing with your fingers. “But you didn’t.” 

Holding your legs closer, you lick your lips. What do you say to that? Would it ever be the time to tell him that you did it because you think that your soul is pathetically intertwined with his, and that it might snuff your lifeforce out to even try pursuing life without him? Without this? How do you tell him that you’re so frozen and unwilling to pursue any sort of future because it means accepting that this chapter is over? You clutch childhood to your chest like a wild animal guarding scarce food; you refuse. You refuse to acknowledge its end.  

“Kai,” is all you say, trembled and thick. It’s not just your mother’s words that dig at you and tear to shreds the last bits of what dreaming you had left in you, but so many other reality checks too. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard those sorts of words, urging you forward. You can only dig your heel into the ground for so long before you’re swept away in time’s ruthless, endless moving.  

He understands. Lifting your face with warm fingers against your cheeks, he says, “Hey. How about we go get ice cream, or something?” 

Ice cream does sound nice. “Dairy Queen?” 

Smirk tugged over his mouth, he says, “Yes, Dairy Queen. A blizzard. C’mon, let’s go.” Sliding off the bed, he offers you an urging hand up. 

But you falter. “I don’t know if we can. She’s mad at me. I don’t think she’ll let me go.” 

“Let you go?” he says, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have to let you go. You’re an adult now, you go if you want to.” He offers his hand to you again. 

It’s so him, freely going wherever he ordain it. The bullheadedness is very him, as well. Always the devil on your shoulder, he was the root of any rebellious thing you’ve ever done. He could never understand your apprehension, or why getting in trouble was such an awful thing to you. “I have to ask to get money.” 

Brows pinching, he says, “You think I’m not gonna pay for you? You don’t need them to give you money, I’ll pay. I’ll take care of it.” He drags you up from the bed this time. “Live a little. Do you want to go?” 

It was never the punishments or the getting in trouble that you were scared of, though. Disappointment was a scarier word than grounded. Sneaking out and those sorts of things, it’s not like you had angel wings at your back and never considered them. It’s that you are deeply, utterly terrified of changing how they look at you. You begin to tell him, “I do, but—” 

He cuts you off, adamant. “Then do it. Let’s go. If you want to go, then go,” he says. “At some point, your life needs to become your own. It’s not sneaking out when you’re graduated and eighteen years old, it’s going wherever the hell you want. You’ve... You’re gonna end up stuck here, in this town, forever. You don’t deserve that.” 

That sounds like both the best and the worst thing you’ve ever heard. You take his hand.  

⚝⭒ 

Your frozen fingers nurse your ice cream. The cup itself is cold, but the Dairy Queen on your side of town is always thirty degrees below what it should be. It’d always been that way. Even way back when you two couldn’t drive, you’d get dropped off here to escape the melting weather and get a frozen treat with a handful of dollars. Each time, you’d start off sagging with the relief of summer’s weight off your shoulders and left the place shivering and sugar-mouthed.  

It’s really only you two in here. You crinkle your nose when he takes a spoonful. “Out of all the flavors...” 

Unbothered and no doubt expecting you to say it, he offers you a flat, “You get your flavor, I get mine.” He makes a point of taking an extra-long bite. His lips linger around the red plastic of the spoon and his brows rest high in silent challenge.  

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Hmm. Well. I just have a hard time believing that Oreo... or, like, brownie fudge, is right there, and you actually want M&M. I don’t get how M&M your favorite.” A familiar banter falls over your tongues. Your heart buzzes and your cheeks radiate. This is the first you’ve done this all summer, and it’ll be weaning off into fall soon. Any other summer, you would’ve been here on all the hottest days. You hate that Kai’s been so busy with his music; you hate that you can hear the resounding ticks of the clock counting down your time. You also hate that the stubborn depths of you still believe that if you freeze yourself here in stasis that the world will relent and stop along with you. 

You look over the sharp lines of Kai’s jawline as it feathers with his chewing, and the broadness of his shoulders where his jacket stretches around it, and the starkness of his collarbones against his chest and the bobbing of his adam’s apple when he swallows. No, time doesn’t stop. Some of him remains the same, though. In it, you see the boy that had love creeping up on you so long ago, with all its aching and all its hope. That freckle on the column of his neck, the bump in his nose leading down to the button tip that beckons your lips to steal a quick kiss.  

And, those lips. They’re as soft as ever around the discontented grimace he pulls. “M&M isn’t my favorite.” 

With a pursed mouth and patronizing brows arched over your eyes, you say, “Oh, huh. That’s funny, because if my memory serves me right, it’s the only flavor you’ve ordered for the past... six years.”  

Kai husks a laugh at that. “That’s because they haven’t had my favorite for years,” he tells you, scooping up the final bit and then pushing it off to the side. “It was a blizzard of the month that they discontinued. The blackberry cheesecake one. I made peace with it, though. It lives on in my heart.” He grins, arms crossed over his chest and his back settled into the booth seat to let you finish your cup.  

“Blackberry cheesecake,” you say, voice made taunting. Your nod is slow and taunting, too. “Well, forget M&Ms.Why would blackberry cheesecake be your favorite? Ever?” 

His face falters, a moment where something flows over his eyes as if reliving a memory in a few short seconds. Then, he shrugs. “It just is.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever,” you laugh. “Maybe my palate is unrefined.” Imagining the tarte fruit in purple swirls of ice cream, you’re taken back to a humid July day and the scent of churned mud.  

The strange memory unfolds itself quick. As if it were waiting for you to find wherever it’d hidden itself away. With a sharp gasp, you say, “Oh my god, Kai. Do you remember that one day? That weird stuff we saw down at the creek?” 

He nods. “Yeah. I was just thinking of that the other day, actually...” 

Less interested in finishing your cup now, you let the spoon rest. “What?” you say, the word peaking in the middle. That day hadn’t crossed your mind once since it’d happened. “How weird is that?” 

Scoffing a laugh, he says, “Weird, yeah. Just as strange as two kids high on fermented berries.” 

That draws a breathy laugh from you. “Is that what you think it was?” you ask him with knitted brows. The berries had been fresh, and you two had popped plenty into your mouth. But no doubt, you’d have spat them right back out if they were that ripe. “I mean, we saw the same thing.” 

“It happens to animals all the time. Squirrells, and stuff.” He lends you a gallic shrug. “We just freaked ourselves out. Like that one time you said you saw the shape of something in the dark and we freaked out. And it was clothes.”  

Well, hallucinating, in tandem, a glowing mist because you two by chance ate fermented berries is a very long shot. However nonchalant he acts about it, he seems to have thought long and hard about it. Enough to reason it away with some far cry explanation. Would you have even been able to get drunk off a handful of fermented berries? And, god, you’re really sure that you’d have noticed. That taste isn’t really one you just don’t notice.  

Whatever. Maybe you were just drunk idiots. That’s a lot easier to swallow, anyway. 

“Okay, but you saw that. Did it not look sinister?” you say. With your spoon back in your hand, you punctuate the sentence pointing it at him. “You freaked out with me, too.”  

An unsatisfied scowl on his lips, he steals a spoonful of your dessert. You don’t even swat him away—your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

Catching sight of who’s calling, you share a long look with Kai. It’s funny, how fast those three white letters scramble you up. When you hesitate to answer, Kai tells you, “Answer.” 

You hope she can’t tell you’re not at Kai’s by the refrigerators’ dull buzzing. It’s an effort to tussle that invasive worry back. You’re at Dairy Queen. Getting ice cream with the boy she’s known since childhood. She should clutch her hands and thank the sky that you’re here, not out in some nasty frat house like you could be. You thumb the green button. 

Her voice comes through the speaker crackled and asking you to run over to do a quick dish load. For a heartbeat you consider telling her that you will and then start rushing home. Instead, you fork out the truth through resistant lips. 

The hangup tone sits heavy on the air between you and Kai. Having listened to the whole thing on speaker, he says, “What was so hard about that? The world didn’t end, did it?” 

The plush of your lip takes a hard gnawing. No, it hadn’t. “I know she’s not going to get mad at me for just going here,” you say as you rest your elbows onto the table. “It’s that they’re supporting me right now. I still live under their roof. The more I go around and insist I can do whatever I want, they’ll start reminding me of it.” 

His face drawn, he lets his mouth twitch to one side. “Yeah,” he muses. “I never thought yours would be the type to kick you out.” 

Kai’s dad had started threating him with getting kicked out years ago, when he first started telling him that he wanted to do music. How many times had he let reluctant tears flow into your shoulder over it? Because music wasn’t a real job? Back then, you’d whispered in his ears that he’d become everything he’d dreamed of and more as your fingers carded through shaggy locks of hair.  

“I don’t know,” you say, humming it out noncommittally. “Is your dad still... y’know?” 

Nodding slowly, his eyes tell. “Yeah. Always.” 

“Because you’re taking the band seriously, now?” you ask.  

“Probably. I don’t give a shit what he thinks about it. If I’m just his goddamn problem, I’ll give him what he wants soon enough.” His eyes blaze with promise of it.  

It takes a bit out of you to not wince. Kai living anywhere but in the house across from yours is wrong. “I don’t think he necessarily wants that, Kai...” You take his hand in your icy ones, the urge to reach out to him thinly veiled under the guise of searching out warmth. He’d always run warmer than you—your personal heater. “It’s probably because he can see that you’re doing it for real. Not just saying it anymore.” 

“Yeah, well,” he spits, “I can’t fucking wait to see what he’ll say to me when I make it. That piece of shit, though, he wouldn’t even care. It’s not like he ever gave a shit about me enough for it to matter.” 

But, it matters to you, you want to tell him. You understand his need to throw it all in his face. Though. “Is that one label going to sign you? The one you were talking about?” 

His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “They haven’t yet. I don’t know. But I don’t need that money to get out of here, I’ve been working on it.” 

“They will,” you say. “But, where would you go? Not too far?” You try and keep it light and playful, even as your heart aches. 

“Come with me,” he says. It’s painfully blunt, as if it were that simple. “Let’s go get and apartment; you and me.” 

“Kai...” you say. “You don’t have to drag me along because you feel bad.” 

The idea doesn’t sound half bad, though.  

“What?” His face tightens, as if somewhere under the surface your words had scraped somewhere tender. “You don’t have to stay here forever. Please. I want... I want you to come with me. You wouldn’t have to even tell them; just bring all your stuff and go together. We could do it together. Like we said we would.”  

“We were like, five. Everybody tries to pretend running away at five,” you deadpan. It’s a washy attempt at lightening things back up. 

Living with him, moving out together, should feel like everything you’ve ever wanted. And, maybe it is. But, he’s not asking you to live with him the way you want him to. Not in the way that your aching heart wishes he would.  

Kai doesn’t share the laugh you give him. “Yeah, okay,” he says, leaning into the table.  

Perhaps you should consider the potent disappointment he’s terribly masking with a face of indifference, though. 

⚝⭒ 

Slowly, the knots in your belly have worked themselves out. When Kai had dropped you off, they’d been so awful that you felt borderline sick. You sat the whole ride there in his old beat-up truck picking at your nails and rambling to him. He listened to you the whole time. And then when it was time to walk in, it had least felt a little easier to do so with his eyes on you, watching to make sure you made it in safely. 

You’d gotten a job. It’s not too bad, folding clothes out on display. It would be nice if they kept the lights a bit brighter, but you’ll get used it eventually, you hope. 

Most of your coworkers are around your age, but the one showing you the ropes... your heart had fluttered. 

“You’ll get it,” Yeonjun says. The smile you find on his lips once he straightens up from placing product on a display is smooth and smug. Sleek strands of black hair fall over his eyes. You fluster under his gaze.  

With arms crossed over your chest you say, “Yeah, probably.” You reach into the cardboard box for stock to practice on. 

“Where’d you work before this?” he asks, leaning back into a wall to watch you. Suddenly, you make sloppier work of your folding. “Your first retail job?” 

Some obnoxious pop song falls down from the speakers over the store. Nobody’s in here yet, thankfully; you’ve got some time to try and get a handle on everything. “No, this is my first job. I was so nervous walking in.” 

Interest catches in his eyes. It encourages that smooth smile on his lips further. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll show you the reins.” 

Your mind stalls. The suggestive, sly flicker to it—are you looking too much into it? Maybe that’s just how guys like Yeonjun act. It’s hard to pretend that you don’t see how he’s looking at you, though. It has your belly twisted up in fluttery knots. It’s not like you hadn’t had your share of his type. But, for some reason you’d rather not address, he’s got your heart thumping in your chest. 

He laughs at your fifth attempt to fold up the shirt. When he takes it from you to help, he smells of musk and vetiver. “You going to college near here?” he continues.  

“Nah, just doing this, I guess,” you answer, watching him fold it up to try and soak it up.  

“Really? Why not?” he hums, crossing his arms about his chest. “You seem like a smart girl.” 

Buffering, your blood buzzes in your veins and your cheeks burn. “Dunno. Not really sure what to do. Are you in college?” 

“Nah. I’m trying to figure things out, too.” 

The both of you pop your heads up when the bell rings to announce the arrival of a customer.  

“Yeah,” you say, eyeing him. He’s a few years older than you, no doubt, and yet his life hasn’t fallen apart because he’s not done anything grand yet.  

Time’s hand around your neck loosens. Just a little bit.  

⚝⭒ 

You sit crisscrossed on top of Kai’s bedsheets. He’d thrown the windows open because the AC died, but it’s no help. The hot air wafting about the room sits heavy on your skin. You’d dressed in as little material as possible to let it breathe, bare thighs clad in a pair of loose shorts and a thin tank top, but it’s still miserable. 

Perhaps you two should be going over to yours, but you haven’t had time alone with him for a few weeks now. You hate this busier life, where you struggle to make room for this. 

Your new job isn’t so awful, though. Especially with Yeonjun there. A bout of nerves flows up through your stomach. That reminds you. 

Sitting up a bit straighter, you consider not doing it. In fact, you really shouldn’t. But your mouth moves before you can put a stopper on it. 

“Hey, Kai,” you say. The thickness in your throat makes you believe that your heart’s jumped up into it, caught. God, what are you doing? The unsure waver in your words has you regretting. 

His eyes flicker up to yours. He hums out a, “Huh?” 

No, this is wrong. You mess with the thin cotton strap of your tank top where it’d slipped down. “Never mind,” you tell him, trying to shrug it off.  

That piques his interest. “No, what?” His brow pinches.  

You lick your lips and shake your head. “Nothing, never mind. Really.” 

His eyes search you from where he sits up against the wall. “Tell me,” he demands. 

Really, you shouldn’t have said it in the first place. It was a ridiculous idea. But now you know he’s not going to let it go. And, ridiculously, you say it. “I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?” 

Insects buzz outside as he looks at you, frozen in spot. You reject the urge to dart away or throw up. You’re honestly just as shaken as him. But really, who else could you trust with something like that? You don’t want Yeonjun to be disappointed if he kisses you, or to seem inexperienced to him. 

And, perhaps, the hopelessly in love part of you hopes to at least feel his lips on yours at least once. If you’re going to be alone forever in your longing, you just wish that you can have this. 

“What?” Kai says. He looks rattled.  

Of course, he’s shocked. You shift. “Forget I said that,” you tell him, unable to meet his gaze.  

String-roughened fingers wrap around your upper arm. “I didn’t say anything,” he says, voice strained and face less shock-fallen and more darkened. “But... I mean, you want me to teach you to kiss for some other guy.” He spits out the last bit as if bitter in his mouth.  

“You don’t have to do it,” you say. “I just... thought that I might ask you to do it. I don’t know, I’m sorry I said it. I’ll just wing it or something.” His room’s grown ten degrees hotter, if that was possible. Especially where you feel his eyes on your face.  

Almost imperceptibly, his hand tightens around you. He swallows hard. “You want to learn how to kiss?” he says. “Fine. I’ll teach you.” 

In a heart-stopping moment, your eyes snap to his. Brown and familiar, they hold you with an intensity that turns your limbs into jelly. The air is stifling. “What... do I do?” you ask when the silence becomes too heavy.  

A muscle feathers in his jaw, reflected in the low light of his room. It’s quick and so easy to miss, but it tells you everything you need to know about how this is making him feel. How much disbelief he’s in. “Come here,” he says, stilted around the absolute absurdity of it. He pats on his lap. 

You make a hesitant crawl across the bed toward him. It seems as though your elbows might buckle beneath your weight, but you make it despite the odds. A fog settles over your brain when you rest your hands on his shoulders and bring your legs to straddle his lap. 

But you shove it back; you want to live and breathe every last second of this. No matter how unbelievable or blistering it is.  

Breaths fan out over your face. It’s seizing your mind like undiluted liquor. “Where do I put my hands?” you ask him. It’s breathless, the air stolen right from your lungs though your mouths haven’t even touched.  

“There is fine,” he says. His words sound breathless, too. The weight of his touch on you as he runs his own up to support your back is unsure. “And then...” he says. It falls out on your mouth slowly, and then he’s taking your lips onto his. 

The walls melt away, sound does too. All that is real is the taste of his lips and how they move against you. Your lips start tentative, but you try his mouth movements yourself. It feels like a timid dance—it feels like deep, deep down, finally everything is right. That mist, thick and blinding, falls back over you. 

Something changes. Something in it, where you two meet, changes. He becomes hungry. Softly locked lips turn biting and nipping, shaky breaths exhaled slow through your nose. His hands on your back become surer, and one even ventures off to grab your chin. The other holds you to his chest, melded together despite the intense smoke and flame rolling off your bodies. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating a mess there. 

Reluctance paints you both when you pull back. You’re panting deep drinks of air. It’s hard to think; your mind’s run off and sits just out of reach. Licking your messy lips, stained with illicitness, you can only manage to brush your fingers against it to form words. “How... was that?” you say, searching his eyes. You find his pupils blown so wide that they consume the warm brown. You’re ready to jump out of your skin with that look pointed at you.  

Kai doesn’t answer, though. He slams your mouths back together as if starved by just the brief moment you’d parted for air. Nips on your bottom lip and emboldened hands—he moves like roaring water through a dam. A dam that he’d worked hard to fortify, and yet, at a crack it’s all falling down. Fingertips digging through the fabric of your shorts down to your soft hips, his chest rumbles. You feel it reflected in your core, electricity charging there and shooting up your spine and down your thighs. 

You kiss him for all the times you wish you would’ve, but didn’t. The slight rolls of your hips down onto him come easy. You love how it has him making a sound into your mouth and taking the fat beneath his fingers harder into his hands. He helps you. 

He drops his head into your neck. Your head swims for air and he has you shuddering with just the brushing of his nose against the column of your neck. The walls of his room spin around you. “Kai,” you whine, every bit of friction his jeans provide, even clothed as you are, just enough to rile you but not to give you what you need. 

“God,” he growls, thumbs hooking under your waistband. “You always fucking run around dressed in nothing,” he says, letting his fingers linger like a suggestion of undressing you. “Did you do it on purpose? Expect to make me crazy, knowing I couldn’t touch you?” 

And, in those words, it seems that he steals every last bit of breath from you. How often had you gone braless or worn something like this around him? Laid here, in his bed, like that? 

Grown tired of your fruitless grinding, he brings a hand down to support your lower back and says, “Turn around.” 

Though you explode with the prospect of what he might be intending to do or what’s next, if you’re really going to do this, you do so in a flash of eager limbs. His chest is solid against your back, you melt against the feeling of it. He’d become such a man lately, filled out, and you watched it happen. It was hard for your eyes not to catch on muscle-corded forearms while he picked at strings or to not appreciate the timbred rumble of his voice when you’d feel it come from his chest. How could it not do things to you? Now, he’s dragging your shorts down your legs and you’re in disbelief.  

“Fuck,” he breaths out. His fingers find your panties soaked through. “So, you’re the type to get dripping wet.” 

An embarrassed blush decorates your cheeks. Kai drags his index finger in circles around your clit through the fabric as if enamored with how much of a mess you’d made of it. Your hips twitch every time he rolls right over it. It’s strange how he’s got your body acting on its own volition with his touches. Even stranger that it’s your best friend doing it. “Sorry,” you tell him, wavering.  

He continues those terribly slow circles. “Sorry?” he says, chin on your shoulder. He’s got you wrapped up in him, with nowhere to go but to melt back into him and let his fingers work. Free hand on one of your inner thighs digging divots into the plushness there to hold it still, he tells you, “It’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s hot as fuck. You’re so excited for me to touch you, huh?” 

The words wreak havoc on you, feeding the flame that has your belly twisted up tight and the ignition point between your thighs pounding. To hear them coming from him, reserved Kai, has you digging your fingers into his forearm to prove that it’s real. You’d never have imagined him being so... filthy. You imagine him behind falsely nonchalant eyes, devouring you with a perverted mind all the times you’d spent innocently sitting together in this room.  

Your cheeks squish beneath his fingers as he takes your face and turns it to him. He wants to make sure you’re look at him as he asks you, “Do you want me to finger you?” 

Like a record, your brain skips. Between the blunt, lewd question and his hand on you, it’s in overload. How could ask something like that so simply? Stunned as you are, of course you want him to. You want him to do anything to you. You nod.  

Every last nerve and neuron in your system, just below the skin, cry out when his fingers slow down to nothing. “Hmm?” he says, ignoring the chasing of your hips and the opening of your thighs to invite him into paying your poor pussy the attention he’d ripped from it. He wants to hear you say it.  

About ten minutes ago, you lost your mind. It does not return to you now. “I want you to,” you say, chest beating in tandem with your cunt. 

“You want me to, right? Not some dumbass you met a week ago, huh?” he says. “Because you know that this is what it’s meant to be. Me, doing these things to you. Not some twenty-five-year-old piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve you, baby. Understand?” 

His fingers slider under your panties. Dumb brained and cognition gone muddled, you nod. All you can really think about is the moment his fingers slide over you. Fire licks up your lower belly and your insides as he brushes calloused finger tips finally right against your clit. 

Puffed breaths of a scoff raise goosebumps over your skin. “Teach you to kiss so that you can go over there and get his hands on you,” he says, middle two fingertips prodding at your entrance. “As if you were ever anybody’s but mine. You’d come crawling back to me, baby, because it was always meant to be us. He could never satisfy you.” 

His words might alarm you or have you asking questions if he hadn’t pushed his fingers into you and begun curling them with strong, pointed presses, pulling soft mewls and hums from you until he finds a spot that twists up your insides. Even through the palm you press over your mouth, your moans come out more like wavering grunts and croaks. Your thighs quiver and twitch, threatening to snap closed against your own will with each. Only your feet stay planted to the mattress. Like a cone of soft serve under the sun’s blistering attention, you melt down him. Just his frame keeps you upright. 

“Right there, huh?” he says. The smirk on his mouth filters his words into something taunting. “That’s where you like it.” It’s like he’s learning your body step by step, fulfilling all the questions he’d been forced to only guess at before this.  

“Uh-huh.” It comes out whiny and cracks in the middle, but you can’t find even an ounce of you to care right now. If this moment had been a long spiral, a fall from grace, down into a dark pit of forgotten inhibitions, you’ve just hit the bottom. Cheeks blazing cherry blossom pink and with your fingers curling into his pant leg, you don’t doubt that you are a picturesque mess. The kind of mess that’s beautiful because it’s dirty. Your teeth are not gentle on your plush bottom lip. It stings, tugged back and bitten and still a bit swollen with kisses. Perhaps you taste the tang of metal on it, but you pay it no mind. 

Kai redoubles his efforts. Now that he knows exactly how to play you, he’s fucking you on his fingers without mercy. The sounds coming from your cunt were wet, but now they’re different— nasty squelching. The only noises coupling with your pathetic keening. Forget anchoring yourself on his thigh, forget muffling your sounds. Instead, your hands fly to encircle his flexing forearm. Under your nails, angry red crescents dig into the muscle there. What had been a languid, building pleasure suddenly becomes everything. Your breaths run away from you, and you chase them frantically. Deep down in your core, the muscles spasm and rage against his fingers. “H—oh god,” you groan. Even the muscles in your thighs and tummy tighten up. 

“So whiny...” Kai mumbles, voice taut with the effort of eroding you down into pure, blinding-white pleasure. 

And then, in a swoop of mercy, your belly tightens. You hover here, on the precipice of something so consuming and voracious that your muscles and bones reject it, and yet your heart sings. Your eyes and cheeks and lungs and belly burn, the flame charring the edges of you in a beckon. You answer its call. Kai doesn’t mind the snapping of your legs shut around his arm, nor does your bucking or shaking deter him. He just holds you through it, arm like a metal bar around your waist. He’s everywhere, in this moment—the smell of him, leather and utterly familiar, his mouth dusting hot kisses over your skin, his fingers guiding you through orgasm. Where you’d gone silent in the initial crash of it, you devolve into mewls and grunts as you come down.  

He holds you even as you slump against him boneless. Afterglow simmers in your veins and has your brain all lethargic and lazy. Neither of you speak for a while, your pulse thumping a rhythm. His breaths rise and fall against you; it grounds you in this moment where you feel all spacey and gone. You become aware again of how disgustingly sweltering it is in his room, your skin sheened. 

That brainless bliss only lasts you for so long, though. When rational mind returns to you, no matter how you wish it wouldn’t, you’re hit in the chest with regret so hard it knocks the wind out of you. 

How will anything ever be the same after what you’d just done? Stricken still by the thought, you barely register him pulling his fingers out of you. After all your worrying about making sure no wedge comes between you two, look what you’ve gone and done. No; nothing ever will be the same again.  

⚝⭒ 

A couple of weeks ago, you ruined the one friendship you were supposed to have forever. It presses down heavy one you while you sit sprawled out on Yeonjun’s couch, his arm around your shoulder. His phone casts a glow over his features with all the lights out. 

It doesn’t smell like home. He, pressed against your side, doesn’t smell like home.  

Some stupid movie that he’d picked out, yet somehow you’ve ended up the only one still watching it, weaves a hum into the quiet of his apartment. Tangy hurt wells up in your throat. Even the moments when you and Kai would sit in mutual silence on your phones never felt like this. This is different.  

You haven’t seen Kai since that night. He’s been busy getting ready to move out, and you’ve been here most days. How fast all of it had changed. You wish you’d feel whiplashed, left empty, by the drifting that you’d been so terrified of. But you don’t. It’s just been you, locked on land, watching him being taken away by the ocean’s tide with no way to change its course. You tried and screamed to call him back, but now your voice has gone hoarse.  

And instead of watching him go, you choose to look elsewhere. It’s all you can do to protect yourself from the hurt. 

“Hey,” Yeonjun says, finally addressing you rather than whoever’s he’s got in his phone. “Did you bring anything to change into?”  

“I brought stuff to sleep in,” you say, eyeing him. You know that’s not why he’s asking. If it came down to it, you could just steal something from him and pull it on. He means going out clothes. Your jaw tightens. “But nothing nice. Why?” 

He stretches his arms behind his head in a flaunt of long arms and tanned muscle. Hours spent at the gym lent him those; you appreciate the look of it with a watering mouth. Kai had earned his build by hours spent outside with your dad, because his own could care less, helping him fix up cars and vehicles of all ridiculous sorts. You remember when Kai had first gotten his truck—junk on wheels, honestly—he’d spent so much of summer out there getting it running. And, well... the sun-kissed bronze of his skin and frame that came with it, you had no qualms with. 

But those memories only sit heavy in your chest as you’re sat here beside Yeonjun. You banish them elsewhere; you need to let him drift off. If you can’t have each other, and your feelings won’t permit just being friends, then you have to. You want him to do amazing things, and you fear that it’s your presence in his life that will interrupt that. As much as your feelings are real, they are selfish. You, your unsure direction and all your dead weight, should let him go. Because you love him. 

“The guys want to come over,” he tells you, pushing off from the couch. “You should probably into change into something less showy.” 

Less showy. Your mouth drops into a scoff of disbelief, looking down. A pair of shorts and a shirt, showy? You have to laugh, or else you’ll succumb to the strange embarrassment crawling at the back of your skull. What’s he trying to say? Is that what he thinks of you? “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say, face tilted up to him in a twist of distaste. “I’m wearing something comfy.” 

He shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweats. “Don’t want to give them the wrong idea about you, that’s all, baby. They’re guys; I just want to protect you.” 

“No,” you say, the word falling out in a barked laugh. “Why would you even be bringing over dudes that you think will look at me like that? Why are you even friends with people that you think are gonna make moves on your girlfriend?” He holds a hand out to you, but your hands stay right where they are: crossed solidly over your chest. 

Throwing that hand up in audacious exasperation, he gives you a look that makes you feel small and petulant—like you’re throwing an overblown fit. And, maybe you are. You should probably just do it; him seeing you as some overbearing or high maintenance girl has that embarrassment flaring like wildfire that’s found dry brush. “C’mon, baby,” he says, a lazy smile on his mouth that gets under your skin. “Let’s just have an easy night. Don’t make it a big deal.” 

Let’s just have an easy night. As if you’re the one ruining the night. Something snarky tries to seize your tongue, but you hold it down. “I thought it would be just us. We wanted to watch the movie together, Yeonjun. Can’t you wait to hang out with your friends? Let’s enjoy our time together; you’ve got your shift tomorrow.” 

“My fucking god,” he groans, running a hand through his hair furiously. “You’re needy, you know that? The neediest I’ve ever had to put up with. I don’t put up with needy, baby. Can’t you just chill out a little? My last didn’t mind when I’d have friends over.” 

Your eyes burn. Your cheeks burn. He’d been with plenty of other girls before you; that, you’re well aware of. It’s been a corrosive source of self-doubt for you. You don’t want that title: the neediest he’s ever had. Don’t want him to think of you as some prude that won’t let him have fun. Just... hearing him bring up the other girls he’d been with before you stings and leaves welts no different from a slap in the face. Feelings of inadequacy shackle you and have you saying, “Fine. I’m gonna borrow some of your clothes.” 

Heavy resentment blooms on your skin where he bends down and presses kisses to your cheek, and then mouth, and then down your neck. “Thank you, baby.” 

And, where those ugly, wilted flowers of it bloom, you hear echoes of something. Something that tells you that Kai wouldn’t treat you like this. But you’ve made your bed, decided to do it yourself, and now you’ve got to lay on it. 

⚝⭒ 

The frat parties are the worst kind of social outing that Yeonjun insists upon. The smaller kinds, more intimate gathering with just his closer friends, you tolerate much easier. You’re not fond of the circles he chooses. Breathing in thick, smoked-out air surrounded by alcohol-coated breaths is not your type of fun night. Somehow, you end up doing that more than date nights. But that’s better than being here. The base rumbles up through your feet and makes your stomach sick, and it reeks of grinding bodies and body odor, and condensation coats your fingers from the red solo cup as full as when you’d first gotten it. 

But, still, you come along. Not every time, but when you don’t, you lay in his bed sickening yourself with images of what he might be doing here. How pathetic is it to attend parties with your boyfriend because you fear that otherwise, he might stick his tongue down the throats of other girls? 

You’re looking for him right now, awkward and left alone. He’d promised to stick around; you had begged him to. That was pathetic, too. You know that you put up with too much. If he loved you, or honestly even liked you, you two would be in the thick of the throngs dancing or off somewhere talking with others. Together. The frantic skimming and weeding of your eyes through the blur of faces is not right. That’s not how he should make you feel. It’s not how Kai would make you feel. 

Well, Kai would never have you here in the first place. 

Venturing out from your little corner, you sift between the bodies of people have a hell of a lot better time than you. Drunken, some you bounce off of like bumper carts. You press your palm over the round face of your cup to spare the floor from spillage threatening to pour over the lip. It’s not like a splash from yours would matter much, though. The linoleum has already been made a fetor mess of dirt off shoes and the sticky sugar of liquor. Your shoes peel from it as you walk. God, what would your parents think of you being here? 

You peek around corners and eye big groups. He’s not in the kitchen when you look there, either. Your stomach feels sick in a knowing way—a gut feeling that doesn’t justify anger or tears just yet, but you know. Right in the center of your chest, you know. 

It’s in some room that you find him. Sat on the floor along with a few faces you don’t know, he pulls from his bottle. And on his shoulder, he lets a girl with shining curls and pink cheeks rest her head. At your busting in on the intimate gathering, Yeonjun’s eyes slide to you. Recognition flashes over them and wars with bleary drunkenness. 

“Hey, baby,” he says. Their gazes all fall on you, but you can hardly see them through blurry eyes. 

The girl lifts her head from his shoulder. She’d caught the memo. 

“I think I’m gonna go.” You make it sound resigned, try to not let them see your shame, but your voice betrays you and crackles. Maybe it’s better to pretend it doesn’t feel like you’ve just been kicked in the stomach and left to reel against the force, but you can’t. You’re nowhere near shocked, nowhere near blindsided, but still you hurt. 

He follows you down the hall. “What’s your problem?” he says, the few, plain words mending and waving into a slurring. 

You’ve got one goal: get to the front door, away from the shitty music and him. His words, sharpened, fall off your skin despite his efforts. What good would fighting do you, anyway? It was always going to end up this way. This is just who he is, and he doesn’t give two shits enough about you to want to change that. 

“Baby, seriously? That made you this mad? I didn’t even fucking do anything. Stop being insecure,” he says. At the gritting of your teeth, he sees an opportunity and pounces on it. “You don’t need to be jealous. I don’t do jealous shit. We can dance, or something. Shit, I don’t know what you want! Just stop throwing a fit.” 

Didn’t do anything? You have to laugh. Maybe you didn’t walk in on him fucking someone else, but that’s not what this is about. Not even a little bit. You’ve checked out, and the fact that he thinks he can make you believe that it’s your fault this time only drives the killing stake in harder. 

Maybe you’re bitter. It claws at your insides—turns your face hot and screams in your face that you’ve been used. But beside it sits a sadness. Not the slow kind, but the quick sadness of hurt. Why hadn’t you been good enough for him to love you? To like you? You’d left behind Kai and rested your new life on Yeonjun’s shoulders. You’d wanted so badly for his approval, or for him to want you. You did your best to try and make this work out because you needed it to. You needed so desperately proof that you could fall in love with somebody else. But your best was not what Yeonjun was interested in.  

Pins and needles prick your skin as you step outside, like jumping into an ice bath. It shocks you out of dizziness. Words surge up and out in a flash flood like hard reality. You spin on him. “Jealous?” you say, choking out a scathing laugh. “The last thing I’d ever let myself suffer over you is jealousy. Get over yourself. I’m going, stay here if you want. I don’t care.” 

“How are you gonna do that, huh?” he says. The flickering yellow of the porchlight paints his features. The shadow of something fluttering around it cuts dark spots in the light, and then a small little moth comes down and jumps around in his face. He waves it off. “Gonna have bitch boy come pick you up? You can’t leech off him forever; he’s gonna get sick of picking up another man’s girlfriend.” It seems like you walking in on that had sobered him up, but his breath still curls out onto your face with the reek of alcohol. “It’s not a big deal. You’re making this a bigger deal than it has to be. Do you not trust me?”  

“You are such a piece of shit,” you grit out. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Ever. I don’t know how I let this go on for so long.” You don’t like him having Kai in his mouth, don’t like him trying to act like you’re conflating things, and especially don’t like that face he’s making. As if you’re acting crazy and overblown. “No, I don’t trust you. You didn’t fuck her, but come on, Yeonjun. Seriously? You think I’m stupid, and I’m sick of it. You thought this would be easy because I didn’t have the experience you have, but I’m sorry. I don’t like being walked over.” 

“If you’re gonna be so goddamn jealous, then maybe we aren’t gonna work,” he says. 

That moth, floating light in the air, is right back in his face. Yeonjun takes two hands and smashes it between a clap of his hands. He shakes its flattened, broken body off his hand. Looking down at it laying there on top of dirt-caked concrete, you get this... feeling. A tickling around your person.  

“See if I care,” you snap, throat aching against the onslaught of emotion and held back tears.  

⚝⭒ 

Rivulets of raindrops dilute the tears on your cheeks. Your hair plasters to your face and your clothes to your body.  

For a week, you’d went about it all as if it hadn’t happened. And then you came here.  

It’d not been this rainy when you first got down to the creek—just a gentle trickle, really. You hadn’t been crying then, either. But, watching the water work at babbling over stone, you let yourself feel it. Here, where you’d had so many good memories. You’ve gone and tainted it, now. But for whatever reason, you’d just wanted to be here. Arms curled around yourself and fingers digging into drenched sleeves, you don’t wipe away the tears or cover the sounds of your crying. You let the stream hear it; it’ll sweep it right up and down the way. Somewhere far off, where you don’t have to feel it anymore. 

You realize that, usually, you’d be over at Kai’s right now. The fact that his room was not the first place you thought you could go to anymore is a punch to the gut. You drop your face into your hands and cry harder. Really, you’ve got to stop doing that to yourself. Thinking of sad things—putting your hurt under the microscope to see it closer. It’d be easier to just fold it up and tell yourself that it’ll pass, and that relationships end all the time. 

It’s not him that you cry over. Well, maybe some of it is. Rather, it’s that you have absolutely no idea where you’re going. Where you are. Finally, you’d built yourself a raft to get off the shore and go out to sea, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and it’s breaking apart right beneath you. And, stranded and alone in the water, you’ve got no way to get back to shore to build yourself another raft. You’re stranded, and the scariest bit is that you’re doing it all alone. You weren’t supposed to do this alone. You two made promises back then. 

You suppose that a promise is one of those things you were supposed to leave faith in back on shore. 

The raindrops are heavy over you. The fall of it roars against the ground, a torrent downpour. It’s not coupled with whipping wind or flashes of lightning—just straight, still falling. It’s a somber feeling no different from the gnawing in your chest. 

Like chimes, there’s a distant, gentle sound. Maybe water falling over creek rock, but it’s more like suggestion. A sweet sound that you shouldn’t even be able to hear over the rest of it, it’s as if it’s right in your ear. A whisper.  

You fix your blurry eyes with a wet sleeve. Rain falls right back into its place, but you see it: a silvery, whimsy haze. And the moths. They jump and call you, this time. Their glow bounces off the rainy mist against the grey of night’s arrival. Then, all you can hear is the whispering. Where you stand frozen, your feet beg to move. To follow them. 

So you do. 

Their entourage of moondust trails them where they go, wrapping you up and weaving between raindrop and space. You don’t worry where they’ll take you, or even try to wrap your head around this happening again. You just follow, mind glossed over and entranced with how beautiful it is. When you’d seen them before, it’d made you uneasy. Mostly because it looked so unearthly and unbelievable. But this time you just follow. 

A far-off voice, one oh-so-familiar, peaks through the haze. It’s not enough to stop you, but then you hear it again, louder and closer. 

You blink a few times. Once to break away the fog, and then twice to focus your eyes on Kai stood in front of you. His hair lays in wet spikes over his eyes and beads of rain trace the planes of his face. He’s as soaked as you. 

“Kai?” you say. Looking around you, you’ve ended up somewhere in the field between your houses and the creek. But you’ve got no recollection of walking here. Whatever that mist is, sentient or not, had swept you here.  

His voice is strained, but you appreciate hearing it. “Break up with him,” he tells you. 

In his eyes, as you search them, there’s stardust glowing like reflection. Your face twists up. “What?” you say, breath a puff of smoke ahead of you. Summer had come and gotten away from you so fast, and now it’s gone all cold again. 

“Break up with him,” he echos, face solemn. He looks ruffled. 

“Why?” you ask, “And why are you out here?” 

“Because I’m moving out today, and I think I deserve to at least see you before I go.” His eyes look over you. “And... your dad said you went down to the creek.” 

He’s moving out today, and you had no idea. And really, it’s your fault. You’d driven that wedge between the two of you. “I did break up with him.” 

Downpour fills his quiet for a few moments, his face swirling with emotion like the clouds above you. He nods. “Good.” 

There are a few more long minutes between you; just you two searching each other's faces, antsy to say so much that it bunches up in your chests and stalls. It’s what a summer of longing does to you. Even with Yeonjun, even trying to slowly chip away the stitching that had connected the two of you at the hip, you were helpless to stop the gnawing of the love you bear for him. Even just seeing him now, you feel those threads mending back up. God, why does it have to be so hard? 

He just looks at you. For a few beats, he just looks at you. There are so many questions in his eyes. They flit across and turn over, but all he settles on is, “Why?” 

There’s so much you want to tell him. Words pile up to the top, some threatening to spill over. But you know that if you tell him some of it, just to make up for all the time you’d missed out on together, it’ll all come crashing out. And you don’t think you want him to know just how much you accepted, the way you let yourself get treated. So, you shake your head and say, “It doesn’t matter.” 

Kai looks like he wants to push that issue, but whatever look he finds on your face deters him. “Come with me,” he pleads. “I want you to come with me.” 

Your throat tightens. Curling your arms around yourself harder, the rain only coming down on you harder, you say, “Kai, I want to. I want to. I just... I don’t want to freeload off you, because you’re doing great things, and I’m just...” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, but they’re already as soaked as the rest of you. “I’m just going nowhere. And I don’t want to be a burden, or ever be the reason that you can’t do what you dream of. If staying here means that you become everything that you’re destined to do, then I’m happy with that, Kai. I am.” 

He shakes his head, stumbling toward you. “No, no you don’t get it,” he says, frantically taking your shoulders into big hands. Under his touch, every taut muscle goes slack. You melt. “You don’t get it. You are the music. Every single song is about you. Every single fucking song is about you. I want you to come with me, please. I love you, I have always loved you, and I will always love you, and I thought you’d loved me too, and I don’t want to do this alone. I can’t do it alone.” 

He loves you. Kai loves you. The enormity of it rumbles the ground where you stand on legs you fear might just give in. You flex your fingers to combat the tears pricking your eyes. It doesn’t work; they brim and well up, spilling down over your cheeks. “What?” you say, voice softly breaking. “Kai, I didn’t...” 

“And just when I thought I finally had you, you left me,” he says, throwing a hand up beside him in a big gesture. “You left me! I woke up thinking you’d be there, and that maybe you loved me too, and you had left me. And then you threw me away for some piece of shit, and you stopped coming around.” His chest heaves for breaths. 

Your face contorts. That night, the one where you two had slipped up, you’d fallen asleep curled up against his chest on undiluted contentment. When you woke up, you had panicked. You thought he’d wake up and pretend it hadn’t happened, or he’d be uncomfortable, or even be disgusted and regretting. You couldn’t handle that, so you slipped out before he woke up. It’d been an attempt to protect your tender heart, but looking at the twitching of his lip now, you begin to think it’s the most selfish thing you’ve ever done. He thinks you used him and left him. Your stomach twists. Voice thick, you say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you, Kai. I thought you didn’t... I thought you didn’t see me that way. I was scared. I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

Brows knitted together, he says, “Thought I didn’t love you?” His hand cups your cheek, warm against the soft frozen skin he finds there. “I’ve... I’ve dreamed of you almost every night of my life. In my sleep, I see you, and you’re happy and glowing, and that damn... mist is all around you. I couldn’t get away from you even in my sleep.” 

Darting between his eyes, soft and reflecting your face back to you, it’s hard to breathe. Kai’s dreamt of you; he’s as sickly in love with you as you are him. Thunder claps, and the ground shakes, and the heavens open up above you, the trumpets belt, and you two are in love. Somewhere deep in your center, you feel it—your soul nodding yes. 

The mist. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “I saw it. That stuff, those moths. The stuff we saw back then.” 

“I did too,” he says, wet spikes of hair bouncing with a nod. “Not that long ago. It was the first time I saw it out of a dream since that day.” 

Back then, you two had only budding, innocent love for each other. Things hadn’t become mangled and lost to confused hearts or expectations. When they’d appeared to you, you hadn’t needed it. This time, you’d followed it. And it had led you here—somehow had led you right to the very spot you needed to so that every last piece might fall into place. For this moment to happen. You know why it did. 

“I’ll go with you, Kai. I’ll go wherever you go; I love you. I’ve loved you since forever,” you say, each and every word massive and lovely on your tongue. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier.” 

So unlike the last times your mouth had met, he brings his mouth to yours with a dazzling clarity. No longer is it confused kisses; he locks his lips against yours with the urgency of so many years being unable to. Kai’s hands cradle your wet cheeks, hold you so tenderly into his kiss. His touch grounds you, makes the moment real. You melt into him—your fingers curled into his shirt as if holding him there so that he won’t disappear like something of an incorporeal dream. He sighs through his nose, kissing you harder. Even if it all were fake and this was nothing more than a feverish figment of your imagination, you think you could die happy just knowing this once. 

But it is utterly real, and utterly yours. You kiss him harder, too. 

When your lungs start to burn and plead for breath, you two pull away from each other. Your eyes flutter open to capture his. Warm and brown and the same ones you’ve stared into so many times before, but not like this, you sink into them. He runs his thumb over your cheek as he sinks into yours. His tongue darts out to lick lips painted with you. In the inches between you, space no longer feels heavy or charged with grievances. Every last unsaid thing had been answered. 

“I have my stuff up in the truck,” he says, breaths soft. Brown eyes dart around your face. “I’ll help you add your stuff to it.” 

You shudder out a breath. Add your stuff to it. A nervous energy settles down over you, but it doesn’t seem so bad if you’re doing it with him. Together.  

“Okay,” you whisper, a balmy secret just like the ones you used to share in small, giggly voices so many years ago. “Okay.” 

⚝⭒ 

Shivers seize you like jittering bones, all wrapped up in a blanket. The velour cushion seats beneath you have soaked up water and become damp, but Kai’s got the heater blasting. You wind around back roads, headlights illuminating the way ahead of you. Stray droplets whip in them, but nothing much. Isn’t it funny how the rain had just stopped like that? That’s just how the weather is, out here. You wonder how the weather might act wherever you’re headed. 

Your teeth chatter as if your jaw had its own will. The two of you had the windows down thinking that the wind might dry you off, but all it’s done is lap at your bitten cheeks. You reach down for the handle to crank it up. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you—either you’ll eventually dry off, or you can pull off at a rest area to change in a bathroom. The wet clothes are really not helping. 

With an arm up on the steering wheel, Kai turns his attention on you. You know that smile. “Cold?” he asks, eyes darting between your face and the road. With the hand he’s not got working the steering wheel, he runs fingers over your thigh. Soft, gentle massages, yes. The number it does on your core is absurd. Each mindless digging into your thighs and brush of his thumb, sparks sputter there. You’ve sat here, right in his passenger seat, so many times before. Day trips up to the lake, the one he’d joined your family camping at for so many summers, all the times he’d driven you to school in this truck, and even just a quick run down to a convenience store for a late-night snack. You’d deemed it your seat. But never once had you sat in it like this. Your heart does a flip. All those times you’d wish he’d reach over and do just this—a small gesture that would’ve been so big then. And it’s your reality, now.  

“Freezing,” you say. A brush of his fingers nearer the apex of your thighs sends you pressing them together and shifting in your seat. “But not everybody runs as hot as you, though, so.” 

His eyes catch the movement in just the split second he looked over to you. “Huh,” he says. He turns to look at you, his gaze flickering with something anew. Something that you’d only ever seen once before. “Is that it?” 

It’s hard to swallow. His fingers brush higher, and higher, feather-dustings of calloused fingertips that sends tingles shooting up your spine at the slightest suggestion of where he’s headed. “Yes,” you say, feigning indignance to cover the shiver that threatens to overtake you. When his fingertips dance at the waistband of your bottoms, it does so anyway. “Kai,” you say, blood hot in your veins. “You’re...driving.” 

His eyebrows pinch into a taunting furrow. “I am,” he says, nodding. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ve got us.” 

And he does; fingers slipping under the band of both your bottoms and your panties, he doesn’t even tear his eyes off the road. He’d driven these roads so much, you think he might be able to do it asleep. Even drawing a mewl from you with a brush over your clit, he doesn’t look away more than a quick glimpse at your pinkened cheeks. 

Two fingers dragging up your folds, right over the source of the mess. “You get excited so easily, huh?” he hums. “You like it when I play with you.” 

When he presses those fingers at your entrance, you can’t help but be taken back to that night. It echoes and reverberates through you. Long fingers, strong and punctual brushes against the sweet spot—he was criminally good with his fingers. Playing guitar did more for him than just music. He seemed to know exactly how to utilize those roughened fingers and trained flicks. Your muscles flicker as he abandons your hole for more brushes at your bud.  

Those teasing, sly touches turn to something more serious. His fingers roll over your clit, slow but enough to have you sighing and rolling your hips against the seat belt. But last time had gone just like this, him touching you and receiving nothing. He should feel good, too. “Shouldn’t you pull over?” you sigh, muscles taut. Your breaths come out shuddering and half-controlled, interrupted by the tightness that each delicious swirl provokes. The door takes the brunt of your grip, white-knuckling the interior. 

He laughs, a husky sound that is tinder to fire. He knows what you mean. “Maybe,” he says. “But I think I’m enjoying this plenty. I think I want to see you cum on my fingers again.” 

Fingers pinching and flicking faster, you grow breathy and whiny, hips rolling against the seatbelt and back into the seat. Your muscles, all the way down your thighs and deep in your belly, jump and twitch each time his fingers run over your clit in just the right spot—that tender spot that’s so good that it teeters on overwhelming. The kind that makes you hiss and then want more. “Shit, Kai,” you whine. “Right—there, keep going."  

He doesn’t answer with any teasing words. No, he just doubles down right at that angle and pressure, leaned back into his seat and driving as if he wasn’t fingers-deep in your panties right now. His sculpted profile at total ease—it does something for you. A delicious tightness curls its fingers over your center, promising a sugary ecstasy that you can’t help but chase. Bucking into his hands as best you can, you go quiet. Right there—right there, you feel it. The cusp. Your fingers brush over it, clenching around nothing and squeezing your thighs tight around him. Every last drop of blood in your body reaches for it, singing and dancing through your veins and making you dizzy. 

And then he stops. Your mouth drops open, whiplashed and helpless to its slipping away from you. You whittle your gaze into something sharp and turn to him. “What—why?” you complain. The tide slips further and further and further back, but you still taste sea salt on your tongue. Frustration sets in its place as you feel it go. Seriously, you’d been right there. “You’re so mean.” 

He slows and then with the clicking of the turn signal, he’s off the road and pulling the truck into park on a little secluded side road. Where the headlights pierce the pitch black, nothing but gravel and field surrounds you. He doesn’t kill the engine, instead pulling his hand free from you. 

Your heart, still stuttering with your lost orgasm, kicks back to life as he smears your slick over your mouth, dragging it over your lips and then taking his thumb to run it right over the plush of your mouth. “Am I?” he says, fingers taking your chin to meet your eyes with his. Endless hunger, pupils so blown that his eyes look black, pins you. “I don’t think you’ve seen mean yet, baby.” 

Darting your tongue out to clean your lips, you look at him through your eyelashes. “Show it to me, then.” 

Something dark passes over his face. It has your skeleton jumping out of your body. Then, he says, “Is that what you want? You want mean?” 

Brain gone to mush that can only really think about him touching you, a slow nod is all you can manage. 

The engine’s hum prevails for some long, thick seconds. And then, he tilts his head in a gesture. “Get in the back.” 

Holy shit. You want to sit there frozen in an overwhelming sort of excitement, but his seatbelt clicks undone and you’re set into motion. In a flurry of giggles and clumsy limbs, you climb up over the center console and into the backseat. He slips out of the front seat, not bothering to even kill the engine. 

The door beside you opens in a swirl of cold wind. In nothing more than a blink, a strong hand has both your wrists pinned to the cushions and your back flush against it. Nose-to-nose, his breath hot over your face. “I’ve got plenty of ideas as to how I can warm you up.” 

You appreciate each other’s faces for a beat more, you looking up at him big-eyed and waiting. Kai breaks the moment to attack your neck in a procession of bites and kisses. Your mouth falls into a silent sound. 

“You know,” he says, free hand working your pants off. His eyes are trained on you, though. “I thought about doing this to you all summer. Touching you again.” He moves on to your top, pushing the fabric up until your chest is freed, clad in soft cotton. He eats the sight up. You want to reach down and cup the back of his head or feel his hair between your fingers as he presses his mouth against the soft beginning of your cleavage, but he’s got your wrists firmly planted. So much so, that you wonder exactly how he’s got you so secure with just one hand. Kai is strong, but maybe you hadn’t seen just how strong. Your skin aches under the purple bites he decorates you in. The sight of him—face in your chest and marking you up so lazily—has your teeth abusing your bottom lip. Whatever sounds you might make otherwise would be embarrassing. Kai lifts his eyes to you. “And I think you thought of me, too. Didn’t you?” 

“Oh, god, yes,” you say, writhing beneath him. He’s going so slow. You want him all over you. “So much.” 

He likes that. He takes your pebbled nipple into his mouth through the fabric. Soft grazes of teeth and sucks, you’re burning all over. When he pulls back, he’s left you dark wet patches when the bra had only just dried against your body heat. “Good,” he rasps, taking his big hands demanding and hungry over your torso. They swallow your frame up, soothing skin but lighting it aflame all the same. “Good girl.” 

You never thought just words could unravel you, but those did the job. Not a gasp, nor a sucking in of breath—no, you go silent and brainless, fumbling for rational thought. 

The dropping of your jaw has Kai delighted. “You’re so pretty,” he says. In a swift and powerful hoist, he’s tugging you down the cushions toward him with greedy fingers. He’s got your thighs pressed up to your chest. You’re bent right in half. 

Out of breath, you huff out, “You too.” 

A quick laugh falls from his mouth, lips pulled into a smug tilt. He nips at your calf up by his face. “So sweet, it almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to do to you.” Reaching down for your panties, he pulls back on the suffocating press for only enough time to drag them up your legs. Those get discarded somewhere on the floor. Who cares about that right now, though? All you can register is the metallic clinking of his belt being undone. It’s got your nervous system twisting up. 

And, those words. Electricity shoots bolts of pure, sizzling revery into your core. What I’m about to do to you. You imagine a great deal of things that he might mean, but still, you think that none could hold a candle against the promise his voice held in saying it. 

Kai presses his body to your thighs and hooks your calves over his shoulders, and it all becomes real. The press of his heavy cock to your folds, the digging of his fingers into your outer thighs, his pretty eyes sparkling with something feral. As real as it gets—more real than anything you’ve ever felt in the entirety of your life. Your hands find perch flattened to his broad chest. 

The position leaving you two no option but to look right into each other, he holds your gaze and begins slow drags of his hot length up and down your slit. Tantalizing, awful, awful drags. When his tip nudges your eager clit, you jolt. And then he does it again. And again. 

“Kai,” you mewl. A press against your hole has you hopeful, and he lingers there for a moment, but doesn’t give it to you. Can’t he just fuck you? You’ve never been more pitifully in need of something in your life. 

“Shh.” His ruts get more daring, smearing your slick up onto your belly. “Take it.” 

You wiggle your toes in the air and make passes at arching yourself into him in search of better friction. He’s got you pressed so suffocatingly into the seat that it does absolutely nothing for you. In fact, he holds your harder and changes tack so that your thighs press together. At the very apex of them, his weeping cock slips through the seam. 

Pressing his cheek into your calf, he watches you. Every gasp and shaky inhale, he watches. It spurs his rutting on, sticky sounds and pants eating up the air. Your nails claw at his hands as, finally, a knot tightens in your core. 

“Yes, please,” you breathe. He fucks your thighs harder. Faster. Every nudge at your clit and hole becomes euphoric. “Kai, baby—I’m gonna—” 

Just as furiously easy as last time, he rips it all away from you. The rushing away of the buzzing and promise of shaking thighs—he takes it from you again. It brings prickling tears to your eyes. “Kai?” you hiss. “Again?” 

His eyes aren’t playful. He pulls your calves back over his shoulders, handling your hips into a better position to press his cock right at your entrance as if you weigh nothing. Face utterly straight, he says, “I don’t think you deserve it, do you? Not after what you did with Yeonjun.” 

A swallow goes down your throat hard. He presses himself just a bit harder into you. Not in yet, but right there. 

When he does begin sliding in, the stretch of it... You cling to him and squirm between him and the warm cushions behind you. Each inch is a heady feeling, all the way up to the hilt of him. He shudders a controlled breath. “You’re so fucking tight, though,” he grits out. “Did he not fuck you right?” 

Slaps of skin bounce off the car interior and between your bodies. He starts off at a brutal pace; you know it’s meant to make your brain go foggy. Squeezing your eyes closed, you manage, “I... didn’t fuck him.” It comes out strangled, voice bouncing as he fucks you into the car seat. 

Thumb tugging your bottom lip down and then dipping into your mouth, he watches the show of your ecstasy down to every last detail. “Yeah?” he says, voice shaking and almost desperate. “Always thinking of me, huh? Such a good little princess. You know exactly where your heart belongs.”  

You want to answer him, even just with a whine or moan. You try to. But with his thumb pressing down on your tongue, enough to pin it to the floor of your mouth, it’s not gonna happen. He tastes salty in your mouth. 

His truck consists of his grunts and whines, and your taut groans for some moments that seem to stretch forever. The planes of his groin grind against your clit when he delivers occasional pointed rolls, but mostly it’s just an animalistic, feverish dancing of your two sweaty bodies, holds growing more frantic the closer you get.  

Thumb wet with saliva; he frees your mouth. The hand trails slowly down your face and your chin, brushing feather touches, until he finds your neck. 

Your eyes fly open, wide. He pressed his fingers into your neck—no real pressure yet, he looks at you through damp strands of dangling hair and says, “Want my fingers around your neck?” His thumb brushes over the buzzing pulse point there. 

“Yes,” you grit out, body bouncing and back raw with friction against the coarse cushion’s surface. Your breath stutters, your mind stutters. Even your blinks stutter, eyelids too lazy to keep up. “Please.” 

The pressure of his fingers there—it frightens you and has you tightening around him at the same time. But you would trust nobody more with your life than Kai. 

He presses his cheek to your calf to indulge in the sight of you like this: underneath him, folded in two, nowhere to go but to take his pistoning hips, cheeks blazing, and his fingers pressed into your windpipe. If the way he becomes sloppier and more desperate in his tempo has anything to say for it, it does something for him. 

“Gonna be my pretty little girlfriend, huh?” he says. His voice is tight—so is your belly. You’re both so close. Hopefully, this time he’ll let you cum. “Take you to every show; show you off to everybody. Fuck.” 

Brain like static and swimming with a pinched flow of oxygen, you slur your words. “You’re—hah—gonna have other girls all over you.” 

The taunting, split-second raise of his brows flips your belly. You tighten him again. If he keeps hitting that spot, tip ramming into the soft spot deep inside you that he’d taken such delicate care of finding last time, you’re going to burst into sparkling flame and firework. He growls, “Well, I’ll just have to knock you up so that they know I’m yours, huh?” 

Holy shit. You like the sound of that. Your nails dig into his wrist around your neck, but you cry out a pitchy, “Yes!” 

“Oh, you like that?” Kai releases your throat to take both your hips. You gulp for air, finding nothing but the thick air of sex and humid breaths, at the opportunity. He’s ramming into you like he’s found a purpose. “Isn’t this the perfect position to do it? Get you pregnant?” 

With every last bit of brain power you’ve got, teetering on the edge excruciatingly close to salvation, you groan a long, hoarse sound. “Fuck, yes! Please, Kai, inside—” A hot trail of tears roll down your temples. 

It’s all he’s got to hear to still inside you. His growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you in place and filling you with his hot cum deep in your cunt. That feeling, coupled with his short grinds against your clit as he fucks his seed deeper, takes your soul by sinful claws and crumbles it down into nothing. You burst into a shaking, whimpering peak, sucking your lips into your mouth to bare through the sheer twisting of your insides and the flame that consumes up your thighs and cunt. 

He falls on you heavy, face in your neck. Warm kisses against your clammy skin meld with your slow floating down, the two of you a beautiful, nasty picture of fucked out. He stays right inside you—the absolute stillness of him, you think he has no plans of pulling out any time soon. His long fingers card through your sweaty locks of hair. 

Finally, he presses himself off you. You get a glimpse of the window behind him—fogged up and filthy with your affairs. Anybody to see the truck from the outside would know exactly what went on inside, but right now, you don’t care. Not one bit. Your panted breaths drag in nothing but musk and thick, hot air. The drumbeat in your chest tells you that, despite how you feel ripped straight from your body, you are very much still alive. More alive than ever. 

“Warm?” he says, pushing sticky hair off his forehead. He’s a mess, too. His hair is ruffled with your touch, his clothes rumpled the same, beads of sweat rolling down the planes of his cheeks and neck, and his eyes a lazy smolder. As much as he looks like sex personified, a soft smile twitches at his lips. 

You snort. You can’t help but feel giddy, here with him. You’re with him. Nothing has ever felt more right. Unplugged when he pulls out of you, your mess trickles down onto the seat below you. “Yeah,” you say. “Very.” 

Warm is not enough to begin to describe how you feel. In your ears, you hear whisperings. Soft and gentle. Perhaps it was divine intervention, or the fates lending you their word, or maybe just rational thought. It says: 

Home. You are home. 

✎୭ ashlynn's note how do we feel about this pair? i really didn't mean for this to get so long, but i ended up RLLY liking their chemistry. i had to do their story justice. also, i finished this with kai as a guitarist and then his drummer performance came out... hmm.

﹙🏷️ ﹚@lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[lovelyjj]

❌

Rudy was the love of your life. Yeah he was famous but you didn’t care, you loved him for him. Rudy was an angel. He was one of the kindest people you’ve ever known. You would be lost without him. You didn’t know what good thing you did in a past life to deserve him, but you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

The two of you lived together. It was a nice apartment that felt like home. You were sitting on the couch waiting for Rudy to come home from work. Eventually Rudy did come home from work and he greeted you with a kiss and a hug.

“I had a long day baby, feels so good to come home to you. Just wanna make love to you and show you how much you mean to me,” Rudy sighed.

Rudy led you to the bedroom and started stripping. You sat on the bed with anticipation. Rudy revealed his toned abs and you were practically drooling. “You’re so hot, I can’t believe your mine,” you complemented.

“Arms up,” Rudy ordered. You lifted your arms and Rudy took off your shirt. Next he took off your pants leaving both of you in your underwear.

Rudy took a moment to admire you. You were gorgeous in his eyes. “You’re so beautiful my love,” Rudy said. “Thank you.” Rudy leaned in for a kiss and you fell back against the pillows as Rudy hovered over you. Your lips met in a heated kiss. You were laying down with Rudy on top of you. You both kissed passionately. Rudy’s tongue entered your mouth and swirled around your own tongue.

Rudy kissed down your neck and littered your chest in hickeys. “I love you so much,” Rudy confessed as he lined himself up at your entrance. He kissed you as he entered you. Rudy was big so the stretch was deliciously filling. “Can I move?” You nodded your head.

Rudy thrusted in and out with much force. He kept hitting a certain spot inside you that made you see stars. “You feel so good,” Rudy panted as your walls hugged him tightly, sucking him in. He fucked you with a fast pace but he was savoring every moment.

You let out a loud moan and Rudy encouraged you to be loud. “Fuck JJ,” you moaned.

Rudy paused. “Did you just-?” Rudy questioned.

“Um,” you didn’t know what to say. You were caught up in the moment and your mind was hazy and you slipped up. You were mentally kicking yourself for being so stupid and dumb.

Rudy pulled out and threw on some sweatpants. You sat there mortified. Rudy’s mind was reeling. He didn’t know what to think. He was hurt because the one person who is supposed to love him unconditionally mistook him for his character. Ouch. He loved you because you loved him for him now he wasn’t so sure.

“Rudy, I don’t know what came over me I’m so so sorry,” you pleaded.

“What the fuck Y/N?” Rudy yelled.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh you didn’t mean it, okay sure.” Rudy felt like you betrayed him. He was angry and disappointed. The whole world loves him as JJ but you were supposed to be different. He was shocked and conflicted. After everything you two have been through he never thought this would happen, ever.

“I know I fucked up and that’s on me but I never meant to hurt you,” you urged.

Rudy put his hands in his hair and pulled. “I just thought out of all people you would understand that I’m Rudy.”

“I know you are, I messed up I know but let me make it up to you, I’ll do anything.”

“Right now I just need to think,” Rudy breathed.

“Okay yeah of course.”

Rudy was upset, he felt like his own girlfriend didn’t know who he was. Maybe that’s dramatic but it’s how he felt. He goes to work plays a character all day and then he goes home to be himself and then his partner says his characters name during sex. It was hurtful.

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” Rudy speaks.

“Rudy please,” you begged.

But before you knew it he was out the door leaving you alone and regretful. You felt awful. You didn’t know how you were gonna fix this but you knew you needed to.

[drinkabletoxicdishsoap]

the fandom’s characterization of peri becoming a father to dev will always be interesting to me because where it did it even come from ???

I mean in operation birthday takeback, bro CLEARLY did not care. He honestly seemed so disinterested and didn’t even care when they went into his dad’s private office by accident. He didn’t seem care or smile for his godkid when he was happy. Even got a little mean when Hazel made a nice wish for him with the rocket boots (“Well that should keep him entertained for about 10 minutes” or smth like that)

Lost in Fairy World he didn’t really seem to care either??? he really only just wanted his wand and to ‘look good’ in front of his godkid and do things his way without his parents interfering. Sort of like how a babysitter wants to look good in front of the family of the kid they’re looking after if that makes sense.

The only time we ever seen him actually care about dev was in the finale when he said that. But even after fairy world got turned to normal he didn’t really seem sad about dev??? he was just smiling after, seemed genuine too and not a fake one. Maybe it’s just me, but if I was a fairy and lost my first godkid, who took over my home, I would be doing anything BUT smiling, even if we won in the end. Peri doesn’t seem like one to hide his emotions easily either (maybe I’m reading into his character wrong)

You could bring up best of luck, which I would say is a fair point, but I’m going to bring back the babysitter/job synonym. Wouldn’t you get jealous of the person that stole your position or place in a work environment after you got fired?? Especially if your rival/enemy took that position?? I PERSONALLY don’t think the jealousy comes from a place of care, but maybe that’s just me.

It could honestly just be the fandom’s way of coping since Dev doesn’t seem to have any good people in his life after the finale, but why Peri? I mean if you really want to make one of the fairies a father figure to dev, I’d say the anti fairies more over are his family but that’s IF we have to choose.

Don’t get me wrong, I do think all of the peri and dev being a father son duo is super cute and heartwarming!! I love seeing all of the art and fics of that because it really is sweet :3 but to me, it just doesn’t really make sense and seems more out of character for Peri if anything.

He seems to care more about following Da Rules in my opinion. And while I do think it’s important to follow rules, especially when it comes to a job, you shouldn’t rely on them. At a job, you shouldn’t be constantly looking over rules to make sure you’re following them, you might end up tripping over yourself. That’s what Peri ended up doing.

If I assign the duo as anything, it would be the tired babysitter who just wants to get paid and the kid he’s looking after. A dude working a 9-5 at his job he couldn’t really care less about (dev).

I mean (only from his words) he wanted to go into the family business. Not because he genuinely cares for kids, but because it’s what his family has done. He’s treating godparenting as work, not stepping into a kids family and genuinely looking after them.

I do wonder if he would act the same way if he had an easier godkid.

BUT!!!! that’s just my thoughts. I’m sorry if I got anything wrong and feel me to correct me if I did !! Also if you disagree with anything that I’m saying, tell me why in either the replies or reblogs !! I would love to hear other people’s perspectives or opinions.

That’s it 😨 thank you so much for coming to another yap session and I hope you have a great day/night wherever you are in the world <3

[creamflix]

Hii for the Xmas prompt Geto x Santa hats x naughty

you’ve received a gift! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ want your own gift? ・:〃➜ click here! 

the pub was loud, warm, and absolutely drowning in christmas cheer. SUGURU had begrudgingly agreed to wear the ridiculous santa hat handed to him at the door — mostly because you’d made it look cute by tugging yours on with an exaggerated grin.

“come ooonnn, sugu,” you’d teased earlier, pinching his cheek. “it’s festive!”

and because he could never really say no to you, there he was, sitting in a corner booth with that silly hat perched on his head like he’d lost a bet.

but somehow, you’d both ended up in the cramped, questionably clean bathroom of the pub, his broad frame caging you against the counter.

“what was that about, pulling my hat?” suguru growled, his voice low and thick with irritation — and something much darker. 

“it was an accident!” you protested, your hands gripping the sink behind you for balance. “i didn’t mean to mess it up!”

“oh, you didn’t mean to?” he asked, cocking a brow as his hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his sharp gaze.

“no! i just —”

“don’t give me that innocent act,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing over your lips in a way that made your stomach tighten. “you know how i feel about my hair. and now you’ve got the nerve to mess with the hat, too?”

“sugu, s'just a hat,” you tried, though your voice wavered under his intense stare.

“just a hat?” he repeated, mock offense dripping from every syllable. “do you have any idea how many people saw me in this? how much of my dignity i’ve sacrificed tonight for you?”

“oh, please,” you muttered, rolling your eyes — though your resolve was crumbling fast under his heated gaze.

his grip tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “you’re awfully bold for someone about to beg for forgiveness,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“forgiveness? for a hat?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“for ruining my holly, jolly christmas spirit,” he replied, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“sugu —”

“don’t sugu me,” he interrupted, his voice dropping even lower as he trailed his hand down your side. “you don’t get to make a mess of me and walk away scot-free.”

“it’s not that serious!” you tried to argue, but the way his hand slid under the hem of your sweater made your breath hitch.

“oh, it’s serious,” he countered, his smirk sharp as his lips trailed down your neck. “and i’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

“you’re so dramatic,” you muttered, though your knees were already buckling as his hand found its way to your thigh, his touch firm and possessive.

“and you’re so careless,” he shot back, his voice laced with amusement as he lifted you onto the counter, settling between your legs.

“you owe me,” he said simply, his eyes dark and focused as his fingers now toyed with the waistband of your skirt.

“owe you what?” you asked breathlessly, your body already betraying you.

he smirked, his lips brushing yours in a teasing, fleeting kiss. “a proper apology,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your thighs with deliberate slowness. 

“but don’t worry. i’ll make sure you get it right.”

“how —” your words caught in your throat as he suddenly dropped to his knees in front of you, the sight of him towering over you mere seconds ago replaced by the overwhelming visual of him kneeling, his hands trailing up your thighs.

his fingers curled into the waistband of your underwear, yanking it down in one swift motion. 

“you ruined santa’s hat,” he said, his tone almost conversational as he tossed your panties to the side. “so you’re gonna make it up to me.”

“in a bathroom?” you squeaked, your face burning.

“it’s where all the best punishments happen,” he said, flashing you a wicked grin before leaning in.

his lips pressed hotly against your inner thigh, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. 

“and don’t even think about holding back, sweetheart. i want to hear how sorry you are for messing up my christmas spirit.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your tongue as his mouth moved higher, his tongue flicking over your clit in a way that made your knees buckle.

“keep pulling on my hair,” he muttered, his voice muffled but firm as his hands gripped your hips, keeping you pinned against the wall. “but if you touch the hat again? i won’t be this nice.”

you whimpered, your fingers instinctively threading through his dark hair as his mouth worked magic against you, the sound of the pub’s chaotic cheer fading into the background.

merry christmas, indeed.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[remiratboi]

The Truth Of The Matter - Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1

Minotaur M Best Friend X Human GN Fat Reader

CW: monsterfucking, clubbing, drinking, slight body insecurity

(This is the type of dress I’m imagining btw)

Another night, another dance, another mediocre hookup. You laid in on your shared couch, upside down, head hanging off the end, half watching local access cable. You heard the shower turn off. Rin walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

The guy was practically a god. You couldn’t help a small groan as you saw his damp chest out of the corner of your eye.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” He asked, pausing mid step. You didn’t realize he was going to hear that.

“Nothing, just so hungry, even this crappy ad is doing it for me.” You lied. He chuckled.

“You work today?” He asked. The towel slipped a bit, showing the top of his happy trail. You felt your pussy clench. You had a thing for hairy dudes.

“Nope. Any clients today?” You asked back. He was a self employed personal trainer, as if he could be any more stereotypical. But you respected him regardless. He was very clear that he helped people learn about their bodies, movement and health. He wasn’t out here helping people lose weight. It wasn’t about that for him. He always said, sometimes weight loss is a byproduct of movement, but more often than not people gained in muscle anything they lost in fat.

“I had a couple this morning while you were busy sleeping off last night,” he smirked at you, “but I’m done for the day. Want to grab some lunch?”

You jumped up at the question, turning around so you were facing him over the back of the couch. You smiled broadly. “There’s this new-”

He interrupted you with a raised hand. “A new ramen place that just opened a few blocks away. I know.” He teased you. “You’ve only been talking about it for two months.”

You pouted. His smirk grew and he closed the distance between you. Rin stood in front of you, on the opposite side of the couch. You looked up at him. The position made your mind wander.

It didn’t help when he reached out and grabbed your face, his large hand cupping your chin and jaw. He squeezed and shook you gently. “Stop pouting. It’s not my fault you're predictable.” You gazed back up at him, eyes wide. Your breath caught.

Rin seemed to realize how suggestive the actions were and you watched a light blush cover his cheeks. He coughed, and dropped his hand, half turning away. “Be ready in 10.” His voice was more gravely than it had been a moment before. He retreated to his room, and shut the door.

You sighed deeply and sunk down onto the couch. You had to be dripping after that.

The ramen place was good, better than good. It was amazing. You loved soup. It was your favourite category of food. Rin smiled at you while you ate.

“What?” You asked around a mouthful of chicken karaage.

“You’re doing your good food dance.” He chuckled. You blushed, but didn’t stop. “It’s cute, that’s all.” You rolled your eyes.

After lunch, the two of you walked down the towns Main Street, stopping at a few stores. One was your favourite consignment shop. You loved thrifting, and the owner had incredible taste. Rin watched good naturedly as you tried on a few dresses.

You were feeling pent up, the previous night's performance not satisfying you. It had been a trend lately. You thought maybe you were getting bored.

Rather than evaluate your feelings and take healthy steps, you decided to throw money at pretty dresses. You didn’t often wear dresses, but that’s the mood you were in today. You tried a couple but weren’t feeling them.

You knew the last dress was a failure before you even had it halfway. It was tight. Like tight tight. It was a pretty red bodycon dress with sheer sleeves that sat off the shoulders. It was short too, only going barely halfway down your thighs. You worried if you bent over, you’d fall out of it.

You got it on, it did fit, but it was tighter than anything you’d normally wear. It was stretchy material, so you felt comfortable physically, but emotionally you didn’t know if you could handle something so revealing.

You were about to take it back off without showing Rin when he piped up.

“Why are you taking so long? Let’s see it.” He called from the seat he was in outside the fitting room. You floundered.

“Uh, it doesn’t fit very well, so I’m not going to bother.” You called back.

“What do you mean, does it not close or something?” He asked. You heard his voice closer to the door now. You glanced up and sure enough, you could see the tips of his horns over the door. “I can do it up for you.” He finished.

“No,” you laughed anxiously, “it’s done up, it just doesn’t fit very well.”

He paused. “Well, then let me see it?” He said it like a question. You sighed.

You steeled yourself, and opened the fitting room door. You felt your cheeks heat up before he even saw you.

“Ta da.” You said lamely when the door opened all the way. Your stoic best friend’s mouth dropped open. His cheeks went red as well, and you felt yours get even worse. His eyes roamed your body, every inch.

“Jesus Christ…” he trailed off, eyes glued to your curves.

You panicked. “I know, it’s too tight, and short, and looks bad on me, that's what I meant about it not fitting well.” You moved to close the door.

Rin put his hand out, stopping you. “No, sorry, you… look incredible.” You almost stepped back in surprise. “You absolutely have to buy that.” He continued. You fidgeted nervously.

“No, where would I even wear it, it’s so revealing.” You replied. He finally tore his eyes from your body to look up at your face.

“I’ll take you to a fancy dinner, show you off.” He smirked, a hungry look in his eyes that you didn’t understand.

You laughed, an edge chasing the sound. “Please.” You said sarcastically. “It would just be a waste of money.” You moved to close the door again. “I’m not buying it.”

Rin didn’t move or respond for a moment. “I’m telling you, sweetheart, you’re doing the world a disservice by not living in that thing.” You knew he was just being nice. He was your best friend after all.

“Thanks, but it’s fine. I’ll find something else.” His eyebrows pulled together, but this time he let you close the door.

After a few more attempts in the racks, and one or two last ditch try’s, you were changing back into your own clothes. Rin offered to hang the rejects back up for you, and you handed him the pile.

When you came out of the fitting rooms, he was already at the cash register. You figured he must have been eager to get out of there.

The rest of the day passed as normal. You stopped and picked up a couple groceries, then headed home. He cooked dinner and you hopped into the shower. When you came out, you found a bag on your bed. It had the consignment store’s logo.

Peering inside, you were astonished to see the red dress you’d tried on earlier. You pulled it out and walked to the kitchen. Rin was humming and half singing one of your favorite songs.

“What is this?” You asked, holding out the dress. He didn’t even need to turn around to know what you were referring to.

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t leave that there when it was practically designed for you.” He flipped something in a pan and turned around. “You don’t have to wear it, of course, but if you ever felt comfortable, I’d love to follow through on my offer.”

You raised an eyebrow. “To go for dinner?”

“Yeah.” You noticed when he spoke, he seemed unsure of himself. It wasn’t a state of him you saw often. He was normally very confident and self assured. He walked towards you and took the dress from your hand. He let it unfurl and held it up against your body, currently only clad in a towel.

“This dress looks absolutely stunning on you, and it deserves to be seen. Go to dinner with me, and wear this.” He avoided your eyes, looking at the dress draped over you.

You laughed. He was such a sweet guy. “You asking me on a date, Rin?” You teased.

“Yes.” He replied, no humour in his voice. Like always, however, you read it as friendship.

You laughed again. “We’ll see. No promises!” You waggled your finger at him. “Maybe, if whatever you’re cooking is delicious as it smells, I’ll go on a friend date with you, and MAYBE, I’ll wear this dress.” You took it from his hands and walked back to your room.

You didn’t hear his deep sigh. You didn’t see the way he watched after you as you walked away.

Part 3

[aplaceinme]

For @tommygiving

Tommy parks his truck and turns the engine off. He has been smiling since he woke up this morning, knowing that he is going to spend the entire day with Evan. 

Before getting out of the car, he looks in the rearview mirror and fixes his hair. Evan likes to pull on his curls so Tommy has gotten to wear it a bit longer than he normally would. Once he is satisfied with the way he looks, he turns and just as he is about to open the door, he sees Evan exiting his building and bouncing towards him.

As always, Evan looks amazing, he is wearing a blue sweater that makes his eyes pop, and some black jeans that accentuate his big and strong thighs perfectly. He also seems to be in a hurry, since in no time at all he is opening the passenger side door. 

“Good morning, gorgeous!” Evan greets him, leaning over and giving him a way too short for Tommy’s liking kiss.  

“Good morning, love!” Tommy replies. “I was about to go up… I always go up. Are you that excited to go to the supermarket?” 

“Yeah, I’m really excited! I even have my clipboard, see?” Evan says, waving the clipboard for emphasis. 

Tommy chuckles. “I can see that. Ok then, let’s go!” 

—

“Are you sure you are ok?” Tommy asks for the second time. 

“What? Yes, I’m ok… why? Don’t I look alright?” Evan asks in a slightly hysterical way. “I’m alright!”

Tommy raises one eyebrow in disbelief. “Evan, you have been all fidgety and acting all nervous since… since you got in the truck, actually. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Evan says, not so convincingly. 

“Evan,” Tommy sighs. “Look, you do know that I don’t care about the food or the decorations or anything like that, right? You don’t need to put too much pressure on yourself to try to host the perfect Thanksgiving… it will be perfect no matter what because we are going to be spending it together. And that’s all I want.” 

Evan’s posture relaxes minimally, his eyes go as soft as the smile tugging at his lips. “You’re right, it will be perfect because we will be together.” 

They share a sweet but short kiss, both aware that they are in the middle of a supermarket with lots of people desperately buying all kinds of stuff for Thanksgiving. 

“Should we see if we are lucky enough to find a turkey?” Tommy asks as he intertwines their fingers and starts to move across the aisle. 

“Turkey?” Evan yelps. 

Tommy stops walking and turns to look at him in surprise and confusion. “Yes? I mean… Aren’t we having turkey?” 

Evan ducks his head, rubs at the back of his neck, and starts to drag the tip of his shoes along the ground. 

“Evan?” 

“Well… I was thinking that maybe… just maybe! We could go vegan this time?” Evan asks sheepishly.

“Oh! Uhhh, yeah, sure, ok. We can do that if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah? Awesome! Thank you,” Evan says, beaming. 

If Tommy hadn’t been blinded by Evan’s beautiful smile, and by the way it made his eyes sparkle, he would have noticed that in his enthusiasm Evan had started to walk backwards, right into a display of canned cranberry sauce. As it is, Tommy is too late to fully stop him. He grabs him by the arm and tries to pull him away but by then Evan has already lost his balance and he ends up falling over the cans and pulling Tommy along. 

“Oh my god!” Evan mumbles, on the floor and covered in cranberry sauce. “Ouch.”

In the same position as him, Tommy nods, agreeing, “Yeah… ouch.” 

“Are you guys ok?” One of the supermarket workers asks them, looking down at them. 

“Peachy,” Tommy mutters.

“I’m so, so sorry! I can’t believe I did this! It was a mistake… I’m so clumsy sometimes,” Evan says apologetically while sitting down slowly. 

“It’s ok. It happens, not that often, but it happens,” Susan, as her name tag reads, says. “Are any of you hurt?”

“No, just embarrassed,” Evan replies. 

“Tomorrow… that’s when we will be feeling it,” Tommy groans, standing up and giving a hand to Evan. 

“Should we clean it up?” Evan asks hesitantly. 

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Susan reassures him. “The facilities are near the bakery section, by the way.” 

They thank Susan and go to the bathroom to wash a little bit of the sauce. 

“This is not going well,” Evan complains. 

“Don’t worry about it… think about it this way, it will be a funny story to tell everyone,” Tommy says, helping Evan with cleaning his lovely curls. 

“No one will know about this, Tommy. No one!” 

Tommy laughs and kisses him on the cheek. “Alright, my lips are sealed. Should we continue with the shopping?”

“Ugh, yes! We don’t really have any other choice,” Evan says, pouting. 

—

Evan starts to get fidgety again once they are back in the truck and driving to his loft. 

“Hey! We’ve got all the ingredients you need, right? It will be great, I know it,” Tommy tries to reassure him, his hand reaching over from the steering wheel and grabbing one of Evan's hands. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Evan gives him a barely there smile that is not fooling anybody. 

The nervousness and fidgeting get worse as they approach Evan’s door. He even takes his time opening it, doing it as slowly as possible. As soon as he opens it, though, he pulls Tommy inside and quickly closes and locks the door. 

Completely bewildered by the action, Tommy puts the groceries down. “Evan, what is go- what the hell is that?” 

There, by the loft window, is a cage. A cage with a turkey in it. A very much alive turkey. 

“It’s a turkey,” Evan replies too casually. 

“A tur- a turk… why do you have a turkey?” Tommy asks him, beyond confused. He even pinches his arm, trying to see if he is having a weird dream. Or maybe he got concussed when they fell in the supermarket. 

“So, funny story,” Evan starts. “You see, yesterday, we had a call to this place and this dude had an illegal turkey.” 

Tommy blinks once, twice, but he remains confused. “Ok? That doesn’t explain the turkey in your loft though.” 

“Right… the thing is that the dude was trying to get him to fight, sort of like cockfighting, you know? So, he is quite aggressive.”

“How aggressive?” Tommy asks, taking a step back.

He is suddenly having flashbacks of when they had responded to that call with Maurice… he shivers all over. 

“Quite a lot, unfortunately. That’s why I begged Bobby to let me take him to one of the farm sanctuaries or a center where they rehabilitate animals,” Evan tells him with a bright smile. 

Tommy doesn’t know where to start. “And Bobby just said yes?”

“Well, I had to be really convincing, say that I was afraid that Alex here would end up getting killed, and I might have also said that I was going to take him to a farm yesterday,” Evan says, blushing but shrugging his shoulders. “But I was too tired and today I already had plans with you… so I will take him tomorrow.”

“Ok, so you aren’t actually planning to keep him, then?” Tommy asks, extremely relieved, and ignoring the fact that of course already named the turkey. 

Evan opens his mouth but gets interrupted by Alex gobbling, startling them both.

“Jesus, that’s loud,” Tommy says, resisting the urge to cover his ears. 

“He is, which is why I was hoping that we could keep him in your house? I’m not allowed to have pets here,” Evan asks, looking adorable, peering at him through his eyelashes. 

Sighing in resignation, Tommy nods. One day he will be able to say no to Evan, but today is not that day. 

[inthehouseoffinwe]

AU where even after death our favourite Finwëions are being stubborn as ever so a new solution is found. Finarfin just wanted to help his grandson in law.

Fëanor and Fingolfin are being stubborn as ever

It’s been three ages, their wounds are healed, they’ve made up and understood most of their deeds

But they cannot for the life of them get along, and everyone, from Mandos to their children and people, know that if they’re released in their current state, things will go right back to how they were

Even if their people are kept in line by their kids, it’s a very explosive situation

And in all honesty, Námo feels like they’ve put poor Finarfin through enough without this addition

He can’t keep them here forever. The halls aren’t meant to be a permanent residence unless it’s by choice, and they’ve started causing chaos in here too

…but speaking of the sons of Finwë

Finarfin himself isn’t doing particularly well right now. He feels great guilt for his inaction over the last two Ages, especially as Tyelpë and Ereinion turned up with their own tales

Then of course little Celebrian

(Doesn’t matter how much everyone tells him they’d genuinely be lost without him and his actions. The Noldor especially would’ve been outcast and alone. They needed a stable ruler, not another revolutionary. And the work he’s done is more impactful than either of his brothers ever managed)

Not to mention he’s still furious at his brothers despite what he’s convinced himself of

…and misses them greatly.

Truth be told, the Valar owe him a lot.

So they offer him a choice.

Ereinion’s skilled with managing all kinds of people and people don’t have a problem with the kid, so for a time he’ll be the High King

Finarfin is overjoyed at the chance to help his granddaughter’s family. Elrond is dear to many across all factions, and his children too.

…He’s less overjoyed at the news his brothers will be joining him if he agrees.

Nevertheless desire to be of use for once wins out and he accepts.

He gets a week or so to say his goodbyes and prepare for the journey. Asking around, particularly asking the third age elves who’ve recently arrived and Celebrian most of all, gets him the clothes and supplies he needs to somewhat blend in.

They’re still his colours (though he has none) and his symbol is carefully hidden under the cloak.

And he heads to the Hall’s Opening.

“For what it’s worth, Arafinwë, I’m sorry for the additional baggage. We’ve asked much of you, but hopefully this at least will benefit us all.”

Námo is kind when he stands and opens the gates.

“I know you’ve missed them too.”

The soft whisper dissipates into the wind with the Vala and now two figures are walking out. Tall. Broad shouldered. Eyes shining with light.

Clad in their usual blue and red, weapons strapped to their backs and hips.

Fëanaro and Nolofinwë have returned at last.

Before he can say anything there’s a whirl of light and the three elves are swept away.

Aragorn did not sign up for this

A bright flash of light all but blinds him, leaving three figures in its wake.

Three very tall. Very Elven. Figures.

And if that’s not enough, they look strangely familiar. Like he should know them from somewhere.

“That damn Vala! He couldn’t have warned us!”

And now they’re speaking Quenya.

“He did. It’s not his fault you don’t listen to anyone but yourself,” the one clad in blue says viciously.

The third elf, the only one with blond hair, groaned and glared at the two others. Aragorn winced at the look, thankful he wasn’t under it, though neither of the others so much as flinched.

“You’ve been back how long?” He scoffed. “And here I thought I missed you.”

To his credit the one in blue showed some regret and bowed his head. Beside him, the red one huffed, but it was much less heated, and his hands clenched into the leaves around him.

“Forgive me, Arafinwë,” the blue one said.

Aragorn’s hand found his blade. It couldn’t be…

“Depends what you want forgiveness for, Nolo,” was the cold reply, tinged with hurt.

No way.

But it was there. The uncanny resemblance to the portraits he’d seen in his books as a young boy learning his history. This was no doubt Fingolfin, and beside him Finarfin. Which only left-

“My feud with Fëanaro has long tainted our relationship, little brother,” the blue elf- *Fingolfin* replied bitterly, glaring at the third elf. “I’d like to start again.”

“Well I’d like you two to shove your issues aside for once and try and get along!” Finarfin hissed back, and his older brother’s eyes widened. “How long will you keep fighting?! How long will you divide your people, your children! How long will you make them suffer for your egos?!”

Aragorn expected Fëanor to scowl, angrily proclaim his youngest half brother had no right to speak that way, but the elf only glared into the floor. Fingolfin stared into the trees and Finarfin turned away, eyes clouding with pain.

Only to stare right at Aragorn.

“Fëanaro, Nolo. Swords up.”

To their credit the elves immediately stood and followed Finarfin’s gaze to Aragorn. The Ranger carefully stepped into the light as the three sons of Finwë stared him down.

“It is not polite to lurk, stranger.” Fingolfin said in the common tongue and Aragorn vaguely wondered if he’d been taught it in the halls. He put his hands up, free of weapons, and lowered his hood.

“Forgive me, my lord Fingolfin. But I had to identify if you were friend of foe. You appeared in a strange manner wearing faces of old, and the enemy is skilled in his deceit.”

“You dare accuse us of being Sauron’s creations?” Fëanor’s eyes lit with a fell fire and Aragorn would have shuddered was he not accustomed to seeing much worse from his own father. Elrond could be… rather terrifying when he decided he’d had enough of his son’s’ shenanigans.

“He was being cautious,” Finarfin retorted. “Something you could learn from considering how your life ended.”

“I didn’t know what Balrogs were!”

“The great Fëanaro admitting to not knowing something, have the end of days come at last?”

“Some would say his presence here is an indicator of that,” Fingolfin muttered as Fëanor scowled at the blond. The scowl turned to him and he met it squarely. “I said what I said.”

The situation was fast unravelling and Aragorn had Nazgul on his tail. For all his training in Elrond’s house, nothing had prepared him for dealing with three Princes - Kings??? - of the Noldor at each others throats. Sending a prayer that this wouldn’t get him skewered, he whistled sharply and the three elves spun his way. He raised his hands in apology.

“Orcs and other fell beasts roam these lands, my lords. I’d advise a quieter argument?” He grimaced at the two stunned faces, wondering when it would turn to explosive anger that ended the line of Elros once and for all.

But Finarfin tilted his head, a small smile playing about his lips.

“It takes great courage to step between the arguments of the House of Finwë. What’s your name, stranger.”

The Ranger bowed his head.

“The trees have ears, my lord, I’d take you to an Elven safehaven before telling you that. But for now, you can call me Strider.”

[all4minnie]

ew LMAO. this was something i made at like 4am a few days ago, I didn’t know what to do with it so i’m posting it. This is literally my very first post 😭🙏

A Forgotten Place, A Familiar Face

PAIRING : former UA student!reader (who lost their quirk) x class 1-A

SUMMARY : After the war, you lost your quirk and faded from the world of heroes, retreating into a small, forgotten life running a diner. Years pass, and your old friends from Class 1-A have moved on—except, they never truly forgot you. One day, unexpectedly, they walk into your restaurant, small-group-reunion being held, and the emotional weight of their return shatters the walls you've built around yourself. As you struggle with the feeling of being forgotten and unimportant, they remind you that you’ve always mattered to them. Over time, with their support, you rebuild your sense of belonging and finally find peace in knowing you are truly seen and loved.

WARNINGS : emotional/angsty content, mentions of self-doubt and self-criticism, mild injury (cutting finger), depictions of tears and breakdown, themes of Isolation and feelings of being forgotten, mentions Inability to keep up with others, emotional recovery and reconnection. (If i forgot anything, lmk!!)

THEME : angst, isolation, reconnection, self-worth & validation, regret & acceptance, fluff (?) at the end. (girl idfk, this my first time)

The clock on the wall ticks steadily. The greasy kitchen exhaust fan hums, and the sizzle of a fresh batch of fries fills the air. You wipe your hands on the apron, an over-worn, faded thing that’s seen more than a few messes. The restaurant you run isn’t much—a hole in the wall, really. It used to be a bustling place, full of potential. But now? It’s the same old regulars, the same tired faces. You had to let go of the hope that you’d ever make it big.

Your quirk—the one that once made you stand out among heroes—was gone. Disappeared when you almost didn’t make it out of that final battle. That was years ago. You weren’t a hero anymore. Hell, you weren’t even really a part of the world you once fought for.

You used to be close to them. To everyone. Class 1-A. You were all a team once, fighting side by side. All kinds of situations were you all, inevitably, pulled together even more. By tears? Stronger. By laughs? The bond was one you couldn’t imagine breaking. But that was before your life changed, before you were forgotten— A shatter of the world off somewhere new. But it wasn’t new to you anymore, years in this dump of a place. You couldn’t even remember the last time anyone reached out. It didn’t matter though, did it? You couldn’t force people to care. They had moved on, just like the world did after the war.

The bell above the door rings, cutting through the usual quiet hum of the diner. You don’t think much of it at first. Another customer, maybe. The door opens with that familiar creak, and you glance up automatically, your attention barely wavering from the plates in front of you. But something stops you—a voice.

“Hey, is this the right place?”

You freeze.

Your heart skips a beat. It’s so familiar—so unbelievably familiar that you feel like you've slipped through a crack in time. You look up, your eyes locking onto a face you haven’t seen in years. Izuku. His green hair, his nervous smile—it’s all the same, just as you remember. And behind him? Faces hard to forget. You almost can’t believe it. For a moment, your mind refuses to process what’s happening. But then, it hits you—the reality of the moment crashes down.

You weren’t expecting them. You hadn’t even thought about seeing them again. Yet here they are, standing in the doorway of your small, worn-down restaurant like a dream you once had, a dream you couldn’t quite let go of.

Before you can react, the plate in your hands slips, the porcelain crashing to the floor with a sharp, deafening sound. You gasp, eyes wide, your heart racing in your chest. The room feels too small. Too tight.

You kneel to pick up the pieces, your fingers trembling with the weight of everything that’s suddenly come flooding back. You reach for the shards, but as you do, your finger brushes one of the edges. A sharp pain slices through you. You barely register the blood beginning to trickle down your hand as you pull the glass pieces into your palm.

It’s funny. The glass is sharp, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the emptiness in your chest.

You let out a shaky laugh, but it’s hollow—empty. Like a laugh you’ve been practicing for too long. A joke you’ve told so many times that it doesn’t mean anything anymore. “Look at me... pathetic, huh?”

You don’t even try to wipe away the blood. The cut is small, but it stings, and it’s enough to remind you how much you’ve been pretending. You’ve been pretending to be okay for so long, acting like this quiet life you built for yourself was all you could ever have. But now, it’s so painfully obvious that you aren’t okay.

“I... I didn’t think anyone would come looking for me,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Guess I was wrong. I mean, you’re here, right?” You wince as the blood keeps trickling down your finger, but you don’t even care anymore. “Huh. What a coincidence..” A scoff of a laugh escaped you, a deep sorrow tugging at your heart strings.

The rest of the group seemed to be frozen in place. That’s funny. Just like how you’ve been feeling for years. Then, as if something had clicked, Izuku steps forward, his voice soft but full of a sorrow you haven’t heard in years. “we... we thought you were lost. No one could find you. No one knew where you went.”

You chuckle bitterly, a tear slipping down your cheek that you hadn’t even meant to shed. “I guess I wanted to be lost,” you whisper. “I didn’t want anyone to find me. I didn’t want anyone to remember me... because I didn’t remember who I was anymore.” You wipe at your cheek, as if the tears are somehow less real if you ignore them.

Katsuki’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, surprisingly gentle. “You think we forgot you? After everything, you think we’d just moved on?”

You shake your head, the laughter slipping into something darker. “I didn’t even move on, Bakugo. I couldn’t. I just... stopped mattering. People forgot, and it was easier that way. Easier to pretend I was never meant to be part of all that hero stuff. I wasn’t a hero, not without my quirk. Not after everything.”

You shrugged.

You stop talking, the words sticking in your throat. It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? The world’s gone on without you. They’ve gone on without you. New lives. Beautiful ones, too. You’re too deep in the excuse of yours to even envy them anymore.

But then, before you can close off again, Ochaco steps forward, her voice soft and warm. “You don’t get to decide you don’t matter. We get to decide that. You’ve always mattered. You always will.”

Tears fill your eyes again, more freely this time. “I thought... I thought I was just... forgotten.” Your voice cracks.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku whispers, kneeling beside you, his hands gently taking yours. “We should’ve tried harder. We should’ve done more.”

You pull your hand away slightly, shaking your head. “It’s not your fault. I... I was the one who disappeared.” You swallow, trying to force the lump in your throat down, but the words spill out anyway. “I didn’t think I was ever going to be here again. I didn’t think I’d ever get to see you guys again.”

“We’re here now. We’re not going anywhere. You don’t have to carry this by yourself anymore.”

And then, in that moment, it all falls away. The weight of the past, the years of solitude, the feeling of being invisible, all of it disappears. You’re not the same person you were when you lost everything. You’re someone who is finally seen— truly seen. And for the first time in so long, you can breathe again.

The restaurant is busier now, the scent of sizzling food mixing with the laughter of old friends catching up. The once worn-down walls are brightened, the mismatched tables now having the touch of home. Your apron is cleaner—neater—but it still bears the marks of a life lived in small moments, a life rebuilt piece by piece.

And they’re all here— your people, not just as memories but as the living, breathing souls you thought you'd lost forever. Izuku, with his ever-present smile; Ochaco, light and bubbly; Bakugo, still as blunt as ever, but with an unspoken warmth underneath; Shoto, Mina, Kaminari, and just a few other people you’ve fallen close to, back into the piece of the puzzle board once missing. They’re not just visitors. They’re friends. Molds of your soul.

You stand behind the counter, wiping down the counter when Sero calls you over. “Hey! come sit with us. We’ve got something to talk about.”

You look at them—each face as familiar as your own reflection. But this time, there's no doubt. No fear of being forgotten. No sense that you don’t belong.

You smile, that same old, genuine smile that had been buried for so long. “I’m coming,” you reply, your voice steady now, the cracks filled with something solid—hope, maybe. Or maybe just the quiet joy of knowing you’ll never be forgotten again.

As you join them at the table, the weight of the years lifts. It’s just a group of old friends now, no longer separated by time, by distance, by the fractured memories of the past. You are seen. You are loved.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel... whole.

ALRIGHT this was low-key gonna just sit in my damned drafts but i’m fighting that urge. maybe AT LEASSTTT one person will like this so 🤷‍♀️ we ball nonetheless. it’s low-key poorly written, barley even authentic and genuine but i just wrote it to feel something. ANYWAY!

[anemptypuddingcup]

contains pussy-eating and fingering.

“Make sure you get your assignments done by next week. Have a good weekend, alright?” Professor Sabo’s voice spilled out to the class so smoothly as he spoke, his hand adjusting his glasses as he finally dismissed the class for the weekend. The dismissal had caused all the students to get out of their seats so urgently, their minds more focused on what plans awaited for their weekends rather than Sabo’s reminder for assignments.

While all the students were quickly leaving the classroom, you were taking your time getting out of your seat and packing up your bag. Sabo noticed your steady pace but didn’t question it not once. He was used to seeing you move at your own pace which is honestly what he liked about you. While other students focused more on parties rather than their studies, you were one of the very few he’s come across that actually did their work and didn’t necessarily focus on the fun stuff first. You were very well-paced with your work, and he admired that.

Sabo was finally pulled from his thoughts and looked around in his classroom, though oddly enough it still wasn’t empty…because you were still there at your desk packing your things. Sabo quirked a brow and looked down at his watch, wondering what exactly was taking you so long to dismiss yourself from his classroom. Sabo wanted to be nice, he assumed that maybe you lost something or just wanted to stay around a bit longer for tutoring.

Why else could you be taking you be taking this much of your time?

“Are you staying back a bit for tutoring? You’ve been staying back a bit more often than my other students recently.” He asked you, his voice causing you to jolt before you turned around to him. You looked away from him nervously before finally zipping up your bag, your hand pulling the bag strap over your shoulder before you’d walk up to his desk.

Sabo looked up at you with his pretty blue eyes, his scarred face making your face burn a bright shade of scarlet. “Well…I did want to talk to you about something…Do you have time?” You asked so innocently to him, your soft tone making him crack a soft smile before he nodded in response.

“Of course! Is it a question about the lesson?” He asked you, his hand softly closing up his laptop before he’d fold his hands against the desk.

You pressed your hands against the desk and leaned over it a bit, your breasts grazing over his forearm as you moved your lips in towards his ear. You felt Sabo’s hand twitch as he felt your breast run against the bare skin of his arm.

“I find you very attractive, Mister Sabo.” You whispered seductively into his ear, your words causing him to inhale a bit in shock at your confession.

Sabo’s eyes slowly widened in shock as he watched you pull away from his ear, his face flushing a deep shade of red as his body fell hot from your sudden confession. He was not expecting such a statement from you, in fact he didn’t think you of all people would confess such words to him. Sabo gulped slowly before he’d clear his throat, his eyes adverting your gaze whiled you continued to stare down at him.

“N-Now ________, you know I can’t respond and accept your confession. I’m your professor, not one of your fellow classmates that you can just confess to.” Sabo cuts to the chase and puts his foot down, his words firm as he stared up at you with a straight yet rather fierce expression. You frowned and nodded, your throat clearing as you straightened yourself up.

“R-Right…Sorry if I made you uncomfortable…Have a nice weekend…” You said, your throat beginning to burn as you began to feel…so idiotic for even attempting to speak to your professor in such a way.

Sabo fell silent as he watched you walk away, a heavy sigh leaving his throat as he began to jeopardize his career. Sabo slowly stood up from his seat, his body unconsciously leading his body into his dangerous decision.

“Although…”

His voice immediately brings you to a halt and you turned around as you noticed him standing up from his seat. You watched as Sabo loosened up his tie a bit, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he softly pulled his glasses off of his face and set them down onto his desk.

“You’ve been such a hard-working student in my class. It’d be so wrong do I didn’t reward you for all of your hard work.”

“Come to the teachers lounge in five minutes.”

…

Soft mewls spilled out of your lips as Sabo’s hands kept your legs spread open, his tongue circling at your sensitive clitoris while his eyes focused on your adorable expressions. He loved the way your face twisted with every circular motion his tongue went along your clit.

His cock was hard and tight within his restraints as he listened to your beautiful voice let out your soft moans.

Your body was resting against the couch of the teacher’s lounge, your hips low against Sabo’s face while he was down on his knees pleasing his well-behaved student for her hard work.

You felt his fingers tease at your soaking entrance, his tongue pulling away from your clit while he hissed out from just how wet you were.

You watched as Sabo spits out onto your cunt before he’d rub the natural lubricant into your slit, his hand steadily slipping his middle and ring fingers into your sticky hole while you gasped out shakily from the stretch of his fingers. He curled his fingers up inside of your pussy, his fingertips nudging up into your bundle of nerves while your toes curled within your sneakers.

“You’re a naughty young girl, falling for your professor like this. Do you fantasize of me doing these type of things to you all the time?” He asked, his lips cracking a soft little smile as he began sliding his digits out of your pussy. His thick digits began thrusting in and out of your pussy, his other hand pinching and tending to your clitoris while you threw your head back.

“I-I do~ I’ve…always had feelings for you, M-Mister Sabo~” You finally responded to him, your voice growing a bit exhausted as it also fell slightly hoarse from the soft and suppressed moans. “Just call me Sabo for now sweetie.” Sabo whispered to you, his lips latching back onto your cunt while he reached his free hand up under your sweatshirt.

His hand gropes at your breast underneath your bra, a heavy gasp leaving your lips as your legs began to twitch.

Your back begins to arch as you felt your lower abdomen growing tight, your thighs now trembling as you felt yourself finally yearning to release. Sabo groans out as his cock twitched within his slacks, the feeling of his tongue rolling against your pulsating clit making him want to feel more of you with more than just his tongue.

“O-Oh Sabo~ I-I’m gonna c-cum!~ I’m cumming!~” You warned him, your eyes shutting tightly as you bit your bottom in ecstasy. Your walls tightens around Sabo’s fingers and he feels them pulsating heavily while his fingertips began to grow pruned from your moist and velvety insides clinging to them. Sabo smooches your clit and pulls away before his fingers picks up the pace, a heavy yet erotic exhale leaving his throat as he bit his bottom lip from the sight.

“Be a good girl for me and release on my fingers~ Come now! Don’t hold it back from me!” He urged you to release on his fingers, his breaths growing heavy as he watched your cunt flutter around his digits. You nodded and gasped out shakily, your head throwing itself back softly once again as you whined out a final time.

A heavy groan spilled from your lips as your eyes rolled up in ecstasy, your pussy squirting abruptly around Sabo’s fingers while he exhaled and smiles at the sight of your cum gushing out of you. Your thighs began to twitch while you exhaled shakily, your walls clinging to Sabo’s fingers while he slowly struggled to pull them from your cunt. A string of slick and cum disconnects from your pussy and he sighs out as he suckled and cleaned off his fingers.

“Good job, such an obedient girl.” Sabo praised you, his words making your cunt unconsciously tighten around nothing but air. You slowly lifted your head and watched as Sabo slid your panties back up onto your hips, his hands pulling your skirt down shortly after.

You watched as he slowly got up off of his knees, his hands brushing his slacks off while you could see the slight imprint of his erection sticking out. Sabo cleared his throat and slowly unbuttoned his slacks, his fingers pulling down the waistband of his boxers to reveal his hardened cock to you.

“I’m sure you’d like some extra credit won’t you? Regardless of your my excelling student, you’ll go even farther with extra points~”

You slowly sat up and stared down at his cock, your face flushed as you slowly stared up at him from down below. Sabo smiled down at you, holding his shaft within his hand as he brought his tip up to your soft lips.

“You’re a wonderful student inside and out. After your assignment, you’re free to leave.”

“I’m going to need you to come back tomorrow for a tutoring session. I’m sure you’re going to need it before our next lesson. Is that clear?”

“Y-Yes sir~”

[twentythree-yearoldlizard]

so based off the poll results, majority wanted me to write these one shots for a Marauders' Band AU. So here's the first one:

Remus Lupin does the BuzzFeed Puppy Interview:

Remus shoots the camera his shy smile that makes people’s stomach do the thing. “Hi there, I’m Remus Lupin and I’m here with Buzzfeed to answer some questions with puppies.”  

He’s wearing an all-black outfit: a black knit sweater that looks warm, paired with black trousers and sturdy black boots. His right wrist is adorned with bracelets; a plain black one with the word ‘moony’ next to a full moon, a beaded one with a star and moon on the centre and a band that reads ‘The Marauders’ with a wolf, dog, deer and rat. His left wrist is free, but he has multiple rings on those fingers.  

“I’m really excited and also a bit nervous, because I love dogs. I really do. But I want them to love me too, so,” he ends with a chuckle.

“I don’t know if they’re going to like me.”

Cuts to a clip of a puppy licking his entire face.

“I don’t know if we’ll connect.”

Cuts to a clip of Remus carrying two puppies, with another in between his legs.

“And I doubt I’m going to be able to answer your questions in any form, when I’m-Oh my god!” He’s cut off as a golden retriever runs towards him.

“Hi,” he says, letting the puppy smell his hands.

Remus coughs out a breathy laugh as the golden retriever jumps into his lap. Just then, a pair of corgis start nibbling on his shoelaces, to which Remus laughs and mutters, “You two are trouble, aren’t you?” They reminded him of James and Sirius.

Remus laughs for ten seconds as a Jack Russel walks slowly towards him and wastes no time on laying his head on Remus’ thigh and starts to fall asleep.

 “Hi loves, I’m Remus” he says, as one of the corgis joins the golden retriever on his lap.

Question 1- What’s your favourite thing about meeting fans?

“It’s just this…really nice feeling I get. Like I feel giddy, whenever a kid waves at me or some fans who’ve said that our songs helped them in tough times. It just gives this sort of nice feeling,”

“No..no,” he says as a corgi pulls on his sleeves, “this is one of my favourites, you can-okay then.” He finishes in defeat, as it manages to pull out a string.

Question 2- What’s the hardest part of being in a band?

“No privacy,” says Remus, he himself startled by how fast he answered. “I mean like...” he says, rubbing the Jack Russel’s belly, “When you live with James and Sirius, who have co-dependency issues, and Peter, whose love language is physical touch, you’ve got to throw personal space out the window.”

Question 3-Describe the way you see your bandmates.

Remus is quiet for a while, as if he’s thinking, while letting the puppies climb all over him.

“There’s James, who I connect with like a brother. He is a ray of fucking sunshine and if I am insecure or sad, he makes me listen to all the 764 reasons for why he loves me. And then there’s Peter, who is like the calmest person I know. He is the friend you need when you just want someone to listen to you. He is always there for you, even if he never says it, you’ll still know that he’s there for you.”

He smiles as the golden retriever settles on his shoulder and one of the corgis has decided to take a nap on top of Remus.

Remus starts with a smile, “And well there’s Sirius, who is one of the most beautiful souls out there. He’s one of the first people that made feel valued and always looked at my scars like they were some kind of treasure. He’s also made me realize a lot of things about myself and uh…yah, our bond is a bit more…special than the rest, and we’ve come a long way, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.”

“I am scared to move,” he whispers, as the Jack Russel snores loudly on top of his thighs, golden retriever asleep on his shoulder, a corgi on his belly and the other held within his arms.

Bonus puppy stuff:

The corgis start fighting with each other. “Am I supposed this stop this or something?” Remus asks, looking lost. Just then one of the corgi trips and falls on the sleeping Jack Russel. It opens its eyes, confused. Remus bursts out laughing, which ends up making his face as red as a tomato (and that's a win for all the video editors out there).

PS: Its my first draft btw. i guess ive done good. lmk if its bad, i need honest feedbacks. also gonna put this on ao3, which is my first time ever. and this is set in pre-wolfstar period or they are established but hiding it from public (choose whichever you want)

[fordtato]

I watched the new Ford vid and I wanted to share some thoughts I had on some of the points in your video. Before anything else, I want to say how much I absolutely fucking love everything you do and that, in my opinion, this video is especially spectacular. My intention here is to show my appreciation for your work by demonstrating how I’ve paid attention to it and thought about it, because I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t care, but I’m definitely not trying to criticize or anything. So, keeping that in mind, I’d like to add some thoughts to a couple points that I feel could’ve been expanded upon, even though the video was already five hours long.

First off, when it comes to the science fair thing, the only point where I do kind of blame Ford is that perpetual motion machines are physically impossible and also delicate. I just think he should’ve made something else and, at the very least, checked on it the morning of the fair and I actually think it’s a little ooc that he put all that effort into making it and was so invested in the fair but then didn’t bother to even look at it before the fair itself. There’s also never any recognition of the fact that something like a perpetual motion machine could literally stop at any point for any number of reasons that wouldn’t require external interference. I don’t think it’s a sin or moral failing like some of the other things people said on the topic of the science fair, but I do think there is some responsibility there on Ford’s end that doesn’t get discussed as much.

The second thing is that I just think that the Book of Bill is pretty openly interpretable in terms of whether it’s fully accurate and canon or not, since it’s made by such a flagrant liar. I respect and appreciate that you view the lost journal pages as canon material that, in universe, was written by Ford, but I also feel like it’s important to acknowledge that we don’t really know for sure one way or another unlike with Journal 3.

My next point is that, on the topic of Ford wanting his house back, it’s everything you said and I would add that Stan staying in the house would require their reconciliation. At the time Ford said that, they were actively in conflict with each other after being in separation for 30 years, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t want Stan to keep living with him given all the tension and unresolved resentment. Especially in tandem with the other things you pointed out, I think it makes complete sense that Ford wouldn’t want Stan to keep living there.

So then, when it comes to Ford being upset with Stan because of how Stan ignored all his warnings and opened the portal anyway, my biggest issue has always been Ford’s hypocrisy here. I can appreciate that, even though everything turned out alright, Stan’s choice to open the portal was objectively bad and Ford is valid for being upset, but he’s the one who ignored all the warnings when he summoned Bill in the first place. While I’d never blame him for being a victim of Bill’s abuse, I do 100% blame him for blowing past all the warnings and reading that incantation in the cave, and it’s hypocritical for him to be mad at Stan for doing the same thing.

Next is the “bumbling leech” quote, and my thought here is just that it makes sense for Ford to tell himself that as like a coping mechanism. When he and Stan were in separation, I imagine it would’ve been easier to tell himself stuff like that and try to believe it and try to stay mad to keep his distance, especially once he was on the other side of the portal. After all, keeping a grudge is easier than reconciliation, especially when you and the other person have no emotional intelligence and limited communication skills.

Lastly, when it comes to pathologizing, I think it’s potentially relevant that Stan and Ford are twins so stuff like autism that’s autistic would be a shared trait that both of them have. I just think it could be interesting to get into the genetic components of some of the different diagnoses that have been proposed for Ford, especially NPD since it does have a genetic factor. If people want to act like Ford is a villain because he potentially has NPD, then those same people have to accept that that would mean Stan does to and tbh I’d love to explore how a cluster b disorder like that could potentially make sense with Stan’s character as well. Maybe then we could actually have a nuanced discussion about such things the way you suggested instead of continuing to demonize these disorders, their symptoms, and the people who have them.

Anyway, sorry this was so long but I just wanted to share and I look forward to seeing what else you come out with in the future 🩷

Well, thank you for sharing, though I do think we disagree on a couple of things. As far as a perpetual motion machine being impossible, like, I think that's the point? Like, the idea is "this is an impossible thing, and Ford, being brilliant, figured it out." The idea of "blaming" a 17-year-old for his physics-defying incredible demonstration of a principle that breaks the laws of physics being... not earthquake stable? Or not sturdy enough to survive a punch on the table? I don't know, guys. Like. Lots of marvels of scientific accomplishment are delicate instruments. I think the logic there is faulty. The science fair project falling apart is not Ford's fault. It WAS stable, then something broke. You can't blame him for making an easy-to-break machine. I've seen this argument floating around a lot recently, and I will be honest, it really annoys me. Would it have been smart for him to check under the sheet that Stan put there to hide it? Yeah, maybe. But it feels silly to say that makes him partly "responsible." I dunno. It's all semantics at some point, and it barely makes a difference, but that isn't how I would describe it.

As far as the Lost Journal pages being written by a liar, I did address this in my ATOTS video, and did not repeat myself in the Ford Defense video, but to summarize : I acknowledge that Bill could have lied in these pages, but for the sake of easily having a discussion about it, I do treat it at face value, simply because it would be annoying to need to add that caveat after every point.

(I also am not a personal fan of the theory that it was forged by Bill, but that's a separate topic altogether. No comment beyond that.)

As far as Ford's "hypocrisy" in warning Stan, I think we have different opinions here as well. Like, Ford does not think that Stan ignoring warnings is wrong, but HIM ignoring warnings is okay. He thinks him ignoring the warnings is the biggest mistake of his life and he's deeply angry at himself. If I burned myself on the stove, and then told someone else not to touch the stove because it is hot, I am not being a hypocrite. I am someone who learned something was dangerous.

Even if we disagree here, however, I appreciate you watching, and you taking the time to share your thoughts with me.

[hispanthicc]

Sex As A Guy Who Got Fat On Purpose

I like sex. I enjoy sex a lot. I haven't always "gotten off" during sex but that wasn't really a priority for me because I just liked the act of doing it. I think mostly I enjoyed getting my partner off. I used to have a lot of sex, or at least a lot in comparison to now, but since i've gained weight I haven't had much sex or any at all really.

I didn't realize how much this lack of sex was affecting me. I think having sex and being able to find people to have sex with me made me feel attractive. So the lack of it has made me feel unattractive, at least to locals. Online people seem to still find me attractive. I know that just because I haven't had it doesn't mean that I am unattractive. I know there are also a lot of factors that play into it. Anyways I went from having it regularly to not having it at all.

Gaining is hard for me so for the first few years of me trying to get fat on purpose I was basically just skinny, toned, and had a slightly rounded tummy which would completely disappear if I flexed. I could pass as skinny for a while. Then COVID hit and my physical activity levels became non existent. I very quickly went from being stuck at 130 lbs all the way to 220 lbs at my highest during 2020-2021. I also had a serious surgery which meant I couldn't do anything for about a year. So I got pretty chunky for a bit. then I lost like 40 lbs after going through a break up. which btw was not a sexual relationship, and I think that also affected me a lot in a negative way. Especially because of some of the things he said in the end which made me feel really unattractive.

I'm not really the type of guy that chases anyone or initiates anything and this has nothing to do with my weight because i've never pursued anyone that isn't already pursuing me. I am really shy and the very few times i've tried, i've been rejected. So I don't. This usually just leads to me talking to a bunch of guys that i'm not attracted to which definitely doesn't lead to sex.

I used to be really open sexually. i've found thing i've written and posted from years ago that I would probably be too shy or too embarrassed to say now. But being with my ex he kinda made me feel a lot of shame for the things that I liked sexually or was attracted to. Since then I find it hard to connect with people sexually.

I think i'm also afraid that if I am too open sexually it'll attract the wrong kinds of people, which is something I unfortunately have experience with.

Most of the guys that are attracted to me are usually not locals and unfortunately means that a lot of the communication is all talk. They usually want me to send nudes or they want to send me nudes and sometimes looking is nice but I am not always in the mood to take pics for someone especially when they're probably just gonna disappear when they cum. Online sexual communication doesn't really do it for me. I want it in real life, the online barrier is frustrating and it honestly feels no different than jerking off to porn, which is fine but the real thing is so much better. There seems to be a lack of a real personal connection with it and it feels like i'm like mentally turned off by it. I never ask for nudes because I don't want anyone asking me for nudes. I genuinely hate when I’m talking to someone and they're so nice at first and then they say "Can I see more of you" because then it feels like they didn't mean any of the compliments they were just trying to soften me up to get nudes out of me. I usually only send stuff like that to friends.

It also seems like guys are more focused on what they want instead of what I want and many of them say things like "I want to do this to you" and never "would you like it if I did this to you" which maybe isn't that big of a deal but it comes across as less caring,

I don't know how I appear to others but I would say currently I look pretty chubby all over and I don't think I would be mistaken for skinny even when I suck in. Sometimes I shock myself when I see my reflection or see a pic someone else took. My body is bigger all over and it's still very new to me to actually be a fat guy. I like the way I look and I like the way being fat feels. I feel sexually aroused by it and I keep trying to make myself bigger and bigger but I know that isn't a common thing for people to be into IRL. So it's kinda like "do I lose weight so that I can be physically appealing enough to have sex irl" or do I just keep gaining cuz it makes me happier in general even if it is killing my sex life. I also think about how a lot of people in the gainer community are Asexual-ish or their sexuality is so tied to the fat that if I did lose weight i'd probably lose the affection of those people too. So many times I see "so-and-so lost weight and now I’m not attracted to them anymore" which is extremely hurtful even if it doesn't apply to me at the moment.

I wish I wasn't so shy but I’m not sure that it would matter. I feel like everyone has an idea of what they want in a partner (sexually or romantically) and I’m not sure that I fit, no pun intended, what people want where I live, and I hate knowing that eventually i'll probably have to move just to find someone.

I also know that my tragic dating life and non existent sex life are my fault. I'm not an easy person to get close to or be with but I’m trying to learn how let people in and be the best I can be for someone whenever I do actually connect.

[vibeswithdivs]

He’s more patient than he looks

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

The hum of conversation filled the Red Bull Racing headquarters as employees bustled about with an energy that was almost infectious. Engineers huddled over laptops, mechanics leaned against tool racks with grease-streaked hands, and the faint smell of coffee lingered in the air. It was a world that thrummed with purpose, speed, and precision—qualities that the newcomer sitting at her desk felt slightly out of sync with.

You can do this, she told herself for the hundredth time that day.

Being a social media manager for one of the most prominent teams in Formula 1 was a dream job. Yet, as she stared at the screen, where a half-finished tweet about race day statistics blinked back at her, that dream felt a lot more like a free-fall. She wasn’t just crafting posts about breakfast specials or gym memberships anymore—she was managing the online presence of an entire racing empire.

And, truthfully, she was floundering.

“Morning!”

The cheerful voice made her jump, and she turned to see her colleague, Sophie, leaning over her cubicle wall with a grin. “How’s the newbie settling in?” Sophie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh… good!” she replied quickly, pasting on a smile that she hoped masked her nerves.

Sophie tilted her head, unconvinced. “You’ve been staring at that screen for an hour, and the only thing you’ve posted today is a retweet from Pirelli. Do you need help?”

“No, I’m just—” She paused, biting her lip. “I don’t even know what half these terms mean. DRS, power unit, undercut… it’s like everyone here is speaking a different language.”

Sophie’s face softened. “It is a different language,” she said with a chuckle. “Give it time. It’s only your first week. You’ll get the hang of it. And if you’re still lost, you’ve got plenty of people to ask.”

“Like who?”

“Like me,” Sophie said with a wink. “Or, if you’re feeling brave, you could ask the drivers. Max and Checo are usually good sports about answering questions.”

“Right,” she said, laughing nervously. “Because it’s totally normal to walk up to Max Verstappen and ask him to explain tire degradation.”

“You’d be surprised,” Sophie replied with a grin. “He’s more patient than he looks.”

She didn’t expect to test Sophie’s theory quite so soon. Later that afternoon, while she was setting up her phone to record a behind-the-scenes video in the garage, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Need help?”

She turned, almost dropping her phone when she saw Max Verstappen standing there, dressed in his Red Bull team kit and holding a bottle of water. His blue eyes were bright with curiosity, and his expression was disarmingly friendly.

“Uh… no! I mean, yes. Maybe?” she stammered, fumbling with the tripod. “Sorry, I’m still figuring all this out.”

Max chuckled, setting his water down on a nearby workbench. “Don’t worry about it. What are you trying to do?”

“I’m supposed to get some footage of the engineers prepping your car, but I can’t get the angle right, and—” She broke off, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “It’s my first week. I’m still getting the hang of everything.”

“You’re doing fine,” Max said, his tone reassuring as he stepped closer. “Here, let me see.”

She handed him the phone, watching as he adjusted the tripod with practiced ease. He crouched slightly, angling the camera until it perfectly captured the scene in the garage.

“Like this?” he asked, stepping back to let her check.

She stared at the screen in amazement. “That’s… perfect. How did you do that so quickly?”

“Years of media obligations,” he said with a shrug. “You pick up a thing or two.”

She smiled, feeling some of her nervousness ebb away. “Thanks, Max.”

“No problem,” he replied, picking up his water bottle. “And if you ever need help with anything else—questions, technical stuff, whatever—just ask. It’s better than guessing.”

Max wasn’t kidding. Over the next few weeks, she found herself turning to him more often than she expected, and he answered every question with surprising patience.

“What’s a DRS zone?” she asked one afternoon during a lunch break.

“It’s where we can open the rear wing to go faster,” Max explained, demonstrating with his hands. “But only in certain areas and under certain conditions. You know, to make overtaking easier.”

“And what’s an undercut?” she asked the next day while filming a promo video in the paddock.

Max smirked. “That’s when you pit earlier than the car ahead of you to get fresher tires and gain track position. But timing is everything. If you mess it up, it doesn’t work.”

“Right,” she said, nodding along even though she still felt a bit lost.

Max seemed to notice her confusion because he added, “It’s like beating someone to the front of the line at a concert by taking a shortcut. Make sense?”

“Ahh,” she said, grinning. “That actually helps.”

With Max’s encouragement, her confidence grew. She started experimenting with different content ideas, from quirky Instagram stories to polished YouTube vlogs. Her colleagues noticed the change, offering praise and feedback that bolstered her even further.

But it was Max’s quiet support that made the biggest difference. He never made her feel stupid for asking questions or stumbling over her words, and his humor often turned stressful moments into something lighter.

One evening, as she sat in the media center editing a race weekend highlight reel, Max walked by and paused to watch over her shoulder.

“Not bad,” he said, nodding at the screen.

“‘Not bad’?” she repeated, turning to him with a mock glare.

He grinned. “Okay, fine. It’s great. But you missed the part where I overtook Checo in Turn 3. That was the best move of the race.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing. “I’ll add it to the blooper reel.”

“Bloopers?” he said, pretending to look offended. “That was pure talent.”

She shook her head, unable to suppress her smile. “You’re impossible, Verstappen.”

“And you’re doing a great job,” he said, his tone softening. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

By the time the season reached its midpoint, she felt like she’d finally found her footing. The fast-paced world of Formula 1 no longer felt overwhelming; instead, it felt exhilarating.

One evening, after a particularly successful social media campaign, she found herself standing on the balcony of the team’s hospitality unit, watching the sun set over the paddock. Max joined her a few minutes later, leaning against the railing with a relaxed smile.

“Long day?” he asked.

“Always,” she replied with a chuckle. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“I’d say you’re more than getting the hang of it,” Max said. “You’ve been killing it lately. Everyone’s noticed.”

She glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Really?”

“Really,” he said, meeting her gaze. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve made this job your own. You’ve brought something new to the team. It’s good.”

Her chest swelled with gratitude, and she looked down, trying to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. “Thanks, Max. For everything. I don’t think I would’ve survived my first month without you.”

He chuckled, reaching out to nudge her shoulder playfully. “Anytime. You’re part of the team now, and we take care of our own. Even if you still ask a million questions.”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Get used to it, Verstappen. I’ve got plenty more where those came from.”

Max smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Bring it on.”

[canonicallyobserving911]

“I can’t imagine anything more painful than going through life alone. Except maybe one thing… going through death alone.”

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

New Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - 8x6 "Confessions" through mid-season finale CODA or a "Fix it": “I can’t imagine anything more painful than going through life alone. Except maybe one thing… going through death alone.”

Chapter 6 is now available on AO3.

“I can’t imagine anything more painful than going through life alone. Except maybe one thing… going through death alone.”

Fic Summary: Eddie feels completely alone, he isolates himself and the weight of it causes him to slip into a deep depression. Once he accepts the fact that he’ll die alone, he has a decision to make regarding his life. Buck finally gets clarity about his relationship status and once he does, realization sets in and he becomes frustrated that he didn’t see it coming. Will they finally figure out they’re each other’s person before it’s too late?

Currently 6 of 10 chapters completed: 85.7K Words; Rated: Teens and Up Audiences

One chapter will be posted at a time.

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Here's a snippet from Chapter 6 of Buck and Eddie talking while they're sitting inside of a restaurant and their eating breakfast.

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Eddie uses his napkin to wipe his mouth and after he takes another sip of his coffee, he says, “Buck, I’m going to be honest with you and explain that this is not going to be easy because my mom is controlling and when she wants something, she nags and belittles people… including family members until she gets it. She tries everything to undermine the other person and the things she says will hurt. I said all of that to say… this fight to get Chris won’t be easy and if she proceeds with a custody battle it’s going to be bad.”

Buck doesn’t break eye contact with him because he’ll do whatever it takes to help Eddie get his son back. He knows Eddie’s a great dad because he’s witnessed it with his own two eyes and he knows how much Eddie loves his son.

“When I changed my will, I should have told you about it but I didn’t and there’s a reason but I’m not in a good enough headspace to get into that yet. Once this stuff with Chris is resolved and I’ve unpacked it all in therapy, we’ll discuss it but me naming you to be his legal guardian was the best decision I’ve ever made. It wasn’t fair for me not to tell you about it and for that I apologize but it’s like I said before, I know you’ll fight for him the same way I do and that’s what I want for him. This custody battle will be ruthless and we both saw what Hen and Mara went through to get their foster license back but this is different. Things are likely to get very messy really fast and I want you to know that I understand if you don’t want to go with me. So, before we leave here to go to the airport…” He trails off when Buck starts talking.

“Eddie?”

“I’m serious, Buck. I understand and I’ll pay for your airfare, so you won’t have to worry.”

How will Buck respond to Eddie's offer to pay for his airfare so he won't have to go to El Paso? 👀

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Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 - Eddie’s avoiding conversations with everyone at the 118 to prevent having to talk about how lonely he feels. On the other hand, Buck excitedly prepares to spend a romantic weekend with his boyfriend only to learn something he should already know.

Chapter 2 - Eddie appears to be happy whenever he’s at work but the truth is he’s masking his high-functioning depression with smiles and laughter. After another call with Chris, he falls deeper into depression and for the second time since he’s been living in L.A., he considers risking it all because he has nothing to lose. Since Buck’s got clarity on his non-existent romantic relationship, his fear of being left behind resurfaces and it causes him to spiral and he thinks he’s lost everything. In his search for answers to his relationship problems, he starts asking the questions he should have asked years ago.

Chapter 3 - Both Buck and Eddie experience déjà vu numerous times over the course of three days and during those encounters, Buck’s reminded of his own definition of love while defining moments from Eddie’s past resurface and he finally forces himself to confront them.

Chapter 4 - As Eddie hits rock bottom, he has a difficult time trying to pull himself back up and Buck does what he always does, he never gives up.

Chapter 5 - Buck’s inside Eddie’s home and he’s standing right in front of him explaining he’s here to help. Eddie’s happy to see him and he’s finally ready to make several confessions about the things that have been happening and the way he’s been feeling.

Chapter 6 - As Buck and Eddie prepare to leave Los Angeles for El Paso, Eddie initiates another conversation with Buck regarding his will and before it ends, they’ll outline a parenting and legal guardianship plan that will prove they’ve been coparenting Chris for the last 7 years and the way they’ve been doing it is in Chris’ best interest.

Chapter 7 - Will be posted soon.

Chapter 8 - Will be posted soon.

Chapter 9 - Will be posted soon.

Chapter 10 - Will be posted soon.

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Read: chapters 1 - 6 are available on AO3.

Continue reading on AO3

[moonlitstoriess]

The Shadows in the Sunlight- A Helion Series

Summary: Helion, the High Lord of the Day Court, is known for his charm, power, and control over light. However, when a mysterious female from a forgotten, shadowy court—a court thought to be destroyed long ago-emerges, everything he thought he knew is challenged.

See masterlist

The voice was unmistakable, threading through the stillness like a ghost from her past. Marielle froze, her shadows stilling as if they, too, recognized the presence now stepping into the clearing.

“You should know better than to hide from me,” the figure said, their tone low but laden with familiarity.

Her stomach twisted. That voice—it had been lifetimes since she’d last heard it, yet it carried the same mixture of authority and something softer, something she had once trusted. “I wasn’t hiding,” she said, her voice flat, though her shadows coiled protectively around her.

A soft laugh, almost mocking. “You were always a terrible liar.”

The figure moved closer, stepping into the faint moonlight that pierced the canopy. His face emerged from the shadows—ageless, sharp, and hauntingly familiar. Marielle’s breath caught in her throat.

“Kael,” she whispered, the name tasting both bitter and sweet on her tongue.

He stopped a few paces away, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “It’s been a while,” he said casually, as if they hadn’t parted on the worst of terms, as if centuries hadn’t stretched between them like a chasm.

Marielle’s nails bit into her palms as she struggled to maintain her composure. “What are you doing here?”

“What I’ve always done,” Kael replied, his gaze sweeping over her with a blend of curiosity and calculation. “Cleaning up the messes you leave behind.”

Her jaw tightened. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said, his smirk faint but infuriating. “But that’s never stopped you from needing it.”

Kael took a step closer, his presence undeniable, the weight of years between them as heavy as the night itself. His dark eyes never left hers, and though his expression remained cool, there was something unreadable in the set of his jaw.

“You look like I just dragged you out of the grave,” Kael remarked, his voice darkly amused.

Marielle’s heart lurched, though she gave no sign of it. The past had been buried for a reason. “How are you even alive, Kael?” Her voice was sharp, like she could slice through the years that separated them. “Our people are dead. You were dead. I saw the ashes of everything we knew.”

His lips curled, a sardonic smile playing on his face. “I’m harder to kill than you think.”

Her breath caught. She could still feel the way she had watched him fall—the way the world had crumbled under their feet, how they’d failed. The ashes of their people were still in her mind, the bitter taste of defeat searing her memories.

“Then why?” she asked, her voice suddenly raw, betraying a hint of the pain she’d kept buried for so long. “Why didn’t you come back? Why did you leave me to carry the weight of it all?”

Kael’s gaze softened for the briefest of moments, and that flicker of vulnerability made her stomach tighten. He took another step forward, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. “I didn’t have a choice, Marielle. I tried—Gods, you have no idea how hard I tried to stay with you. But you... you were always too far ahead.”

Marielle wanted to lash out at him, to blame him for the years they had lost. But the words wouldn’t come. There was too much pain, too much history between them. “I had no choice,” she muttered, almost to herself. “We all had no choice.”

Kael’s expression darkened. “You think I wanted to leave you in that hell?”

“You left me!” she snapped, finally stepping into the space between them, her breath ragged and chest tight. “You and everyone else. I—” Her voice faltered, but she refused to let him see how close she was to breaking. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of it.”

His hand shot out before she could retreat, grabbing her wrist with a force that sent a jolt through her. Marielle’s heart raced, her shadows flaring, but something in the way his grip tightened kept her rooted in place.

“I never wanted this either,” Kael said, his voice strained now. “But here we are.” His thumb brushed over her pulse, a subtle, intimate gesture, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like they were back in another lifetime.

But then the shadows around her pulsed violently, a sharp reminder of the war they had fought, the lives they had lost. She pulled her wrist away, not trusting herself to feel any more than the cold rage building inside her.

“I’m not here for old wounds, Kael,” she said, her tone like steel. “I’m here for answers. So either give me something I can use, or get out of my way.”

Kael held her gaze for a long moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. Then, with a heavy sigh, he let go of the tension between them. “Fine,” he said, voice low and steady. “But you won’t get any answers from me until you tell me what the hell you’re doing here. You think you can run from the Day Court forever? What makes you so sure they won’t track you down and drag you back?”

Marielle’s eyes narrowed, her shadows now whispering at the edges of her mind. “I’ll make them regret it.”

Kael studied her, his gaze never wavering, and for a moment, she wondered if he was looking at the female she had become, or the one she used to be—the one who had laughed in his arms under the stars, the one who had believed in something greater than survival.

“You always were stubborn,” Kael muttered, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “Just like old times.”

Marielle’s pulse quickened at the familiar, bittersweet reminder of who they had been, but she shook her head, forcing herself to focus. “This isn’t about us, Kael. This is about surviving. And I will survive.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable—concern, perhaps, or something darker—but he said nothing more. Instead, he turned toward the shadows of the forest, as if weighing his next move.

“Stay out of my way,” she warned him.

Kael’s expression darkened once more, but there was something almost resigned in his voice as he spoke. “You won’t get far without me.”

The tension between them crackled in the silence, but Marielle refused to let it consume her. She had learned long ago that emotions, even the ones tied to people like Kael, were weaknesses. And she couldn’t afford to be weak, not now.

“Watch me,” she said, her voice cool as ice, her hand resting on the hilt of the dagger at her side. Her shadows flickered around her like restless spirits, obeying her every command.

Kael didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment, she thought he might simply leave. But instead, he turned back to face her, his gaze unwavering, piercing. "You really think you can face all this alone? The Day Court is not the only threat you’re dealing with. You won’t last long without someone watching your back.”

Marielle scoffed, her lips curling into a bitter smile. "I survived before. I’ll survive again."

A dark chuckle escaped him, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Is that what you think? That running, hiding, and pretending everything is fine will save you? You think the shadows you hide in can protect you from everything?"

For a moment, her heart skipped a beat, the sharp sting of the past threatening to break through her carefully constructed walls. She didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, she studied him, her expression guarded.

"You have no idea what I’ve been through," she said softly, her voice cold but tinged with an edge of something deeper—something fragile that she didn’t dare acknowledge. "None of you do."

Kael seemed to pick up on that, his lips pressing into a thin line as his brow furrowed slightly. "I don’t need to know everything, Marielle. But what I do know is that you can’t do this alone. Not anymore."

She took a step back, her eyes narrowing. "I’m not asking for your help, Kael."

His gaze darkened. "And I’m not offering it. But I’m not leaving, either. Not until I know what is going on here."

Marielle’s temper flared, the shadows around her rippling as she stepped closer, the space between them charged with a simmering heat. "You can’t just show up, Kael, after all these years, and expect me to trust you." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the force of it held enough weight to make even Kael pause.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the air thick with unspoken words. Then Kael, ever the master of restraint, broke the silence with a sharp exhale. "Fine. No trust. But we need to figure this out together. Whether you like it or not."

Marielle glared at him, but deep down, she couldn’t deny the flicker of understanding. He had been right about one thing: she wasn’t going to survive this alone. She didn’t want to admit it, but the truth was there, gnawing at her, a bitter reminder of how far she had fallen. The question was, though... did she want Kael back in her life?

“No,” she said sharply, shaking her head as if to dispel the thought. “I don’t need you. Not anymore. You don’t get to decide how I fight this battle.”

Kael’s expression shifted—something unreadable flickered in his eyes. “I’m not deciding anything, Marielle. But don’t pretend that you’re the only one who’s lost everything. Don’t pretend I’m not trying to help you because I am.”

Marielle felt the weight of his words sink in, heavy and suffocating. But she refused to show it. She’d been alone for too long to let anyone back in. Especially Kael.

“This isn’t about you,” she said, her voice almost pleading. “This is about survival. And the Day Court—” Her voice cut off, the mention of them turning her stomach.

Kael was silent for a beat, then he stepped closer once again, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You’re not running from them, not forever. And you can’t do this alone.”

Marielle’s jaw clenched, but she refused to let her anger overtake her. “I’ll find a way.”

He shook his head, almost pityingly. "Not this time."

The tension in the air thickened again, like a brewing storm. Marielle held her ground, even though every instinct within her screamed to run, to escape, to push him away and leave the past buried.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kael stepped back, his eyes flicking toward the darkened woods ahead.

"Your move," he muttered, his voice strained but resigned. "But don’t come crawling back when your little war ends up in the hands of the Day Court."

Marielle didn’t reply. She didn’t need to.

As he walked away, a flicker of doubt gnawed at her insides. But she crushed it ruthlessly, unwilling to face the reality that, for all her defiance, she might actually need Kael more than she was willing to admit.

The high ceilings and glittering chandeliers seemed oppressive tonight, the air thick with unanswered questions. Helion paced before his desk, fingers trailing across an ancient tome spread open to a page filled with shadowed figures and forgotten histories.

When the knock came, it was sharp and precise.

“Enter,” Helion called, his voice steady, but his heart leaping with anticipation.

The door swung open, revealing Azriel. The shadowsinger stepped inside, his footsteps silent despite the polished marble floors. Shadows coiled lazily around his frame, more subdued than usual, though Helion thought they seemed restless in the glowing room.

“Azriel,” Helion greeted, motioning to a chair across from his desk. “I expected your High Lord to join you.”

“Rhysand thought it best I come alone.” Azriel’s voice was a low rumble, the kind that commanded attention without effort. He didn’t sit, instead moving to stand by the window, his gaze flickering to the horizon where the sun was beginning to dip below the mountains. “I assume you know why I’m here.”

Helion chuckled. "Of course, what other reason would bring you here on a random evening? Surely not all the beautiful ladies we got here. I know your type is blond and very much not interested in you."

Azriel's gaze moved back to Helion, his voice laced in cool indifference as he said. "I never saw you with any other blonds either. Seems like Mor is the only one you like to fuck."

Helion smirked, unbothered by the Shadowsinger’s cold tone. “Ah, there it is. That infamous charm of yours. You’re here for answers, I assume?” He leaned back against the ornate desk in his study, crossing his arms in a casual stance. “Well, I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a loss. The cloaked female left as quickly as she came.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his hazel eyes narrowing. “You’re certain she didn’t leave any trace? A scent, a mark—anything?”

Helion’s humor faded, replaced by a rare seriousness. “Nothing. Not even a whisper. It’s as if she dissolved into the air. Whoever she is—or was—she didn’t want to be found.”

"Surely she couldn't have gone far given her injuries."

"Well, she is no where to be found soo..." Helion shrugged his shoulders.

Azriel was silent for a moment, his shadows muttering secrets only he could hear. Finally, he said, “She sought me out specifically. That means she knows who I am, and she knows something I don’t. A message like that... it’s not delivered lightly.”

Helion studied him, his amber eyes sharp despite the languid air he always carried. “She said they’re all dead. You wouldn’t happen to have a long list of enemies—or allies—with shadowy abilities, would you?”

Azriel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No one alive, as far as I’m aware.”

Helion tilted his head, considering. “Then I suppose it’s time to start digging into the past. Yours and hers. Though, I must admit...” His gaze flicked to Azriel’s shifting shadows. “Her ability to vanish like that, to leave no trace, it feels... familiar. Doesn’t it?”

Azriel didn’t answer. Instead, his shadows spread out, weaving through the study as if searching for something unseen. “If she comes back,” he said finally, his voice a low command, “you will call me. Immediately.”

Helion smiled, but there was no mirth in it. “Oh, you’ll be the first to know, Shadowsinger. You might be the only one she’ll let close enough to find out the truth.”

Without another word, Azriel winnowed away, leaving Helion standing alone, the faint chill of his shadows still lingering in the room.

The night was thick with silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves as Marielle moved through the forest. Her steps were uneven, each one a reminder of the injuries she’d yet to heal. The shadows around her swirled and danced, eager to lend their strength, but even they seemed restless after the encounter in Helion’s court.

She leaned against the rough bark of a towering oak, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The cloak she wore, frayed and muddied from her escape, now hung limply at her sides. The luxurious warmth of the Day Court had felt alien, too bright, too open. This forest was more familiar, the shadows a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.

“Azriel,” she whispered, testing the name on her tongue.

Her mind replayed the scene at the palace. She’d been careless, revealing herself in such a dramatic way. But there hadn’t been a choice. Time was slipping through her fingers like sand, and the hunt was narrowing. She needed answers, and the Shadowsinger was the only thread left to follow. For now.

But what if he didn’t come?

The thought made her chest tighten. No, he would come. Shadows like his—they weren’t born, they were made. Shaped by loss, by pain. He would understand what it meant to lose everything.

She pressed her hand to her side, wincing as her fingers came away slick with blood. The wound was deeper than she’d thought, and her strength was waning. She needed to move.

The shadows whispered their warnings, the wind carrying distant voices. Someone was searching for her. Perhaps Helion’s guards. Perhaps something far worse.

Marielle gritted her teeth and pushed off the tree, stumbling toward the cavern she’d spotted earlier. It wasn’t much—a shallow hollow in the hillside—but it would do for the night. As she settled into the darkness, she pulled her shadows closer, weaving them into a shield that made her almost invisible against the rock.

Her mind churned with fragmented memories. A court long destroyed. Faces she could no longer name. The weight of vengeance pressing down on her like a storm cloud.

She let her head rest against the cool stone, her body trembling with exhaustion. “I’ll find them,” she murmured to the shadows, her voice a vow. “I’ll stop them. Or die trying.”

The shadows seemed to tighten around her, a silent promise of their own.

For now, she would wait. Heal. And when the time came, she would meet Azriel face-to-face.

Not as a messenger.

But as a reckoning.

And hopefully, he would have some answers to her questions.

She awoke to a scent—something warm, earthy, and foreign. Her body ached, the dull pain of her injuries still lingering, but not as sharply as it had been. Her fingers brushed over her bandaged side, and she winced as she sat up, her mind still sluggish from the remnants of exhaustion.

The cavern around her was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a fire. Her eyes scanned the shadows, instinctively reaching for her weapons, but she froze when she saw him.

Kael.

His back was turned to her, tending to the fire, and the moment she blinked, he had already sensed her movement. She didn’t need to look at him to know he was waiting for her to speak.

"You're alive," she said, her voice sharp with disbelief. “I thought I made it clear before. We’re nothing now.”

Kael’s lips quirked, the barest hint of amusement flickering in his eyes as he turned toward her. “Funny, because your injuries said otherwise.” He stepped closer, and Marielle tensed, instinctively pulling herself away from him, though there was no real strength to it. She still felt weak from the last few days.

He knelt beside her, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Marielle. I’m not here to reminisce.”

She glared at him, her jaw tightening. “How did you find me?”

Kael stood, his expression unreadable. He grabbed a small bowl from beside the fire and held it out to her. “Does it matter?”

She eyed the food, but her stomach twisted. The thought of eating anything he’d provided made her stomach churn. “You don’t get to play the hero now.”

"Eat," Kael said, his voice low and unwavering. “I didn’t go through the trouble of saving your life just to watch you starve.” He dropped the bowl in her lap with a force that made her flinch. “Eat. Or I’ll force it down your throat.”

She met his cold gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. He wasn’t joking.

For a moment, they locked eyes, neither of them willing to back down. Finally, Marielle sighed, resigned. She grabbed the bowl, eating in silence.

Kael settled down beside her, watching the fire with a detached look on his face. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, tension simmering just below the surface.

After a few moments of silence, Marielle broke it. “I thought you were dead,” she muttered, the bitterness creeping into her voice.

“You were supposed to think that,” Kael replied, his tone flat. “You’re not the only one who’s had to live in the shadows.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s it? No grand explanations? No dramatic, ‘I’ve been to hell and back?’”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stood and began pacing, the shadows around him shifting. “I’m not here to answer your questions. Just like you’re not here to answer mine.”

She flinched, though she tried not to show it. She had no intention of revealing anything—especially not about the devastation that had befallen her court.

“So, you’ve come to help me then?” she asked, the words dripping with skepticism. “Or is this another game of ‘Kael saves the day’?”

“Hardly,” he muttered, turning back toward her. “But I’m not about to let you run off and die on your own, either. We both want the same thing.”

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing. “And what’s that?”

Kael didn’t answer right away. His eyes flickered to the fire, his face hardening. “Revenge. For our people. For everything they took from us.”

Marielle’s heart twisted in her chest, but she didn’t show it. She knew exactly what he meant—the same thing she wanted, the same thing she had spent years preparing for.

“We’re not allies,” she said firmly, setting the bowl aside. “Not yet.”

Kael nodded, his expression unreadable. “Fine. But you’ll need me. You can’t do this alone.”

“And you think I need you?” Marielle’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Funny, I never thought you were the hero type.”

“I’m not,” Kael replied, his voice hard. “But I’m the only one who can help you get what you want. So, deal with it.”

They locked eyes for a long moment, each assessing the other, calculating the risks, the consequences. It was clear they both had their own motives, their own questions, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. They were both survivors, and right now, their goals aligned.

"Fine," she finally said, her voice cold. "But this doesn't mean we're friends."

"I didn't come here for friendship," Kael muttered, his shadowy figure moving closer. "Let's get one thing clear. We’re not allies either, not really. We’re just two people who want the same thing. And for now, that’s enough.”

Marielle didn’t answer, but the flicker of understanding between them spoke louder than any words could.

The training grounds were empty at this hour, lit only by the pale glow of the moon overhead. Helion’s fists connected with the worn leather of the punching bag, the repetitive rhythm of his strikes echoing through the open-air space. Sweat dripped from his brow, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

The palace had become too much—a cage of unanswered questions and unwanted responsibilities. Training was the only thing that made sense right now, the only way to silence the chaos in his mind.

Helion’s fists slammed harder into the bag, his muscles straining with every movement. The chain holding the bag creaked under the force, and the metallic sound rang out like a warning bell.

But it wasn’t enough. The physical release couldn’t quiet the gnawing unease in his chest. He threw one final punch, sending the bag swinging violently, before stepping back and wiping his hands down his face.

He hasn’t even seen her face. First, she appears in all her shadowy, mystical glory and leaves without a trace, then she collapses in the middle of his palace and when he carries her, her shadows still protect her face from his view. Those little rascals.

He had her twice. Twice. And yet, both times he managed to let her slip away.

Helion groaned. Why is he so attached to her now? Why is she constantly plaguing his mind to the point where he can’t even concentrate on anything else?! Not to mention the fact that he hasn’t even seen her face.

His breath fogged in the cold night air as he stilled, listening to the quiet around him. The palace loomed in the distance, its towering spires casting long shadows over the grounds. He felt the weight of it pressing on his shoulders, the responsibilities and expectations of a High Lord that never seemed to lessen.

Helion’s eyes drifted to the stars above, his hands still clenched at his sides. His mother used to tell him that the stars held answers, that they guided the path of those who looked for meaning in their chaos. But tonight, they were just distant lights, cold and unfeeling.

The sound of footsteps broke his focus.

Helion stiffened, turning toward the source. The training grounds were supposed to be empty at this hour, and most of the guards knew better than to interrupt him when he was out here.

“Helion.”

The voice was familiar, sharp and authoritative. It was one of his closest advisors, and Helion’s stomach sank at the tone. He recognized that edge—it meant something had happened.

“What is it?” Helion asked, his voice low and steady, though his instincts were already on high alert.

The advisor hesitated, a rare flicker of unease crossing his face. He held out a folded piece of parchment, its edges slightly singed, as though it had been delivered in a hurry.

“This arrived moments ago,” the advisor said quietly.

Helion’s eyes scanned the parchment, his blood running cold as he read the single line: “The Court of Shadows is ash, but the sun’s betrayal lit the flame.”

His breath caught in his throat. Helion read the words again, slower this time, as though trying to decipher some hidden meaning. The Court of Shadows had been a secretive, shadowy realm, one that many believed was wiped from existence long ago. But…what did this message mean? And who even sent it?

“How did this get here?” Helion demanded, his voice sharp.

The advisor hesitated again. “It appeared in flames, High Lord. No messenger, no trace of where it came from. Just… that.”

Helion’s hands tightened around the parchment as his mind raced. The strange female who has become a constant in his mind, Azriel’s some unknown involvement, and now this—pieces of a puzzle he didn’t yet understand. But one thing was clear: someone was trying to tell him something.

And they weren’t finished yet.

“Send word to the Spymaster,” Helion said, his voice cold and decisive. “I want to know everything about this—who sent it, what it means, and where it came from.”

The advisor nodded and left without another word, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Helion remained in the training grounds, his gaze fixed on the parchment in his hand. The words seemed to burn into his mind, their meaning becoming more confusing with each passing moment.

Helion’s jaw tightened as he turned his gaze back to the stars, a new resolve hardening within him.

Whoever was behind this, whatever game they were playing—he would find the answers. Even if it meant unraveling the darkest secrets of his world.

And Helion knew for a fact that if he got his hands on that female once again, he was not letting her go anytime soon.

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