#I know this isn’t my usual content but I was sent this picture and I had to share it here

[peeledpokemon]

Henlo this is my son his name is grunk and he has evry disease

Please look at himb

[satansapostle6]

Love The Sinner | Dexter Morgan

Dexter Morgan, a vigilante serial killer hiding in plain sight, loses sleep for the first time in his life when he’s met with the very last thing he expected: a kindred spirit.

Warnings: Violence. Mature language and themes. Sexual content.

Part One. Eyes of Darkness.

Most people, when they’re getting arrested, shit their pants with fear. Some scream, some cry. Some rage, and some try to run, and some just freeze. That’s what you usually see, when you’re in your parents’ living room, and your dad can’t wait to turn on the TV to the channel dickety-six news, of all things. But sometimes, people have other reactions when being handcuffed and shoved in the back of a squad car. Sometimes people enjoy it, for one reason or another. I smiled when Miami Metro put me in cuffs on the news. Laughed, even. You see my story is many things, but boring certainly isn’t one of them.

Let’s start simple. My name is Nicole Carvalho, and as of today, America knows me as ‘Murderous MILF’. You really can’t make these things up; I love this country. I keep reminding myself, if I ever go free, I need to clip that out of the newspapers. But see, right now, at this very moment, I’m sitting alone in an almost blindingly white interrogation room at the precinct, waiting for a cop to question me while they study me on the surveillance footage. I can’t lie, I’m sitting back right now in my chair, smirking. You see, I killed the men who violated and later took my baby girl’s life, and I’m currently very pleased with myself.

I don't think my grandfather pictured this when he left Brazil. This truly is the American dream; committing a crime and letting your own peers decide whether or not it was justified. In all honesty, a jury will be much kinder to me than ‘God’ has been. So, I figured I’d let myself have this one thing. I think I waited about a half an hour before they sent someone in; a female detective. They must’ve figured a matching vagina couldn’t hurt. The first thing I noticed about this detective was that she was strikingly young; close to my age. I’m thirty-six, so I would estimate her to be maybe a little younger.

But apart from her age, the next thing I noticed about this detective was that she was very robotic in how she interacted with me; she didn’t necessarily look like she wanted to be there. She barely looked up at me when she came in, holding my files and looking down at them like a teenager doing a presentation in high school.

“So. Nicole Carvalho. I’m Detective Morgan.”

She sits down across from me less like I’m a murder suspect and more like she’s interviewing me for a secretary job. I look at her, sitting forward as I join her in the conversation, still smug as ever. I think she was secretly hoping I’d say it, the four words that usually drove most cops insane that, for some reason, no one ever thinks to say in the movies.

“I want my lawyer.”

I smile as I say it. Detective Morgan also smiles, looking down at the table before getting up. I’ll never forget how pleased she sounded.

“Guess that means I can’t ask you anymore questions.”

She gets up and walks out, and that’s the end of it. In all honesty, I don’t think she was looking forward to questioning a woman about the murder of her daughter’s rapist. After the detective left me alone, I was allowed to call myself the lawyer that I had in mind. This, of course, was a friend of a friend, a perfectly shady guy named Johnny Bertelli, who was, in the nicest way possible, a fucking scum bag. You see, I work as a project manager at a marketing firm, so I’ve met my fair share of good lawyers, but Johnny was the fucking best.

He made Johnnie Cochran look like an idiot. He was the kind of lawyer who laughed at the prosecution in court, and I needed him. So there i was, in the Miami Metro precinct punching a number I’d gotten off Google into a wall phone. I looked around the precinct as I waited for someone to pick up, and suddenly it was like I felt a pair of eyes on me. I turned around, and I saw a pretty timid, mild-mannered looking guy who seemed as if he’d been standing there trying to figure out how to get my attention.

But the strange thing was, he didn’t seem to want my attention, at all, actually. If anything, he seemed perturbed by the fact that I was looking his way. I looked over at him, not knowing what the fuck his story could’ve been. Miami’s a weird place, because in this moment, I realized the guy wandering the precinct in a Polo and khakis could very well be an employee. I looked at the guy, not knowing what he could’ve wanted with me as I struggled with the phone. Funny enough, he actually just wanted to be helpful.

“You gotta press pound,” he says quietly, “For the call to go through,” and I almost laugh.

I appreciate the odd moment, just thanking him.“Thank you.”

He just nods, and says nothing as he quietly retreats to wherever it was he came from. I took his advice, and sure enough, the phone worked and patched me through to Johnny’s office. I wasn’t quite sure at the time, seeing as I was obviously a bit preoccupied, but I felt that strange man’s eyes linger on me for a moment. Even as I turned around, I could sense his surreal sort of presence that he had. Sure, I was used to having men’s leering eyes on me out in public; it was hardly unusual. But this was different.

Like he was less looking at my body and flesh, but more so imagining what was underneath it.

*****

The next couple years of my life were eventful, to say the fucking least. Johnny of course advised me to take my case to trial instead of taking a plea, for obvious reasons; there was no way any jury was going to give me the maximum sentence, or God forbid, the death penalty. I was a single mother who stabbed her twelve year-old daughter’s rapist seventeen times. In the eyes of the public, I was practically a fucking hero. Johnny’s confident that any jury would feel sympathetic to me, despite the brutality of what I’d done. As he says, the facts are still there.

My neighbor, a weasley little creep named George Randall got me, and my Isabelle, to trust him, and took advantage of her in the worst way. Then she killed herself, because of what he did, and I had to find out through a note left on her desk for me to find. So, I went to George’s with an empty baking dish of his, and once he let me in, I whipped out the knife I’d borrowed from him, the same knife I used to use to cook for my little girl, and I made his stomach burst like a water balloon. At this point, I’d already chosen to show little remorse for the crime I’d committed, feeling perfectly at peace with the possibility of prison, or the death penalty.

But Johnny said there was probably no need to be too fearful of either. He’d even told me there was a possibility I’d just get a few years, and then parole, or something, and I wasn’t sure that wasn’t bullshit, but I also liked his confidence. The reality of it was, Johnny had made much worse people look way better. To him, my case was already closed. All I had to do was play the part of the grieving mother, which took no effort on my part. I had to wait almost a year for my case to go to trial, which I of course did outside of a cell.

This gave me enough time to get all my affairs in order, or so to speak. My job was okay for the time being, and I knew I’d probably still have it so long as I wasn’t convicted of murder, given my ‘years of dedicated service’. Things were going to be relatively fine, eventually, but for now, I was stuck being paraded around like a jester on some twisted apology tour for avenging my daughter’s death. I’m a pretty good actor, but even my patience has its limits. And maybe wearing my white So Kate’s to court wasn’t necessarily the best judgement call.

But Johnny, being more than worth the money I pay him, made it work. I walked into the courtroom with him, humble and graceful, and didn’t let my eyes linger so as not to appear guilty. But even then, I caught a glimpse of him in the room. The guy who helped me with the phone. He was watching my trial, probably just as a police department employee. Probably.

“Will the defendant please rise?”

I complied with Judge Willis’s request, with my trusty guard dog by my side. I remained dignified, my head held high, but not too high, of course, as the proceedings began.

“Miss Carvalho. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor,” I told him.

The damage was done. My fate rested entirely in the hands of twelve strangers, and for some reason, there was a thirteenth who seemed oddly invested in the outcome.

-

Part Two.

[imaginespazzi]

Part 7: Home

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

These hands had to let it go free and this love came back to (us)

(In which with bittersweet feelings, a nostalgic writer, finally writes the end of the story)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst and Fluff

Words: 7.1K

TW: Swearing, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Hello my loves! I can't believe we've actually reached the end, who would have thought huh? I'm not sure if there will be an epilogue, mainly cause I don't know what I'd write but never say never. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter and if I've done the end I pictured justice but I really hope y'all like it anyways. There's a fair amount of creative liberty taken with WNBA logistics but please just accept it for the plot. Per usual, did I edit? Yes. Are there grammar mistakes and typos anyways? Yes. As always, let me know what you liked and disliked. And finally, to all my lovelies who have liked, reblogged, commented, sent in an ask, dm-ed me or simply just silently read this fic, I just wanna say thank you guys so, so, much, y'all have made writing every word worth it and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much I enjoyed writing it <3

August 2018

Paige swears, tonight, there are stars in the Minnesota night sky she’s never seen before in her life. The summer sky has darkened with nightfall, yet the shine of the moon and its companions make it still seem ever so bright. Or maybe, it’s just the girl lying next to Paige that makes tonight feel luminescent, sparkling with the promises of something not quite like friendship that Paige has never felt before. She’d spent the whole day with Azzi at the Minnesota State fair, trying to suppress these new butterflies in her stomach that seemed to have taken birth over their time in Latvia. Or well, maybe they’d been there from the start, but they’d really only started this dance of theirs, the one that makes Paige feel all tingly when Azzi smiles, over the course of this summer. 

“Paige it’s cold, stop hogging the blanket,” Azzi chastises, breaking Paige from a trance, as she tugs on the pink and purple blanket covering the two of them, “I knew we should have brought two of them.”

“It’s barely on me” Paige argues for the sake of arguing but she shifts anyway to allow the younger girl to pull the blanket, so clearly meant for one person, a little more towards her, “besides, it’s about sharing body heat.”

“You’re not even warm enough to share body heat,” Azzi mocks as she makes a show of tracing a finger down Paige’s arm and everything in the blonde feels like it’s been lit on fire at the touch. And she wonders if Azzi feels it too, the electricity, the sparks of this could ruin me that scatter through her veins before finding themselves setting her heart ablaze. It’s too much and Paige shakes Azzi’s hand off with a little more force than she means too. 

When Azzi sends her questioning look, she splutters through an excuse, “your hands are cold too. Can we just do the boring shit we’re here to do.”

"Stargazing is not boring,” Azzi says indignantly, opening the little stargazing booklet she’d brought with her, flicking through the pages looking for something specific. 

To be honest, sitting still in an open field and squinting at the sky trying to figure out a distant constellation isn’t really Paige’s brand of entertainment. She’s a fidgety person by nature, constantly embroiled in the urge to be moving. But Azzi had brought it up the other day, with pleading eyes and a hopeful grin and well, sometimes it felt sinful to deny Azzi of anything she wants. And that’s how they’d ended up at a campsite, not too far from the State fair, lying on the grass, heads tilted towards each other, with a single blanket shielding them from the summer breeze. 

“Okay,” Azzi says after a while, using her fingers to point out a pattern in the sky, “I think that one’s Cassiopeia.”

“If you say so,” Paige nods, not really sure what she’s supposed to be looking at. 

“Paaaaige,” Azzi whines, “focus.”

“Dude I can barely see anything, the fuck am I supposed to focus o-”

Before Paige can finish her sentence, she feels herself being pulled by the younger girl, the side of her body fitting into the crook’s of Azzi’s like a perfect puzzle piece. She looks over at the brunette, and the protest dies on the tip of her tongue, as she realises just how close Azzi is to her now, all semblance of air leaving her lungs. Paige gulps, eyes tracing every inch of her best friend’s face, stopping of their own accord at Azzi’s lips, before guiltily flashing back to meet the younger girl’s eyes which are just as focused on Paige. And it feels like there’s no force in this world right now that could make either of them look away. Except maybe the force of friends don’t do this. 

“Just focus,” Azzi breaks contact first, turning her face back at the stars, before gently grabbing hold of Paige’s hand so she can guide it in the pattern of the constellation. And Paige still doesn’t really see it, doesn’t even particularly care about seeing it, but if it gets Azzi to hold her hand, soft skin putting light pressure against her palm, she thinks she’ll try to see some random lines in the sky forever. 

“It’s pretty.”

“You don’t see it do you?”

“Nope,” Paige’s grin widens when Azzi chuckles, shaking her head fondly. Something in her blooms, delighted at being the reason for that. And she’s always prided herself in being funny, she thinks of herself as a little bit of a comedian really, but she’s never wanted to make anyone laugh quite as much as she wants to make Azzi laugh. 

“Well that’s enough stargazing for us then,” Azzi rolls her eyes, closing her little booklet and making a move to sit up but Paige is quicker, pulling the younger girl back down and interlocking their fingers. Her own overeagerness causes a tinge of embarrassment to race up her cheeks, and she hopes it’s dark enough that Azzi won’t see the pale pink blush taking over her face. 

“It’s peaceful out here,” she says quietly, sounding shy even to her own ears and she can’t help but wonder when the hell that happened, “you wanna stay a little longer?”

“Yeah okay let’s stay longer,,” Azzi agrees  and sometimes when Azzi speaks like that, her voice lyrically soft with a secret smile hidden in it, Paige wonders if maybe it would be okay to hope for, to feel something more because maybe, just maybe, Azzi feels it too. 

“You know you should come to the state championship,” Paige says after a second of silence, trying to keep her voice nonchalant but she can hear the wishfulness bleeding into it anyways. 

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “isn’t that in March? That’s like months and months away.”

“Yeah but- well-” Paige shrugs, cheeks burning just a little bit, “you probably wanna book in advance cause like tickets and stuff you know?”

“You don’t even know if you’ll be in the state championship. There’s still a whole season to go.”

“Oh I know. I know we’re definitely gonna be there.” Paige smirks, cockiness back in full-fledged form. 

“Then I’ll be there,” Azzi says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, “you better win though Bueckers.”

“Watch me,” and she’s jutting her chest out in arrogance sure, but really everything inside her is swelling with something else, a feeling she’s starting to understand a little too well, a feeling that terrifies her, a feeling she doesn’t think she’s quite ready to let herself feel yet, “it would be nice you know, to win a championship together at some point.”

“I don’t think my parents would be on board with moving to Minnesota.”

“I’m sure I could convince them,” Paige feels a little giddy at the thought, “but I meant more like college, like UConn.”

It’s a topic they’ve stumbled upon a couple of times, with each other, and with the other girls at Team USA. And as much as Paige would love for her other teammates to follow her to her dream school, she’s practical enough to know they might have other priorities. But the thing is that with the rest of the girls, it’s just something she’d like to happen but with Azzi, now that Paige has said it out loud, she’s beginning to realise how desperately she wants that, her and Azzi, on the same team, fighting the same battles and winning the same wars, together. 

“Don’t think you can win a national championship without me Bueckers?” Azzi smirks, twisting her head towards Paige, eyebrows cocked in arrogance. 

“Of course I can,” Paige’s face softens, the vulnerability that only ever seems to come out around her best friend seeping on to her features, “but I think it would be fun to win one with you. Someday.”

“Someday, “ Azzi whispers back, giving Paige’s hand a light squeeze, and then her eyes widen at the sky, “holy shit is that a shooting star? Oh my god Paige look up, quick, it’s beautiful.”

In the dark of the night, a rare flicker of gold shoots across the obsidian Minnesota sky. Paige has never seen one before but it seems fitting really, that she’d see one tonight. 

“We have to make a wish,” she whispers and Azzi, never one to really believe, rolls her eyes but she follows Paige’s lead, closing her eyes. And the thing is Paige could wish for a lot of things really, but she finds herself thinking of only one word that sums up all she could ever want: someday.

***

August 2026 

They’ve been playing against each other for years now and yet the thrill of the face-off still hasn’t quite worn off. Back in the handful of games in high school, it had been quickfire friendly trash talk, two best friends going at it like the competitors they were. College had been drastically different, each game, each play, underlined with the tension of two people who still hadn’t quite figured it out. But Paige thinks her favourite version of them as opponents is definitely this one, the one where they might be on different teams in the WNBA, but off the court, they both know they’re on the same side, together. 

Their relationship isn’t quite a secret; it would have been impossible to hide if after the kiss at the 2025 national championship. But they’d kept as quiet about it as possible, skillfully dodging media questions, wanting to shelter it from the prying eyes of the public. It makes playing each other on national television, just that little bit more entertaining, trying to keep things as cordial as possible. If Paige’s hands end up just a little too close to Azzi’s waist, lingering a little longer than necessary against the patch of skin she’d marked with a hickey earlier this morning, and it makes the younger girl shiver, then that’s just a tactic to win. And if Azzi breathes seductive thoughts of what she’d like to do after the game when guarding Paige, and it makes the blonde want to turn around and kiss the smirk off of her girlfriend’s lips, well that’s just another innovative defensive strategy. 

“Be a good girl for me and move,” Paige whispers, the double entendre in her voice apparent, as she tries to dribble the ball past Azzi. There’s only a minute or so left in the last meeting of the regular season between Paige’s Lynx and Azzi’s Mystics -funny how that had worked out-  and the score is painfully close, with the Mystics closing in on the Lynx’s two point-lead. 

“Always a good girl for you P,” Azzi smirks, her voice the quietest it could possibly be, but Paige hears her next words like they’re on a loudspeaker in the area,  “it’s why I’m wearing your favourite purple panties.”

It takes a second, a second where Paige’s eyes gloss over with lust, as her mind rushes back to the last time she’d seen, the last time she’d touched the silky undergarment, for the ball to be stolen from her hands. She’s a step too slow to recover and by that time Azzi’s already scored the easy lay-up to tie up the game, a mischievous grin adorning her normally stoic game face. 

On the other end of the court, Napheesa draws a foul and Paige and Azzi end up next to each for free throws. Paige is seething, unsure if the heat curling up her spine is from the game or the girl standing next to her. 

“Sorry baby, all’s fair in love and war right?” Azzi teases, pinky brushing against the blonde’s, “I’ll make it up to you later if you want.”

“You’re such a fucking menace,” Paige practically growls. She does want, in fact she’d like it right now if it was possible. Two years they’ve been together, longer if you count the inbetween, and still, every time Azzi lights a match, Paige feels herself burn just as brightly as the first time she’d felt that magnetic pull. 

“Learnt from the best,” Azzi hums with a grin as Napheesa hits both free throws. 

The rest of the game passes in a blur of frenzied shots and hurried fouls but the Lynx pull out an eventual, much-needed win, to better their chances of clinching a higher seed in the playoffs. After missing the playoffs in 2024, the Lynx, despite having relatively low odds, had secured the no.1 pick and there had never really been a doubt that they would pick Paige. She’d helped the team get back to the playoffs last season but they hadn’t made it out of the first round. A championship doesn’t seem quite possible yet, but Paige has her fingers crossed that they’d at least make it to a semi-final this time. 

“The two of you are terrible at this,” Aaliyah’s the first person to hug Paige during the handshake line, “I thought you’d jump each other’s bones in the middle of the game today.”

“We’re not that bad,” Paige rolls her eyes at her former teammate. She high-fives a few more of the Mystics team until she gets to Azzi, who’s already smiling, despite the loss. The cameras are quick to crowd them, clearly wanting a more sensational picture than the one they’re likely to get. Still, despite the unwanted attention, Paige lets herself nestle into the crook of Azzi’s neck. 

“You owe me twice tonight,” she whispers into the younger girl’s ear, “one for the win and one for that bullshit you pulled on the court tonight.”

Azzi’s voice is breathless when she replies, “I can give you way more than two.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a promise.”

***

“With the new rules, after this season you’ll be a free agent, have you given any thought to that?”

Waiting for the Lynx’s turn in the media room, Paige hadn’t been paying much attention to the questions being asked to the Mystics players, her focus solely on how hot her girlfriend always looked post games. But the words ‘free agent’ pique her interest. The W had changed the rookie contract rules for first round draftees to two years and that meant both Paige and Azzi would be free agents after this year. But while it hadn’t reached the media quite yet, the Lynx were likely to use their core designation on Paige. Which meant the only one of them making any decision about next season would be Azzi. It was a subject the two of them were cautiously tip-toeing around, using the shield of distance to avoid talking about what it could mean for them. 

“I’m focused on the season, this team and the rest of our games. I’m not really thinking about the future,” Azzi answers diplomatically. 

“You’ve obviously got very strong ties to the DC area but you also went to UCLA, if the Sparks or maybe even the Valkyries, considering your connection to Steph Curry, were interested, and there have been rumours that they are, would you consider it?” the same reporter prods. 

“Again, I’m not currently thinking about any of that,” to anyone else Azzi probably sounds neutral but Paige has studied the sheet music of Azzi’s voice to the point where she knows what’s hidden behind every note, behind every little indent. The tinge of irritation is masked by a smile, but the line of questioning is clearly unappreciated. 

“And what about the Lynx?” the persistently oblivious reporter continues and this time Paige sucks in a breath, “you have some ties to that team don't you? Have you given some thought to maybe going there?”

Azzi’s eye twitches ever so slightly, “the Lynx just beat my team. The only thoughts I have right now are about how to beat them next time.”

That elicits a laugh from the media and finally the rather obtuse reporters seem to understand that he’s not going to be able to pry anything newsworthy from Azzi’s mouth. But even if he hasn’t achieved his desired effect, he’s succeeded in making Paige’s mind start running in circles. She hadn’t let herself think about it yet, the potential of Azzi joining the Lynx, the potential of playing with Azzi, the potential of finally just being with Azzi. Because facing the potential for all of that, facing all the things she wants means also facing the potential that maybe Azzi doesn’t want any of that. 

***

The air in Paige’s living room is thick with a suffocating tension as she and Azzi sit on opposite ends of the couch. It reminds Paige a little bit of the before, a dreaded version of them she’d foolishly thought they grown out of, until something reminiscent of their past problems had reared its ugly head, and suddenly it feels a bit like she’s playing a losing game. 

“Will you please stop that,” she bites out, referring to where Azzi’s foot is incessantly tapping on the wooden floors, “it’s giving me a headache.”

Azzi’s eyes narrow, flashing with irritation, “is it my tapping or the alcohol giving you a headache Paige?”

“I didn’t even drink that much,” Paige says through gritted teeth and Azzi scoffs. 

It’s a lie. After both teams were done with post game pressers, she, Azzi and a couple of the other girls had ended up at a local bar as they often did when the other team didn’t have to fly out til the next day. Paige had been tense the whole evening and trying to pretend not to be, especially when Azzi could see right through her façade, had only made the whole thing worse. She wasn’t one to drink too much, always happy just being sufficiently tipsy but then she’d gotten in her head too much. And when the first shot didn’t quite hit the way she needed it to, she’d kept on going, receiving worried looks from all the girls, until Azzi had finally stepped in. The ride back from the bar had been a sobering experience, one look at Azzi’s stoic face, giving away her irritation. 

“That’s why you still reek of tequila?” 

“How the fuck would you know? You haven’t come near me all night.” 

“Don’t you dare try and turn this on me Paige. I tried to talk to you all night til you decided you wanted to act like freshman frat boy,” Azzi spits out, hurt and anger colliding in her voice, “we barely get to spend time together during the season and the one night in forever that we do, you pull this shit?”

They haven’t had an argument like this since they’ve been officially together, the kind of argument that has them balancing on a delicate tight rope, too afraid to take a step backwards in their relationship, and too prideful to take a step forward towards each other. 

“I didn’t think you cared about spending time together during the season,” Paige accuses and there’s a sensible part of her, one that’s currently being held captive by the dangers of liquor, that knows it’s a ridiculous allegation. 

Azzi stares at her, lips opening and closing in disbelief, “excuse me?”

“It’s pretty simple really Azzi. If you wanna spend the whole season together, the option is right fucking there, but I- I can’t even tell if you’re interested in taking it,” Paige is pacing now, teeth gnawing at her lips like they always do when she’s nervous. 

“What- what are you even talking about?” Azzi asks, clearly confused. 

“Free fucking agency. They asked you about it and you said you hadn’t thought about it at all. That’s really great to hear Az, really great to know you haven’t thought about how that could literally change our whole fucking life,” and even as the words waterfall out of her mouth, Paige knows she’s being unreasonable, but the mix of stress and alcohol churning in her stomach is just enough to keep her from taking the words back. 

“I didn’t- that’s not even what I said. Jesus fucking christ Paige,” Azzi rubs her face, looking defeated.

“So you have thought about it then?”

“Of course I’ve thought about it, “ Azzi throws her hands up, “but I wasn’t gonna tell the media about all of that. But you- you seriously think I haven’t thought about what this means for us? You don’t- do you really think I’m not thinking about you- about us- while trying to make this decision?”

“Well you definitely didn’t think of me- of us- when you chose UCLA,” Paige’s eyes widen at her own words, knowing immediately that of all things she could have said, those were the worst ones, “I- I didn’t mean it like that.”

In front of her, Azzi has gone deathly still, face completely devoid of emotion, until the first tear drops and all of Paige’s anger dissipates, the guilt clawing back with full force. 

“I thought we were over that,” Azzi whispers, voice trembling, as she looks down at her hands, “but maybe we’ll never be over that.”

“We are,” Paige sinks to her knees in front of the younger girl, tugging Azzi’s hands into her own, “we are over it. I just- it just slipped out.”

Azzi’s quiet for a moment before she pulls her hands out of the blonde’s grip, sidestepping her as she stands up and Paige feels empty and cold and just a little bit broken. 

“Are you leaving?” she whispers, peering up at Azzi through tear soaked eyelashes. 

“I think I should, before anything else just slips out,” Paige flinches and Azzi’s expression softens, “I know- I know you didn’t mean it like that but I just- I need some space.”

Panic filters into Paige’s lungs, wrapping its dirty hands and squeezing so tight that she can barely breathe. She’s not sure when she’ll see Azzi again, now that there’s no more Lynx-Mystics games left in the regular season and it’s unlikely with their expected seedings that they’d meet at some point in the playoffs. It’s not like distance is new to them, but in the last two years, they’ve only ever said goodbye with an i love you attached to the end. 

“Are you-,” Paige gasps for air, “are you leaving me?”

And it must be written all over Paige's face, just how petrified she is of this moment, because that's all it takes for Azzi to rush back into Paige’s space, hands cupping her cheeks, “oh baby of course not. I just- you’re still drunk and I’m upset and I don’t want us to say anything we don’t mean. And I- need time to think about free agency and I think you- you need time to think about why that slipped out.”

Paige sighs, melting into Azzi’s touch as the knots in her stomach begin to untangle themselves, “you’re so logical.”

“Someone has to be,” a half-smile flitters across the younger girl’s face as she wipes at Paige’s tears, “we’ll figure this out okay? Just- just give me a little bit of time.”

Give me time. It’s a familiar line, so similar to what Azzi had asked for when she was making a decision about college and Paige would be lying if she said there isn’t a part of her that’s terrified fate is going to make them repeat the same mistakes. But part of growing up, Paige surmises, is letting time test you with the same trials and tribulations, and the next time, coming out of the other end on the right side. 

And so she squeezes Azzi’s hand, matching the younger girl's half smile, with a soothing one of her own, “okay.”

***

November 2027 

Paige doesn't know when she ended up in a love triangle with Azzi and the state of California but she wishes she was competing against an actual person. At least then she could throw a punch at the other guy. The W season is barely over and it seems like every front office has thrown themselves headfirst into convincing free agents to join their team. There’s a couple of teams interested in Azzi, but no one seems to be trying harder than the Los Angeles Sparks. Paige thinks whoever gave that city a name meaning “the angels” could not have been more wrong because really it’s a city full of devils constantly trying to steal her girl and no she’s not being dramatic. 

They’re supposed to be leaving for thanksgiving dinner when Azzi’s phone rings and Paige can’t help but roll her eyes when Cameron Brink’s name flashes on the CallerID. The Sparks seemed to have put her as head of their recruiting Azzi campaign and Cam had been diligently doing her part. 

“Azzi, Cam’s calling again,” Paige yells out to her girlfriend who’s still not quite finished getting ready.

“Can you pick it up?”

“Do I have to?”

“Paige,” Azzi whines and Paige sighs, hitting the green answering button. 

“The amount of times you’ve called my girlfriend this week, Brink, should I be concerned?”

“Jealous I’m replacing you as her favourite blonde?” Cam’s voice always sounds like she’s smiling and Paige can’t help her own smile. Goddamn Cameron Brink for always being the sweetest soul on this planet. 

“As if,” Paige scoffs, “it’s a holiday Cam, give the recruiting a rest.”

“Hey, I’m just calling to wish her a happy thanksgiving,” Cam defends. 

“Mmmhmm where’s my thanksgiving wish?”

“Oh please, the two of you are basically a unit. Wishing her is wishing you,” Cam is quiet for a second before speaking again, “the Sparks would be a good fit for her Paige.”

Paige sucks in a sharp breath, “I’m not the one you’re gonna have to convince.”

“I know but you know your opinion means a lot to her. I know you want her in Minnesota and she'd be good there too and I- I know it isn’t my place to say any of this but just- just don’t discourage her from doing what’s best for her,” there’s not a hint of malice in Cam’s words, there never is, but they pierce at Paige’s skin anyways. 

“Okay I’m ready, hand me the phone,” she’s saved from having to answer by Azzi waltzing into the living room and prying the phone from her hands. 

Paige watches silently as Azzi talks animatedly with Cam, noticing the way her girlfriend’s smile widens while talking about certain spots in L.A. They’d subconsciously decided not to breach the subject of free agency after that night. Paige hadn’t interfered in any of the Lynx’s conversations with Azzi, deciding that this time, she’d stay out of it. It hadn’t been easy, every little bit of her itching to pitch why the Lynx were the perfect fit, why Paige was the perfect fit, but she was determined to give Azzi the space -the time- she’d wanted. This time she’d leave the choice solely up to Azzi and whatever she decided, Paige would find her happiness in that. 

“Paige you ready to go,” Azzi waves a hand in front of Paige’s face, eyebrows raised in question when the older girl doesn’t make a move to get off the sofa, “hey, you good?”

“Cam says the Sparks would be a good fit,” Azzi stiffens at Paige’s words. 

“Paige-”

“She’s right,” Paige concedes, fingers fidgeting as she averts Azzi’s gaze. 

The younger girl blinks at her, clearly not having expected that, “she is?”

“Yeah. They need a shooting guard and you,” Paige smiles, reaching out to pull Azzi onto the couch with her, “you’re the best there is.”

“I wouldn’t go that far-”

“You are to me and it’s why I want you on the Lynx,” they both let out a breath with that. It’s not a secret of course but Paige hasn’t said it out loud before. 

“Paige-”

“But it’s okay if you don't wanna be on the Lynx, if you wanna be on the Sparks or stay here with the Mystics or on any other team, if you think it’s the right move for you and for your career then that’s fine. It’s okay and you don’t- you don’t need my permission or anything of course but I just- whatever you decide, I’ll support it okay? What I said that night about UCLA-  it wasn't- it wasn’t about you. I thought about it like you asked me to and it’s me. I was scared that I would fuck it up again and I’d lose you again-”

“You won’t,” Azzi grabs Paige’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze,  “I won’t let you.”

“I know. I know now that whatever happens, we’ll be okay. And so you can choose whatever team you want and it won’t- it won’t affect us, I promise. It won’t be like last time I swear. When you make your decision- I just- I don’t want you to make it for me or for us, cause you and me? Baby we’ll be just fine no matter what. Wherever you go and wherever I am, we’ll make it work, just as we have for the last two years,” Paige smirks, “besides I kinda enjoy kicking your ass.”

Azzi lets out a snort as she climbs onto Paige’s lap, thighs straddling her hips, “you really had to ruin it with that last part huh?”

“Was getting a little too sappy for me,” Paige mumbles and when she looks up, the emotions floating in Azzi’s eyes make Paige’s heart stutter. Because no one else gets this Azzi. This Azzi, who wears her heart on her sleeve, who lets her walls down, only for Paige’s eyes to see, only for Paige’s mind to memorise, only for Paige’s heart to keep. 

“You mean it?” Azzi whispers, brushing a strand of hair out of Paige’s face, touching lingering, “you’d be okay with anything?”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Paige cups Azzi’s cheeks, brushing her lips against the younger girl’s, “whatever you choose, we’ll be fine. No matter what, I believe in us.”

***

January 2028

Paige groans when her phone rings at 2 a.m., fumbling around in the dark trying to answer it. 

“I swear you better be dying if you’re calling me this late,” she grumbles into the phone, voice scratchy with sleep. 

“Not quite,” Azzi says, and Paige’s eyebrows furrow at the amount of background noise she can hear behind her girlfriend. 

“Dude where the hell are you at 3 in the morning?” she asks, now a little more awake as she sits up. 

“I uh- I had a bit of a revelation,” and Paige can practically picture Azzi, wherever she might be, fidgeting with her fingers and biting her lips. 

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I know. I know. Shit, I was supposed to do this in person. I had a whole plan but apparently being with you has made me impatient,” Azzi rambles. 

“You’re still not making any sense,” but Paige’s heart is starting to beat erratically fast in anticipation. 

“I had this realisation while I was in the gym today, it was really quiet and peaceful and I was fine you know- all day I was fine- just doing daily routines and then I just- I missed you. I miss you all the time do you know that?”

Paige does know, knows it far too well. Sometimes she thinks missing Azzi comes as naturally as breathing, an innate part of her day to day, a constant ache that she’s felt since she was 15. 

“I miss you too,” she whispers. 

“And I’ve learned to survive with that feeling, with missing you constantly. I mean it’s been more than 10 years at this point, how could I not? But what I realised today is that just because I can- just because I can live missing you- doesn’t mean I want to.”

“What are you saying Azzi?”

“DC is my childhood. My family is close to there, it’s part of where I grew up. It’ll always be my first home. And LA is where I found myself, my identity, and for a while it felt like home too.”

“Azzi,” Paige breathes out, hands gripping the phone as tight as possible, wrapping that one syllable in emblems of give me forever. 

“But my forever home isn’t in DC or LA and it’s not really in any other place either because-  Jesus this might be the clichést thing I’ve ever said but-,” Azzi lets out a chuckle, “my home is wherever you are Paige. Wherever we’re together, that’s home.”

It feels a little bit like the end of a drought, the wetness on Paige’s cheeks like the rain that comes after. In the pitch black of her room, phone clutched closely to her ear with Azzi’s words floating through it like a swan song, Paige swears she’s never felt the world glow quite like this before. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Beating your ass has been fun as hell but I think we’d make a pretty good team Bueckers.”

And it’s a good thing Paige’s walls are soundproof because the delighted whoop she lets out practically vibrates around the room, all previous wisps of tiredness completely gone from her body. Azzi lets out a tearful laugh and Paige wishes they were together right now so she could tattoo this happiness onto both of their skins. 

“The greatest team ever,” Paige affirms, “When are you com-”

“Attention passengers Delta Airlines Flight 1248 to Minneapolis will be boarding soon, please have your passport and ticket ready to check at the gate.”

“About that,” Azzi says shyly as Paige’s mouth drops open at the announcement, “I uh- I had a moment of spontaneity.”

“Who the hell are you and what have you done with my overthinking girlfriend?” Paige demands and Azzi giggles on the other end of line.

“I know it’s last minute, like really last minute and it was meant to be a surprise actually but I just- I really wanna see you. Is that okay?”

“Is that okay? Fuck Azzi, it’s all I want. Baby,” Paige breathes out softly, “come home.”

*** 

Time isn’t going nearly fast enough Paige thinks as she checks the arrivals board for the nth time. She’d tried for about four seconds to fall back asleep after hanging up the phone but her entire body had been buzzing with excitement. And so she’d gotten to the airport far earlier than necessary, and had maybe one too many cups of coffee if the jittery shake in her left hand is anything to go by.

She swears she feels her before she sees her. The air is electric as if the whole city, the whole state is waiting for Azzi too, for them to get their elusive forever. This moment feels like years in the making, and Paige is ready, ready to grasp it and make it hers. And then there’s Azzi, a clearly chosen-at-last minute wrinkled t-shirt, eyes drooping from the tiredness from not having slept all night, baby hairs in a frenzy across her forehead. To Paige, she’s still the prettiest girl in the entire universe. 

Azzi’s eyes scan through the airport until they land on Paige, a dazzling smile illuminating her exhausted features. It’s the exact same smile that Paige had first elicited from her on the flight back from Argentina when she’d told Azzi she had a feeling they'd make great friends. It’s her Paige smile. The world is still for a second, everything melting away except them and the whispers of the journey it had taken them to get to this point. Every delicately placed step towards each other feels like an ode to every year they’d spent apart. And then Paige is running, not caring about everyone else around her. She jumps into Azzi’s arm, all 6 feet of her, tangling her legs around the younger girl's waist while her arms fasten around the neck. It forces Azzi to let go of her small carry-on, not caring that it falls to the floor with a thud, as her hands wrap around Paige’s back, steadying her girlfriend’s weight on top of her. 

“You’re here,” Paige whispers, still a little in disbelief, “you’re really here.”

“I’ve been in Minny plenty of times before,” Azzi quips, adjusting her balance to properly hold the girl clinging to her like a koala. 

“Shut up you know what I mean. You’re here forever this time.”

“Well I don’t know about forever- OW,” Azzi shrieks, as Paige pinches her arm, “do you want me to drop you woman?”

“You’re never allowed to leave.”

“That sounds vaguely threatening.”

“Good because it definitely is a threat,” Paige says before pulling Azzi into a searing kiss, “welcome home baby.”

***

October 2028 

There are moments in life you remember forever. Sometimes you know they’re going to happen, sometimes they take you off guard and sometimes, it’s a combination of both. The Minnesota Lynx’s journey to the WNBA finals this season had always felt inevitable but the journey there, for a team that had unexpectedly fallen to the 4-seed despite pre-season clamour of them being number one, had been filled with bitter losses and moments of pure uncertainty. In a way, it perfectly mirrors Paige and Azzi’s relationship. 

There’s 11 seconds separating the Lynx from their 5th championship trophy as they lead the Sky by two points. The crowd is up on their feet, ready for their cheering to turn into roars the minute the final buzzer rings. Paige has the ball in her hands on the inbound, Coach Reeves yelling at her from the bench what to do, as she makes eye contact with Azzi. There are no words, not even a gesture that the other team might be able to interpret, but they know exactly what play they’re about to run.

Truth be told it hadn’t been the seamless transition the two of them had expected when Azzi joined the Lynx. They’d been naive to think years of not playing together wouldn’t have affected the backcourt chemistry they’d had almost instantly once upon a time. The first few games, there had been an embarrassing disconnect between the two of them that had resulted in a nasty berating from Coach Reeves and a subsequent argument between the two of them that had lasted into the next morning. It had taken several more practices, and a couple more games of flailing around, for them to finally become the duo Paige had always known they would. 

The game buzzer beeps and Paige throws the ball to Azzi who immediately returns it back to her, and then she’s running off screen after screen to get herself open on the wing, her sweet spot. Paige dribble penetrates into the paint, dragging an extra defender with her as they try to prevent her from getting a layup, the other defender blocks her from stepping back into a pull-up. Azzi’s defender has a momentary lapse in judgement, falling for the age-old trick of thinking she should help on defence, and that’s all it takes. A second for Paige to see Azzi open on the corner and pass it to her. A second for Azzi to shoot it. 

The three-pointer falls through the next with a perfect swish. Dagger shot. 

A small smile flits across Azzi’s face, the only emotion she’s shown all game and Paige can’t help the much larger grin that starts to flash on her own face. She can almost taste victory on the tip of her tongue, the two seconds left in the game are the only thing separating her from finally getting her version of the things we live for. Behind her she can hear Coach Reeves yelling at them to not foul, the 5-point lead enough of a cushion for them to withstand a last minute shot. But the Sky barely make it over midcourt and when Marina Mabrey heaves up a last second prayer, Paige doesn’t bother to see if it goes in as the buzzer sounds throughout Target Arena. The Minnesota crowd explodes in noise and colour as confetti falls from the sky. 

Despite the chaos of everything, Paige has never seen Azzi clearer than in this moment. Since she’d met the girl, in all of Paige’s prayers about winning a championship, one thing had always been constant, that when they’d come true, they’d come true with Azzi by her side. And she had been. The high school state champion, the college national championship, Azzi had been there for both but on the bleachers, as a spectator and as Paige’s biggest fan. But this, winning a championship with Azzi as her teammate, as her ally, as her partner, means something more. This win is theirs. 

“Do you remember when we saw that shooting star?” Azzi says softly, as they find their way into each other’s arms, not caring that there’s a thousand cameras capturing their every move. Paige pulls Azzi closer to her, every inch of her body pressing into the other girls until she’s not sure where she begins and where Azzi ends. 

“That was years ago,” Paige remarks but she can see it clearly, two young girls underneath the stars, unaware of what their future would be but sure that the other would be in it. Those girls would probably laugh at how long it had taken Paige and Azzi to figure out what had seemed so simple back then. 

“Yeah, yeah it was. Do you remember what you wished for?” Azzi asks, smiling when Paige nods, “do you wanna know what I wished for?”

“What did you wish for Az?”

“Before we saw the star you- you said it’d be nice to win a championship together someday. And so I-,” Azzi looks down shyly, “so I wished for someday. I wished for today.”

Paige stares at Azzi, drinking in the sincerity on the shooting guard’s face, silently letting herself absorb the meaning of Azzi’s words. And then she lets out a laugh because of course of course. 

“I didn’t realise I’d said anything funny for you to be laughing at me,” Azzi scrunches her nose, looking slightly offended. 

“God baby no,” Paige cups Azzi’s face, and she thinks this smile on her face will last forever as long as this is her reality, “I’m not laughing at you. I just- do you know what I wished for?” 

Azzi shakes her head. 

“This. The same exact thing you did. For someday.”

It’s not quite the shade of blue Paige had imagined them in, the Lynx blue its own shade, something inbetween UConn’s navy one and UCLA’s sky one. But it’s perfect nonetheless. And when Azzi crashes her lips against Paige’s, someday feels a lot like forever and always.

[thelovelyruin]

𝖘𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖊.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 : yandere choso x fem reader

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓 : choso fell in love with you freshman year and it was finally time to make you his.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓 : smut, porn with plot, vaginal sex, praise, love, manipulation, murder (not you!)

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖙 : 7.1K

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗 : inspired by lyrics from saccharine by jazmin bean.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘 : hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading! this was a request i’ve been working on for a while lol; i hope you enjoy it; if so, follow me for more. au revoir!

18+ MDNI ADULT CONTENT

Everything you do, I'm obsessed with you.

“Exciting, isn’t it?”

“Huh? I mean, yeah it’s cool.”

“Are you rushing too? I really wanna go Kappa!”

“That’s, uh, aren’t they kinda…”

“What, cunts? Yeah, I’d fit in nicely.”

When Choso first met you during rush week a couple years ago, you were an aspiring freshman looking for a sorority to pledge to, and he was a normal guy. Sorta. You’d spoken to him once and he became absolutely in love with you. Not like he hadn’t been with other girls in the past, a few relationships here or there. But you were different. Not like any other girl he’d seen. You hadn’t shared too much with him that day, but he was determined to figure out, well, everything about you.

I don't mean to scare, but you're just so cute.

It started with your name, which he’d simply just asked someone in your class. But then, Choso needed to know more, when was your birthday, were your zodiac signs compatible? He’d gotten that information from stealing your campus ID out of your purse while you two were in class together. Choso was paying really good attention to other things too though. He’d paid attention to your screen while he sat behind you, online shopping when you were supposed to be paying attention to the lecture. That’s how he found out what size you were and the brands you liked, but other things got a little trickier. He noticed the way you did your makeup, it was always so pretty, but it’s not like he knew what any of it was, so he’d slowly started stealing things out of your makeup bag. It was harder to get your perfume, though, until you reapplied it on the campus lawn one day. Pink sugar, huh? Sweet just like you. Choso wanted to be even better, he’d send you flowers with no receipt of who sent them, an array until he found your favorites. He’d pay for your food when you went out to eat, then leave to remain anonymous. He just loved seeing that smile on your face whenever he surprised you with something, always grateful, looking around to see if you could catch your secret admirer, but blushing when you realized you wouldn’t. God, you were perfect.

Lucky for you, you had actually gotten into Kappa. You walked around on this high horse though, one of those kiss-my-ass kind of attitudes. Not like anyone was gonna check you for it, well, ‘cause you were hot. Always well dressed, always groomed, always punctual. There was nothing anyone could really say about you other than you being a bitch, at least never to your face. Little did you know, Choso was your bitch. If you ever even glanced at him, he’d almost faint, and as the sophomore and junior years came and you’d gotten classes with him, he’d go back to his dorm and fuck his fist at the thought of you every day. But now, it was Senior year, and he was running out of time to make you his.

Every move you make, you're fucking sweeter than a cake.

Choso originally planned to just ask you directly, but he had to make sure it was gonna be perfect. He couldn’t leave room for error in the possibility that you weren’t interested at all. So, he’d gotten as close as possible to you. It wasn’t stalking, it was just studying an interest. He was pretty good at photography, so he got hired as a photographer for school events, such as parties or games. He’d walk around and take pictures of everyone like usual to not raise suspicion, but whenever he could, he’d snap as many pictures as he could of you, slipping them into his pocket. When there was too much going on at the party downstairs, he’d sneak upstairs to find which room was yours, for research purposes of course.

Well, that research went directly to Choso knowing which window to take pictures outside of. You were so oblivious, often leaving your curtains wide open as you just got out of the shower, dressed in nothing but a towel. Now, Choso never got a snapshot of you naked or anything like that, but the hopes of the day he could got him pretty damn hard. He’d take pictures of you walking around campus, doing fundraisers with your sorority sisters, running for the pageants that you always won, with the exception of Miss Junior, who you exposed for cheating on her boyfriend so she’d be out of the running. So, you’d won that too. You were practically perfect, Choso felt you were made for him, there was a true possibility he could nurture and care for you, allow you to let your guard down a bit and let him someone in. He imagined himself taking you out to all your favorite restaurants, he had all of them written down along with your favorite menu items. Nights in his room cuddled up watching all of the movies you liked, you’d be so excited to see all of your favorite snacks already waiting for you. You’d wear that glitter lipgloss you loved, he’d make sure you had more than enough, considering he’d already bought two tubes for whenever he made you his. He imagined making love to you, hearing you moan for him as he pleasured you, then put you on his chest as you fell asleep, resting his eyes as he held you. You two could truly be in love. 

I'd love to wipe these other bitches out, so it's just you and me.

But, you had a fucking boyfriend. It’s not like he didn’t like seeing you with other guys. He fucking hated it. Choso thought the guy was pretty scummy, he had that douchebag personality and always looked at guys like Choso like he was a piece of shit. But that asshole was truly a piece of shit. Megumi, or something like that. Choso didn’t bother doing too much digging up on him because it wasn’t gonna matter very soon. You guys had been dating since the beginning of the school year, not very long, but that didn’t stop him from talking to other girls when you weren't around. He’d forget your dates, and make you cry. Wouldn’t post you on his socials, almost pretended he was single. Choso had half a mind to stab him to death, mostly because he didn’t like the way he treated you, but also because then he wouldn’t be in the way anymore.

Then, there were your damn sorority sisters. Those bitches were definitely in the way. They took up too much of your time, making you busy every day with planning and meetings, to do what? Party and maybe, fundraise? He’d see them sometimes talking shit about you, saying you were weird or a bitch, or something else that wasn’t true about you. Choso would never say those things about you or treat you like that. You deserved someone who actually loved you and cared about you, none of these other distractions. He would give you the world, but that meant getting rid of the world you had first.

Oh, oh, this shit is scaring me…

Now, when Choso originally thought of doing this, he thought it was a little nuts. It was a little extreme, sure, but it was just an obstacle in the way to get to you. Sometimes, we do bad things for the people we love. It doesn't mean it's right, it means love is more important. 

Choso originally thought of actually stabbing Megumi like he wanted to. That fell quickly when he really considered the situation. Megumi was on the lankier side which meant it would be more tactical to get a hit in, plus he’d need to find a time he’d be alone in a discreet location to hurt him with no one noticing. Not that he’d really care if someone saw, it would just mean he wouldn’t be able to live the rest of his life with you; that was not an option. Shooting would be just as difficult, shell casings and the sound of gunfire could get him in deep. Could steal the brakes from his car, but then there was the possibility you were in it when it crashed, and for that, he’d never forgive himself. He’d need something that anyone could have done, an accident perhaps, something that wouldn’t kill Megumi, just get him out the fucking way. Then he got a little idea.

Don't wanna stick my fingers in this, or I'll start to bleed…

“Hey, Megumi!”

“Do I know you?”

“Well, we literally live on the same floor, but um, no. Anyways, wanted to talk to you about something…”

“Get on with it.”

“It’s her birthday today, your girlfriend that is.”

“Oh yeah. Well, why the fuck do you care?”

“We’re kinda close, wanted to get her something, but I’ll be too busy with classes to give it to her. Do you mind giving it to her for me?”

���You got my girlfriend a gift, bitch? What the hell’s in this box?”

“Well, that’s kind of a surprise for her…”

“Get the fuck out of my face before I beat your ass. Leave my girl alone, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

Megumi had slammed the door on him, just like that. Usually, Choso would’ve been really torn by his insult. He was pretty pissed Megumi forgot your birthday too, but how could he be pissed, truly? Not when a sweet resolution to Megumi’s shitty ways was on the horizon.

“Megumi’s like totally dead!”

“Omg, what do you mean he’s dead?”

“Well, he went to the hospital ‘cause he came down with like a fever or something? Todo said he couldn’t even talk when he found Megumi in the hallway and his eyes were all watery. The doctors said he died of, shit, what’s it called again? Whatever, like he couldn’t breathe! I don’t know what the fuck happened, but damn, really sucks, ya know?”

“Babe, I’m so sorry. To be fair, he was a dick.”

“Yeah, you’re right. He didn’t have a big one either TBH.”

Well, shit. Choso didn’t mean to kill him, not really. He knew Megumi was a fuckin’ asshole, though. Paired with someone crushin’ on his girlfriend and his ego, Choso knew Megumi was gonna open that box. And what was in it? Initially, Ricin covered the inside of the box, which when inhaled, caused damage to the respiratory system, which Megumi could technically recover from. Choso had extracted the Ricin from some castor beans. The same castor beans that were crushed inside of the cupcake sitting in the box. All 10 of them. Originally, Megumi would’ve lived, had he just thrown it away and not have been nosy, and if he did end up giving it to you, Choso would be there to intervene and he’d deal with that explanation later. But Megumi chose to be a nosy bastard, open it, AND EAT THE CUPCAKE! It was comical, really, considering Ricin can’t be found in an autopsy, so Choso got away with it. It’s okay. It had to be done. That greedy asshole got what was coming to him, and with him out of the way, Choso was cleared to enact Phase 2.

It's sweet like saccharine, what I’d do to have you sitting here next to me.

A couple of days after Megumi died, you pretty much got over it, walking about as if nothing happened. To be fair, he was cheating on you all the time, lied to you, and overall treated you like shit, so it wasn’t that hard. What Choso didn’t expect was for you to get kicked out of your sorority house.

“Listen, babe. Your dead boyfriend is really throwing off the vibe here. Plus, it’s bringing a lot of bad looks to the rest of us because it seems like you honestly don’t give a fuck that he died, and truthfully, neither do we, but damn bitch, try acting like it!”

“Please, Chapter President, I can act like I care, I just-”

“Sorry girlie. You’re still a sister, don’t worry. You do have to leave the house though.”

Choso felt a little bad. A little. They really were bitches, but this was perfect. He’d just saved himself from starting a gas leak at the Kappa house when you weren’t home. He didn’t like that your feelings were hurt though, and he beat himself up about it. Choso himself wasn’t really a good guy, killing your boyfriend on your birthday? Almost killing your sorority sisters before they pretty much kicked you to the curb? He was doing the exact opposite of being a good boyfriend. He’d be on his toes from now on, can’t risk ruining his chances with you. However, it was all in good light. You were becoming more and more ready to fall into his arms.

Apparently, you pretty much kept to yourself and stayed in your room. Your classwork was slacking a bit, and you couldn’t live at the house, but that didn’t stop you from still trying to be involved, participating in some campus events, and fundraising with your sisters despite your exile. You were a normal girl, humbled for sure, but Choso didn’t like that very much. He never intended to break you down like this, while you were still sweet in his eyes, he knew you loved the life you had before. He can’t unkill Megumi, which wouldn’t make sense anyway because Choso was your boyfriend now, but he’d give you a life even better than the first. One where you and he were together.

Like cherry pie, will you be mine?

Now, Choso was a real sweetheart, getting you so many gifts for when you came along, preparing how he’d approach you, compliment you, fuck you. But he was getting a little impatient. At this point, it was already the tail end of courses before winter break so he didn’t have much time to see you every day, even though he’d make that happen regardless. Plus, all of the shit that had happened to you would wear off in a couple of days, so he needed to act now. Choso knew he couldn’t make you fall in love with him overnight, and it would be too hasty to try to take it slow with you now. So, he had no choice. He was gonna kidnap you.

Now, “kidnapping” is a rather strong way to put it. In reality, Choso was gonna come to see you and talk a bit, but if that didn’t work, he’d hold you at knifepoint and make you come back to his dorm with him to enjoy all of the things he’d set up for you! He would never hurt you intentionally, so it’s not like he was gonna use it, but he had to make you think he would. He wished kidnapping you was legal, why wouldn't he want to be able to love you and take care of you all the time? It’s okay, you’d learn to love him back. After all, Choso wasn’t your ‘maybe’. Choso was your ‘one’.

Sweet to the core, I want some more.

Choso decided he’d make his move on you the night of the last Kappa party of the season, too many people for anyone to notice him running off with you, plus he knows you’d look so pretty in your party dress, hair all done up, heels making those legs of yours look so pretty. And you did! Except, you were crying. When Choso got to the party and spotted you, you were sniffling as you walked out the back door of the house. Now, he had to be strategic about this, so he exited out the front in time to catch you walking from the back. When he’d gotten outside, he saw you walking down the sidewalk, but it wasn’t very well, your heel had broken and you were having to walk barefoot. He felt terrible seeing you like that. You looked so sad, so scared, just broken. Choso had to make things right.

“Hey, you okay?”

I love you.

I can hear your words breaking down my core…

You looked up at him with those beautiful doe eyes of yours, bloodshot and watery from crying, but still, you looked stunning.

“Oh, hey Choso. Honestly? No, I’m like not okay at all.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, my ex died and everyone’s making a super big deal about it. Like, people kept coming up to me asking questions and stuff like I was there when he died or something.”

“Oh, um-”

“Sorry, I know I sound like a twat right now, but he cheated on me like all the time! It’s honestly a long shot to say we were even together, not be cocky or anything, but I think he dated me to make himself look better. Plus, he got me in hot water with my sisters, like he’s haunting me after death or whatever.”

“Sounds like he wasn’t really a good guy…”

“Yeah, pretty much. Anyway, now I have to walk back to my stupid dorm with no shoes because I fell over like a klutz and just embarrassed myself to the nines. I don’t even wanna go back there, just makes me sad, ya know? I came out to this stupid party to get my mind off things and it’s like things are just bleh. It doesn’t even feel like anyone likes me anymore. I wish someone just loved me for me, ya know?”

I think about you every day at least a hundred times or more.

Choso walked up and hugged you, bringing you into his embrace. It was a bold move for sure, especially with the knife sheathed on his waist, but he just hated seeing you cry like that. Soon, you’ll feel how nice it is to have someone care about you so much. To have someone who wants to revolve their entire life around you.

“It’s okay. Know you don’t know me very well, but I’m here for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna be too forward or anything, but you can come back to my dorm for a few, that is, if you don’t wanna go back to yours.”

“That’s so sweet, thanks!”

Fuck, this was perfect! He didn’t even have to threaten to kill you! Choso offered to pick you up, which you happily agreed to, holding your heels in your hand as he carried you back to his dorm. On the way, you talked about a bunch of stuff you liked, mostly things he already knew about you, but there were a couple of new things that enticed him. You’d stopped crying, that sweet smile back on your face as you found comfort in Choso’s arms. He’d gotten back to his dorm fairly fast, not wanting to waste much time to get things rolling. He figured he’d start with telling you about his love for you, really seeing if you-

“OMG, YOU HAVE THIS???”

You pointed at the movie poster on his wall, one of your favorite movie. He’d studied it a lot, trying to figure out why you liked it so much. He’d watched it over ten times by now, buying the poster as a touch when you finally came, which worked!

“Yeah, it’s a pretty good-”

“Pretty good? It’s like the best movie ever!”

“We can, uh, watch it if you want.”

“Yes, I’d love that!”

Choso was so lucky. Here you were, sitting with him on his bed as you watched the movie. You’d stop every few minutes and point out something about it you knew a fun fact about or laugh at the parts you’d seen so many times. You were so damn cute. You’d pretty much forgotten all of the stuff going on, able to just relax with him for once. Don’t you see how nice this is? How special things can be? 

“Oh wow, it’s getting late. Shit, I still have to walk back.”

Just like that, the movie was over. You looked tired, not just physically but mentally too. You couldn’t leave though, that’s not how this was gonna go.

“Are you sure you’re good to walk?”

“Whatcha mean?”

“I mean, your heels are broken and it’s too dark outside to be out there by yourself. Something could happen to you.”

Fuck, Choso was a little too bold with that last part. He was probably coming on too strong, he’d need to fix-

“You’re worried about little ‘ol me?”

“Something like that…”

YES. He was so fucking worried that sweat was about to drip from his face, red with anxiousness that the love of his life was about to leave him behind.

“Well, you could always walk with me. Or do you just wanna spend more time with me?”

You gave him a little smirk and wink, it went straight to his dick as he tried to think of a way to respond.

“I, um… yeah, I would.”

Your answer to his statement would be the deciding factor between you staying or him picking up that knife from his jacket on the chair. Fortunately for you, you smiled and put your things back down, sitting on the bed as you looked up at him.

“Fine, but we’re gonna watch another movie. Your pick this time.”

You make me afraid, come closer, wait no, go away…

Ten minutes into this movie and he felt like he was gonna fucking explode. This time around, you’d gotten closer to him. Instead of sitting at the end of the bed, you laid beside him, not quite touching you, but he could definitely smell you, and fuck, you smelled so good. It was becoming painful to not touch you, but he couldn’t risk fucking this up. You looked so nice like this, chest moving up and down as you laid comfortably, eyes low, obvious you were getting tired. 

“Hey, Choso?”

“What’s up?”

“Thanks for, ya know, being nice to me. I’m not anyone’s favorite these days…”

You looked so sad, but Choso couldn’t be happier. You were starting to recognize the only person who really cares about you is him!

“Yeah, but you’re my favorite.”

“Really? But, you barely know me.”

Choso actually knew you very well. Probably better than you know yourself.

“You’ve just got that type of personality that’s really easy to like, is all.”

You sat up now and looked Choso in the eyes, making him blush instantly.

“Oh yeah? So, you like me?”

Choso started stuttering and sweating, flustered beyond reason as you gave him one of those smirks. At this point, he didn’t even have to tell you. His body language was more than obvious.

“I was just kid-”

“Yes, I mean-”

You both looked at each other in shock. Why the fuck would he say that? You were fucking joking. Choso was stupid to think you were serious, not like he really had any chance with a girl like you. But that’s okay. He was gonna make one. Although, he didn’t know whether to love or hate you right now, most likely both. You looked up at him optimistically, like you were waiting on his response, but also blushing a bit as he nearly popped a blood vessel in front of you. He couldn’t even speak, choked up on his words as you brought your hand on top of the one he had leaning on the bed.

“Tell me, do you?”

“I do, for a while now.”

“So, why not ever talk to me?”

“Because you’re pretty hard to talk to.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re usually, um-”

“A bitch? Yeah, I am. But these past few weeks have humbled me.”

Choso wanted to laugh a little. Of course, it was because of him and the precautions he’s put in place for you two to end up together. You didn’t need to know that part though. You looked down, that same broken look you’d been putting off all night. Everything in him told him to stop, don’t be too hasty and he could probably get back to the plan, but it hurt him to see what he’d caused. It definitely didn’t help that you were crying again, bringing your knees to your chest as you fell into the realization of how messed up you felt. Choso pulled you into his arms, laying your face into his chest as he rubbed your back. You felt so warm, so soft, he didn’t want to let you go. Ever. 

“It’s not your fault. So, don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“Thanks, you’re right.”

It was hard to feel like the bad guy when you were smiling at him, finding comfort in his words. You two were dangerously close now, eye contact had him feeling like a deer in headlights, while you remained cool and collected, like usual. That’s one of the main things he loved about you, despite all of the crazy shit going on, you still try to appear fine, but that was far from the truth. He’d be a shoulder for you to cry on, someone you could depend on and pour your feelings into. Give your heart to someone who’s worthy of loving you back and spending their every breathing second devoted to keeping you happy.

Saccharine, what I’d do to have you sitting here next to me. 

You’d kissed Choso softly, leaning in slowly enough to feel his breath hitch on his lips when he realized what you were doing. It was perfect. Your lips felt even softer than he thought they would, gentle and loving as you brought yourself closer, closing the distance between you. He had to get his head together, he’d practiced this part over and over again, and all he had to do was focus and execute it. First, cup your face with his hand. You smiled into his lips when he did this, allowing him to move to the second step, and bring his hand to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. You softened into his touch as he laid your back on the bed, opening your legs to let him on top of you. You were so sweet, moaning softly into the air as he began sucking the skin of your neck. Choso wanted to claim you, he’d finally gotten to kiss you and he needed everyone to know you were his. He sucked a little harder and felt ecstatic when you didn’t stop him, instead groaning as bruises began to flower on your skin.

“Choso…”

Shit, you moaned his name. It felt exhilarating, something he’s been waiting for for so long finally coming true. It lit a fire under his ass, coming up to kiss your lips once before he brought his lips back down to your collarbones, moving lower as his hand massaged your side. Once he’d reached the skin of your breasts, he’d stopped, looking up to you for the green light to keep going. Even though you didn’t really have a choice in spending the rest of your life with him, consent was still pretty important to him, so when you gave him a nod, he took off. Choso brought his fingers to the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head as you brought your arms up to aid him. God, you were beautiful. Your tits were on full display to him now, nothing covering you but a lacy pink thong. He was gonna start hyperventilating, your tits lifted as you breathed, nipples calling out to him like they needed saving. He brought his lips down swiftly and wrapped his tongue around one of them, immediately putting the other between his fingers to pinch as the rest of his palm massaged your breast. You started whimpering for him now, touch-starved since your boyfriend died, but Choso hoped it was also because he was doing things better than anyone you’d been with before. He alternated his mouth, groping and sucking as much as he could, relishing in the feeling of your tits in his face for the first time. As much as he could stay there all day, he knew you needed more, so he kissed his way down your stomach, lips grazing your pantyline. Choso sucked the skin of your stomach as you bucked your hips against him, turned on as he took care of you.

“Choso, please…”

He looked up into your eyes as he brought his lips off your body, fingers hooking into the fabric of your thong as he pulled them off of you. Holy fuck. You were soaking wet, lips glistening with your juices as your hips shifted slightly to invite Choso in. Without hesitation, he brought his lips down to your pussy, beginning to devour you. You tasted amazing, drinking the nectar of a fruit long awaited and it almost made him regret not planning to kidnap you sooner. You smelled so fucking good too, your pussy engulfing all of his senses as he ate you like his last meal. Your fingers found their way into his hair, moaning his name into the air with every lick of your clit. Sideways, up and down, circles around your bud, anything he could to hear you moan for him, to make your pain go away. He’d brought your legs over his shoulders and rested his hands under the arch of your back, angling your hips so he could eat you exactly how he wanted. Messy and slow, he took his time spreading your juices all over his face as you panted and pulled at the sheets. He was self-indulgent, tongue pumping in and out of you as he lived out his fantasies of eating your pussy.

“Choso…I-I…”

Shit, you were close. Choso was about to make you cum! He doubled down immediately, bringing his arms over your thighs to keep you in place as you felt your orgasm approaching. He’d picked up his pace too, tongue moving at a hungry pace as he anticipated your cum in his mouth. The hand you had in his hair gripped tighter, Choso taking it as a cue to bring his lips up and suck your clit, suction bringing your bud against his tongue. You came fast and hard, grinding your pussy against his face as you came for him, his name slipping off your lips over and over as you rode out your high.

You’re sweet to the core. 

You looked so pretty for him, chest rising and falling as you caught your breath. Choso slowly kissed his way back up your body, lips finding themselves on yours. This kiss was different from before, more intense and confident. At that point, you’d already started unbuckling his jeans, kissing him feverishly as you helped him take his clothes off. Hovering over you, he looked at you in awe. Legs on either side of his, big doe eyes looking up at him, waiting for him to fuck you.

“Holy shit…”

Your hands found his hair, gripping and tugging at it as he slipped in at a slow pace. Choso took his time, exploring the walls he longed for the feeling of. Every stroke nearly sent him over, wet and warm, you were like heaven wrapped around his dick. You felt even better than he’d imagined, much better than his fist he fucked to the thought of you. Especially with how you were moaning for him, it was driving him crazy, all he could do was praise you.

“You’re perfect…so fuckin’ perfect…”

“I know…”

God, he’s never felt like this. You were sucking him in like you were made for him, holy shit, he was losing his mind. Touching him, feeling your warmth on his shaft as he fucked you faster. You were so beautiful, lips pursed as you breathed up and down, eyes fluttering as he fucked you.

“You feel so good, baby…”

“Choso…”

His name was killing him. He’d put in so much time to make sure he fucked you exactly the way you needed him, he had to make the first time perfect. A man that could care for you. Love you. Please you. Choso finally had you, and he was going to give you the fucking world.

I need to hate you before it's too late…

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby…”

Choso gripped your legs tight as he fucked into you fast, making you scream his name out into the room. You were doing this for him! Moaning for him! And you felt so fucking good wrapped around him, more than anyone ever before. There wasn’t anyone before you and there wasn’t anyone before him. Your world would revolve around him now like his revolved around you, every waking moment of being in love would be magical. 

“Choso, I-”

“Let me have it, baby. I’ve waited so long for it…”

He didn’t care what he was saying anymore, too high on you and your pleasure that he couldn’t think straight. If you were gonna cum for him, he needed it now, like his life depended on it. Something to signify the beginning of all of the pleasure he’d give you from this point forward.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this, baby? Fuck, I’m close…”

“That’s it, baby, let go, let me make you feel good…”

“So pretty, cumming on my dick like this…”

Choso was so fuckin obsessed with you. You came down like an angel, eyes fluttering as you murmured his name softly, body melting into the bed. He halted inside you as he came, losing his mind over the way your nails dug into his arms. You two lay there panting for a bit, Choso’s arm bringing you into his chest. So beautiful like this. He’d finally made it, you in his arms, right where you belonged.

Before I crave you…so please go away. 

“So, I’m not going back to my dorm tonight, am I?”

No, of course, you weren’t.

“Do you really want-”

“I don’t want to.”

Choso was shocked to hear your words. You actually wanted to stay here with him, he didn’t even have to scare you into doing it! 

“Do you have a T-shirt or something? It’s kinda cold in here.”

“Uh, yeah, let me grab-”

“No problem, I’ll get it!”

Stop it. FUCKING STOP. You were getting too comfortable, about to open Pandora’s box with your hand on his closet door. Choso should stop you, whatever it would take. By the time he’d gotten to the knife, you’d opened the closet, pictures of you all over the walls. Choso lingered behind you now, knife behind his back as he waited for your reaction. You just had to be so fuckin nosy, you’d ruined everything. 

“Choso…are these pictures of me?”

He gripped the knife tightly in his hand as he watched you look through them. He couldn’t even speak, heartbreak and murderous intent flowing out of him. Every picture put another pin in his heart. Photos of you around campus, through your dorm window, in class, all open for you to see. You brought your hand up to one, pulling it down as you looked over it. The picture he took of you on Valentine’s Day. You’d been sitting in class that day, sad because Megumi hadn’t gotten you anything, which Choso figured he wouldn’t. That’s why he had three dozen roses delivered to you on the lawn later that day, eyes brightening as you held them and read the card: “Happy Valentine’s Day, Princess. ~ your secret admirer.” You were so damn happy that day, so perfect. Now, you had to die.

“It was you, huh? All this-”

“Yes. It was always me.”

You pulled another one down, the one of you winning Miss Sophomore. Your face had the brightest smile, holding that crown on your head as you cried tears of joy. You smirked at it, cheeks blushing a bit.

“I look really good in this one, glad someone got a shot of it. So, you liked me this much?”

You’d turned to look at him now, giving him a confused face. Probably because Choso was sweating buckets. His hand shook behind him as he looked at you nervously, analyzing everything about you, any sign that you were scared or wanted to leave.

“I’d call it more than that.”

“So, why not-”

“Because I wanted things to be perfect. I wanted to be perfect for you.”

You gave him a nervous nod and turned back to the closet, pulling down a photo of you in your room back at the Kappa house.

“How’d you do it?”

“I…huh?”

“How’d you take this without getting caught?”

You looked back at him now, a serious look on your face that told him he better fuckin’ answer. What was he gonna do? There was no point in lying to you, everything was there for you to see.

“I learned you and the other girl’s schedules to make sure everyone was asleep.”

“So, what else ya got? Pictures can’t be the only thing.”

Choso pointed to the top shelf of the closet hesitantly. You brought down the bin carefully, sitting it down on his desk as you opened the lid.

“What the fuck, Choso? I was looking everywhere for this lipgloss!”

You’d begun rummaging through the bin, picking up things in remembrance of when you lost them. A couple of hair ties, eyeliner, lipstick napkins. You acted as if there was nothing wrong with this, and it was making it really hard for Choso to read you. His hand alternated between wanting to drop the knife or use it, heart pulsing frantically as you tried on old jewelry of yours. Satisfied with your findings, you moved back to the closet, pulling down the other box on the shelf. The one with his gifts for you.

“Wait! You’re not supposed to see that yet!”

“What is it?”

“It’s something really special... just please, you’re gonna ruin everything!”

You shot him a concerned look and rolled your eyes, walking back over to the bed to take a seat. 

“Answer a couple of questions for me, ‘kay?”

“I-I…”

“Question one, when did this start?”

“...Freshman year, rush week…the first time we met…”

You looked at him surprised. That meant he’d been stalking in love with you for almost four years now and never acted on it.

Just confiscate you, my teeth are in pain…

“Question two, what’s behind your back?”

“Nothing…important…”

Choso was shaking in fear, so much so, he dropped the fucking knife. You both watched it fall to the floor behind him, your mouth agape in shock as he frantically bent over to pick it up. He couldn’t tell what was more awkward, him dropping it on the floor or him picking it up and sitting it on his desk like nothing happened.

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU GONNA DO WITH THAT?”

“DAMAGE CONTROL.”

“FOR WHAT?”

“FOR WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!”

“YOU WERE GONNA STAB ME?”

“NO, I WAS JUST GONNA MAKE SURE YOU DIDN’T LEAVE!”

“ARE YOU FUCKIN’ CRAZY?”

“I’M NOT CRAZY, I’M IN LOVE!”

You scoffed and chuckled, stunned at his statement. Choso was bright red, on the verge of a panic attack. So many thoughts, so many mistakes, you knew almost everything now. All of the things he wanted to do for you, show you, give you, it all meant nothing now. Still, you sat there completely calm, aside from the fact the guy who just fucked your brains out was possibly about to kill you.

“Question three, this is an important one. Did you kill Megumi?”

“It was ruled a death from natural causes.”

“Yeah, tell that shit to someone else, did you kill him?”

Choso didn’t really care to hide things now, too far gone. Especially not how he got rid of that asshole you called a boyfriend.

“Yes, I did; and I don’t regret it.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I poisoned him with Ricin.”

“RICIN? HOW THE FU-”

“I put it inside of a box I told him was supposed to be for you.”

“Why?”

“Because he was a terrible boyfriend to you and you didn’t deserve to be with a guy who couldn’t even remember your birthday. Not to mention, he would’ve never died if he didn’t open what was meant for you, nosy fucker.”

“So, you were jealous? Most people would just beat the guy’s ass, you definitely knocked it out the park with that one.”

“Yes, he didn’t deserve to have you! He took you for granted when there was somebody much more fit to make you happy!”

“And that’s you?”

“Yes, just…please…don’t leave. Not before I make things perfect for you!”

You sat back on your hands, thinking a bit and bouncing your leg. Choso had said too much. Not only did he admit to killing Megumi, but now if you really did hate him, you could get him arrested too. Which meant you two would have to live apart. That was no longer an option.

“Even If I wanted to leave, I don’t think you’d actually give me the choice. Plus, it’s kinda…sweet?”

“Sweet?...”

“Yeah, never had someone like me this much, let alone kill my boyfriend to get closer to me.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“No, not really. Well, maybe for planning to stab me. Not like I can make you untake the pics, but I’ll need some of my stuff back. I’m more impressed than anything. I’m not even gonna ask how you got the Ricin or half of this stuff.”

Choso didn’t know how to feel, or how to react. Why were you so calm about this? Why weren’t you scared? Why were you still here willingly? He couldn’t move at all, locked in place in fear as he watched you get into the bed and turn on another movie.

“You gonna come lay with me or just stand there?”

“I just…I-”

You sat straight up now, looking him dead in the eyes as his body quivered in reaction.

“What’s your deal, huh? Didn’t you kill a guy to be with me?”

“Yes, technically, I-”

“So, be with me, Choso! Unless you’re just like a murderer or whatever, that’s kinda fucked up.”

I'm gonna break you before I can say…

Choso was lost for fuckin’ words. You were laying on his chest now, holy shit, he was losing his mind. Touching him, feeling your warmth as you finally relaxed. Everything he had done to get you with him had paid off. You were so perfect, lips pursed while you breathed up and snuggled your face into him. Just his sweet, sweet girl.

“So, the whole, um, thing…”

“What, you being fucking insane?”

“I’m not insane, just very dedicated to the woman I love!”

“Well, the way I see it, all my other boyfriends couldn’t stop looking at other girls, but you? You’re perfect, you’re already obsessed with me! Just don’t kill anyone else, ‘kay?” 

“I’ll try.”

I love you.

♱ the song used in this story is saccharine by jazmin bean. 🖤

♱ masterlist.

♱ all fics playlist.

𝖆𝖚 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖗, 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖞𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖓.

[bullet-prooflove]

Crime Wave: David Hale x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hatersaremymotivators bennykk kelpies-shed

Companion piece to Graffiti

David Hale wants to court you.

It surprises you because up until now the men in your life have been interested in one thing and one only and that’s fucking you.

When he calls you that night, you fully expect it to be a booty call. It’s past ten pm and you’re curled up in your arm chair, listening to the sounds of the 70s, 80s,and 90s over the radio as you sketch out a scene from the café on Main Steet earlier today. It’s nothing special, just a flower that you saw in a glass of water but you haven’t been able to get it out of your head so you’re committing it to paper. That’s usually how your art comes to you, you see something in the wild that sticks in your brain and you can’t let it go, not until you’ve drawn it.

Usually it’s people. You have entire sketchbooks dedicated to folks you don’t know the names of because you’re fascinated by their posture and facial expressions. It’s the reason you decided to draw David this morning.

When you met it had seemed like he carried the weight of the world up on his shoulders but in that moment, asleep in your bed, he’d seemed relaxed, free. You’d wanted to capture that. You didn’t intend to give the picture away and the phone number had been a last minute addition, hastily scrawled as he was heading out the door.

The truth is you never expected him to call.

“Don’t tell me it took you this long to find my number.” You tease after he greets you.

He laughs and that sound, you don’t realise how much you’ve missed it during the twelve hours you’ve been apart.

“It’s been a busy night.” He tells you as he sits at his desk, reviewing the arrest reports. “It’s been hard to find a moment between throwing the regulars in the drunk tank and arresting delinquents for drawing dicks on other people’s property. It seems you’ve started a trend, one that’s going viral.”

“You’re kidding right?” You say, tapping your pencil on the surface of your sketchpad and you can envision him shaking his head with that amused expression of his as he surveys the evidence.

“I wish I was.” He tells you and you hear the chair creak as he leans back in it. “Cars, mailboxes, shop windows. You’ve inspired a crime wave.”

“Honestly David, I’m so fucking embarrassed.” You say as you press your fingertips to your lips. “Let me make it up to you.”

“This is dinner and a movie at least.” He tells you with a humorous lilt to his voice. “I can give you a tour of your handiwork afterwards, we can rate them, biggest to smallest, most anatomically accurate…”

You can’t help but laugh and on the opposite end of the line David feels something blossoming in his chest.

“I actually took some pictures for evidentiary purposes if you’d like a preview.” He tells you as he scrolls through his phone. “I thought I’d ask as I’m against sending unsolicited dick pics to women I’ve just met.”

“That implies you’ve sent some to women you do know in the past.” You tease and you swear you can feel the blush creeping across his cheeks as he clears his throat.

“I can neither confirm or deny…”

“Some would consider it a form of art.” You say as you survey the images he’s just sent you. There’s some real creativity going on in these pictures, you’ve never seen such a variation of cocks. You wonder if you should be putting together some sort of art installation.

“Like your life modelling?” He prompts and you tune back into the conversation.

“Does that bother you?” You ask him. “That other people see me naked on a regular basis?”

It’s been a source of contention with most of your previous partners. They don’t understand that life modelling isn’t about sex, it’s about the art form, about providing a subject for students to learn from, to develop. It’s not a job for just anybody, you have to be comfortable with yourself, sociable enough to put the artists at ease especially in the beginning stages of their journey.

“No.” He says and you can tell he means it. “You have a beautiful body.”

It’s your turn to blush.

“Do you want to come over tonight?” You ask him and he hesitates.

“Yes.” He says finally. “But I think we should wait for that dinner and a movie.”

You read between the lines.

I want to fuck you, but I want to date you too.

“Tomorrow night.” You say as you scroll through your phone searching for the movie listings. “I’m free tomorrow night.”

Love David? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bllk-after-dark]

20% off on our OF!!

pairing. itoshi sae, itoshi rin x fem!reader

content warnings. MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI, nsfw, both of you are pornstars, praise kink, written in lowercase

series. part one

itoshi sae. you’re not someone to hook up twice with fellow pornstars and especially not off camera. but sae just has this special something. it makes your pussy gush and your thighs shudder, that sly smirk on his face when he makes you cum for the nth time, with nothing more but a single flick of his fingers. and when he finally goes down on you, face buried between your thighs, slurping noises filling the room— well, no one can blame you for running back to him.

your loyal fans of course notice the sudden increase of collaborations with him, how you cling onto him, nails leaving marks on his back while he wrecks you. you let yourself lose in his arms, mind and body putty in his hands, completely pliant when you’re usually the one in control.

it brings you much more money and while you certainly can’t say no to this, nothing can top the way sae fucks you on and off camera. the fact that thousands of people see how you become nothing more than a moaning mess for the gorgeous man just turns you on even more. you, who’s usually the one taking the lead, riding dicks like a champ, but now you’re nothing more but an empty-head little princess, a good girl for sae.

itoshi rin. he would’ve never thought the day would come, but here he is. asking you if you want to start an account on onlyfans. he blames it on his horny friends who glimpsed the nudes you sent to rin, immediately hollering something about being the perfect cam girl. rin has to agree, you’re perfect and normally he wouldn’t share you with anyone else, but he knows how you blush and shudder when hearing praise. and isn’t it the highest praise, when strangers pay to see you naked?

your fans pay you and this well, buying nudes and videos of you moaning and whining, desperate for rin to touch you. rarely he shows himself, but when he does, he completely wrecks you, making you sob and cry, a fan favorite.

despite the two of you reluctantly testing the whole thing out, fucking on camera, in the end, it’s how you earn the most money. you don’t know what exactly it is, but seeing all those numbers, the money you earned and the amount of videos and pictures you sold, makes your head spin— it’s addictive, getting absolutely wrecked by the man you love and hearing not only his praise, but the praise of thousands of others.

anne. i just need a sae in my life…

[ladylooch]

Hi I accidentally sent this in before seeing that requests were closed but since they’re open, did you see my request of the reader losing her virginity to Nico?? And he’s so sweet and gentle🥹 ilysm

Flower Picking with Nico Hischier 

A/N: Oh sweet, sweet 🌸 anon. Here you finally are! I know it took awhile, but here it is in all its smutty, sweet, shiny glory. Also peep how I always write Jack 😂 Sassy but funny. That kid cracks me up (before anyone asks, no I still can’t write about him because I’m too old! 🫣)

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Content, Loss of Virginity, Swearing. 

The lights on the red carpet are blinding. You can barely focus any which way as people call out to you and Nico, desperate for the perfect picture. Nico’s hand on the small of your back is grounding at least. He leans closer to your head, resting his mouth on it for a moment.

“You’re doing great, baby. Just a bit longer.” You squeeze his back in acknowledgement.

Being in the spotlight has never been comfortable for you, ever. But, you’re more than willing to do these uncomfortable things for your perfect boyfriend, especially on a night where he is nominated for a prestiges award. It all feels a bit like a formality because in your heart, he’s already a Selke winner.

Once the pictures are over, autographs and interviews are next. You stand proudly off to the side, watching him do his work with your hands laced in front of you. Nico checks in on you frequently, making sure you’re as comfortable as can be.

“I’m doing great, babe. Stop worrying about me and enjoy the night.” You assure him after the tenth time he’s wandered over. 

“You’re smothering her.” Jack rolls his eyes at his captain. “Chill.”

“Why don’t you go fix your hair or something? Looks like you just rolled out of bed.” Nico chips back at him. 

“I’m just living in the moment, man.” Jack shakes his head, internal groan showing on his face as he is shuffled to the next interview.

“Nico, you’re done.” The Devils PR director says, waving us into the arena. We wave goodbye to Jack and shuffle out of the oppressive Nashville heat.

“I’m sweaty.” You groan, waving at your face, praying your make up isn’t actually melting off like it feels.

“You look gorgeous though.”

“Yeah? I’m glistening?”

“Glowing.” He wiggles his wide brows suggestively. “I know a way we could get sweaty later.” 

You pause, feeling a little panicked that he has figured out your surprise. When you heard Nico was a finalist for the Selke months ago, you knew exactly what to give him: your virginity. Yes, you’re well into your mid-twenties and yes pretty much everyone you know has already experienced sex, but you’re different. And that’s perfectly okay with you and Nico. You’ve had extensive conversations together about why you have waited and what you need before giving that part of yourself to someone. 

Truthfully, you’ve known for a long time it’s Nico you want to give this too. He treats you so well. Tonight is just the latest example of how he cherishes and protects you. You know he will take this piece of you and honor it forever.

But then he doesn’t actually win the Selke.

And you’re a little bit pissed because you think he deserves it. He squeezes your hand, then brings it to his lips to kiss before clapping for Patrice Bergeron after his video acceptance speech.

“Should have been you.” You huff at Nico, watching his face intently.

“It’s an honor to even be nominated.” He reminds you what he has been saying, but you can sense his disappointment. You find out later from Twitter that he came in second in voting and that cheers you both up.

After the awards, you find yourself at a restaurant with Nico and his family. You’re struggling to participate in the small talk which Nico notices. Usually, you’re animated and chatty with his family. You love them; they love you, but you can’t focus on anything other than what you’re planning in your hotel room later tonight.

“You tired?” Nico asks with his arm around your shoulders. He pulls your temple to his lips, awaiting your answer.

“Yeah.” You turn to him, brown eyes meeting yours with an inquisitive look.

After another round of drinks and dessert, you and the Hischiers take off to the hotel by the arena. You say goodbye to his parents and siblings in the lobby, then walk hand in hand to the elevator. You’re sure Nico can feel the sweat beginning to build in your palm.

“Dang. I’m tired too.” Nico groans as you enter your shared room. He kicks off his shoes immediately while you toss your shoes and clutch onto the chair by the TV.

“You’ve had a long day.” You murmur, swaying back over to him. You wrap your arms around his neck, lacing your fingers there. You use them to bring his face to yours. Nico pulls you tighter to him with a hand on your ass, giving it a light squeeze as you make out. Your tongues touch, tangling together before sliding out of the way for softer kisses. You can feel Nico growing against your stomach. You savor the feeling of reciprocated need building between your thighs.

Butterflies forcefully flutter in your stomach as you ghost your hand over his zipper. Then you get bold, sliding his belt apart and dipping your hand to touch him bare. Nico groans into your mouth. You stroke along his shaft, feeling the rigid pulses as he grows. He bucks his hip into your hand a bit while his eyes drown in desire. He presses two more soft kisses to your mouth before stepping away from your touch.

“Need a sec.” He murmurs, giving your hand a squeeze and moving to the bathroom. The soft click of the door makes you bite your lip. He does this when the desire to pin you down and fuck you becomes too strong for him to resist. Tonight, he doesn’t need the space, but there is no need to ruin the surprise before it starts.

You make quick work of your dress, leaving it in a pile on the floor. You whip your underwear off next then climb onto the bed. You’re not sure how you should sit except that definitely not cross legged because what the fuck is that? Instead, you pull your knees up, then cross your feet for some modesty. You can’t help but bite down on your tongue nervously biting back the slight nausea from the butterflies swirling inside of you. Maybe you should have brought the lingerie you were debating on after all….

Nico emerges from the bathroom, working at the buttons of his shirt.  Your heart leaps into your throat when he comes into your line of sight. He freezes when he sees you.

“Hi.” You whisper, hoping it doesn’t sound as choked as it feels coming out of your mouth.

“Hi.” His smile is modest as his brown gaze strokes along your bare skin.

“I want to have sex.” You blurt quickly. Shit, that was not how you had planned it in your head.

“Are you sure?” He crosses the room instantly, hands gripping your ankles. “I don’t want you to feel pressured by the big night we’ve had.” Nico licks his lips hesitantly.

“I know. But I want to do this with you, right now. I’m so proud of you, Nico. I want us to share this moment together, on this amazing night for you…. For us.”

“I am dying for that. But I need you to be sure.”

“I’m so sure. Think of how many other nights I wasn’t.” He stares into your eyes, pausing for ten more seconds before he leans forward to kiss you. It’s touchingly tender, a sweet press that melts your body. You untangle your limbs, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. “I’ll take care of you.” He mumbles, stroking the bare skin of your back. 

“I know, Neeks.” You smile against his mouth, tongue coming out to graze along his bottom lip.

“You kinda already did some of my favorite part though.”

“Oh.. Uh.” You stutter, breaking away. You begin wiggling over to the side of the bed where you dropped your dress to the floor. “I can put it-”

“Baby.” He chuckles, slapping your bare ass. “Stop. We’ll have plenty more moments where I can undress you.” You flip onto your back, his eyes take all of you in, circling around your breasts and then falling to the apex of your thighs. “I was right though, that dress looks better on the floor.” He slides his hand along your stomach, wrapping it around your hip to pull you closer to him. He leans over you. “You know you can back out at anytime?” 

“I do.” You confirm, staring back into his chocolate brown eyes.

“Okay.” 

You and Nico have fooled around plenty, so he knows your turn ons. He starts with your breasts, savoring the soft moans you speak into the air. His fingers stroke your nipples into pointy buds, perfect bullseyes for his mouth to find. His tongue caresses your skin gently causing cascading tingles to spread along your limbs. Then his hand moves down, nudging your thighs apart so he can stroke you. His fingers on your bare skin is a craving you never knew you needed indulged.

His fingerprints paint along your clit, building into a steady circle that has your muscles squeezing tight in your core. Nico kisses your mouth greedily, devouring your lips and tongue like he didn’t just feast at dinner. While he touches you, you grope for the buttons on his shirt to get him naked. He eventually pulls back from you to drag the shirt over his head. His pants go next. When he reaches for the band of his underwear, you stop him. You pull them down his hips and large thighs, groaning at the way his cock bounces free. It slaps against his abdomen then falls into your waiting hand. You wrap him in a tight grip, bringing your face to his throbbing head. 

You’ve never done this for him before, but you’ve imagined it. A lot. Your mouth opens, you swirl your tongue along his head then bob down his shaft until you can’t take him any deeper. Nico’s strangled groan fills your ears. He reaches to your chest, rolling your nipple as you begin to bounce up and down faster.

“Baby, baby, baby. Stop.” Nico begs. You pull off of him immediately, eyes turned downward with worry. “Hey, no, don’t be upset. That feels so fucking good. I’m not gonna make it if you keep going though.” He brings your mouth to his with his fingers under your chin. “Fuck. Couldn’t even tell that was your first time. You’re a pro.” He licks along your lips teasingly. You feel pride stretch your chest, flushing your cheeks with excitement.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for awhile.” You admit as you watch him walk over to his bag. He pulls out a box of condoms.

“Anytime, baby. Except right now because I’m dying to fuck you.” A small moan slips through your lips at the way he says fuck. “I just got tested not that long ago as part of my physical, but I think the first few times we should use condoms.”

“Okay. I’m on the pill.” You remind him.

“I know.” He kisses you, then rips open the box and pulls out a purple wrapper. “I’m not gonna lie, I brought these hoping this would happen.” You like that and reward him with a smooch.

He rips the wrapper open, tossing it onto the floor carelessly. You bite your lip, watching him roll the latex down. You feel like you should look away, but can’t. When he is fully suited, he comes between your knees, adjusting your legs wider t accommodate his body. He kisses you again and you wonder if he can hear the rapid beating of your heart as he adjusts you both for what is next.

“Tell me you’re sure?”

“So sure.” You repeat again. “Have me."

Nico laces your fingers together with his on either side of your head, then slowly begins to press forward. You close your eyes, taking in a measured breath as he gently nudges in, then right back out.

“Okay?” He asks. His breathing is heavy, nostrils flared as he checks on you.

“Yeah.” You nod too. 

He pushes in again, deeper now. This time it’s uncomfortable. He pauses there, leaning down to kiss along your breasts. His tongue slurps at your nipple, pooling warmth in your lower belly. He probes in further as your head falls back. Nico grins when he removes his face from your breast.

“I think you’re gonna like this, baby.” He chuckles, kissing along your jaw, then sucking at your throat as he pushes in to the hilt. Your hands unlace from his, instinctively going to his back. Your finger nails scratch softly at his skin.

“Me too.” You moan back to him. It feels exquisite. Slightly uncomfortable but also the best thing you’ve ever felt. Nico is doing everything to ease any discomfort or tightness. You’re so turned on and eager to feel what the next stage is like.

“Ready for more?” 

“Yeah.” You say back instantly. He smiles fully at you, then drags back so he can begin to leisurely pump in and out. Your breathing hitches again and he slows more, watching your face for any signs of further distress. They’re not there. “I’m good. More, Neeks.” You ask him. He closes his eyes in a long blink and quickens his pace, savoring the feeling of finally having you this way. Your mouth drops open but no sound comes out. You arch your back into his thrusts and he grips your hips, pressing his thumbs into them to pin you back down.

“Take it easy.” He laughs, leaning over you again. “Let me control the pace.”

“Then go faster.” You urge. 

“Why are you chirping me?” His smile presses into your neck.

“Because I want more of you.” You whisper, turning to capture his lips.

Nico begins to fuck you faster. It’s toe curling and intense. The sound of skin connecting fills the hotel room as you writhe beneath his toned body. His hips are perfect tempo setters. You clutch them with your fingers each time, feeling their power as he pumps into you. The whole things is overwhelmingly beautiful. And better than you even imagined it would be.

“I love you.” You say to him. Is that cliche to say during sex? Especially your first time? You’re not sure but know you have to say it. He pauses his thrusting to cup your face, kissing your lips with delicate presses. It’s so intimate, him filling you completely while sliding his tongue along your lower lip.

“I love you too. So much.” He pulls away to look down into your face as his hands glide your legs to wrap around his waist. His hips begin to move again. Goosebumps of pleasure break out down your body at the change in position. 

“Oh… my god.” You moan, thrusting your fingers into his hair and tugging. You turn your face into his cheek, wet mouth sucking his skin. “D-don’t stop.” You quiver with each one of his pumps.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He groans as he keeps the pace. You agree. And tell him so by squeezing him with your orgasm. He follows suit, filling the latex while buried deep inside of you.

Everything slows down after that. Your legs fall slightly from around his waist. Nico breathes heavily above you; your abdomens sticking together from sweat. A light breeze of bliss travels from the top of your head to the tips of your feet. Your heart swells in your chest, feeling so connected to Nico after sharing this moment with him.

“How are you doing?” He asks quietly, face still buried into your shoulder. His hair tickles your skin when he pulls away to see you.

“Good. Great actually.” You insist with a grin. He matches yours with one of his own. He grips the edge of the condom, then slides out of you. You feel empty when he is gone and wonder how quickly you can get him to do this all again. 

“I’ll be right back.” He kisses you, then gets off the bed to head to the bathroom. His bare butt is quite the sight as he walks away. When he returns, he has a washcloth. “This should help with any discomfort.” He lays it between your thighs and you realize it’s warm. You smile at him, reaching your arms up to bring him into your chest. His lips press against your breasts as he nuzzles his face into them. “You might be sore tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You murmur into his hair. He’s so worried about you, wanting to walk you through everything. “So when can we do that again?” Nico chuckles into your skin. He wraps his arms around your back, spinning you both so you’re on top of his chest, looking down at him. Your hair cascades along your shoulder blades and down your spine. His fingers tangle in it there, kind eyes meeting yours.

“Give me 15 minutes and we can go again.” You bite your lip to suppress the wicked grin forming.

Nico Hischier is going to turn you into a freak.

[dojae-huh]

Hello~ After watching the latest episode of 127 Vibe, I’m further confirmed with my thought that Jaedo are the most compatible with each other among other 127 members. Even with the teasing and jokes the members made with each other,  the “vibe” just feels different between Jaehyun and Doyoung. They seem more comfortable and at ease with each other’s presence. Their interactions are more natural and genuine without worrying about creating “effects"  for the sake of the program. They constantly pay attention to what each other’s doing and make sure to respond. That’s the part that hit my soft spot because even close friends might miss one or two thing the other person’s talking about sometimes. Perhaps due to the busy schedules, the members in general (including Johnny and Jungwoo) seems a bit exhausted to me. Still, I appreciate them creating content for this series because I miss the original content the made back in the days like Haechan’s radio, 24-hour relay cam, and JCC. There’s definitely room for improvement for the content production. So far, the procession of every episode is only about 127 members doing random stuffs together. Not sure if this “flexibility” and “randomness” is what they picture about “127 vibe,” but in my opinion, this type of “free-style” content heavily relies on not only the editing skill of the production team but also the members’ understanding of the content and ability to put effort in making it fun without trying too hard (which is even more difficult because that’s not their forte). 

—————————-

Right? Right? When I say I miss MC JaeDo it’s because there are very few opportunities for them to show their chemistry (considering they are seldom in the same programmes or teams). That Tomato game they played years ago is still circulating on X because they were lookng so entertaining doing it. 

Good point about “offence”. I comment on it from time to time. It’s because they know each other’s boundaries well, or know one “sorry” will be enough, they act without precaution and pauses of hesitance. Same way Jungwoo was hesitant to touch Jaehyun in the very beginning, but once Johnny came, he started to include touch as a way of communication. (Not because JohnWoo are closer than JaeWoo, but because Jaehyun isn’t comfortable with touch, while Johnny likes it, and Woo knows it by experience).

Doyoung always remembers about doing something for content. Jaehyun remembers from time to time.  So they do “effects”. It’s usually more natural and smooth because they repeat the same routine. The way DoHyuk always antagonise each other suring games, and is still looks believeable, like they are heated during a game and not for the game. The way Jaehyun joked about being the only one having lenses (it’s a long-lasting argument between Jae and Do. Do selling lasik to everyone, including bae, Jae not wanting to do it). 

127 content varies in quality and the degree of being entertaining. Perhaps it depends from the script-writes. It’s hard to come up with something new. Idols being sent to do something is a common thing though.  

[bberetd]

I just want to let you know, my dear, that I really enjoy your content. Your art really brightens my day. Who would’ve known that a fic request would help make the connection and helped inspire my own crossover AU so thank you for that and I still kept the picture you sent me on my birthday, it’s that precious to me as I’ve never had anyone draw for me. You are among the first to help me settle into Tumblr and help me find my footing into this great SMB fandom. Thank you for supporting my stories 😊 I hope that they’ll continue to bring you joy.

VULPIX 😭😭♥️♥️ I couldn’t be any happier that my work does that for you. I try, truly, and every time I make a post there’s always something I see that I can improve on. At least, that’s the mindset I’d like to have rather than staring at it for too long and suddenly thinking “yeah this isn’t it.” but seeing that it brightens your day makes me so happy!

I’m glad the birthday drawing means so much to you ♥️ I had a lot of fun making it! I’ve never had my art turned into WRITING, so guess it was pretty big for both of us, hehe. But you deserve even more art for your beautiful writing. And it’s so amazing to see the crossover AU grow with your lore posts and stories. Can’t wait to see Bowser btw!!

I’m so glad I could help you feel welcome into the fandom, because you belong here and are so loved, in more ways than just your writing. But yes, they ABSOLUTELY bring me joy. Since we live in different countries, and with the usual pattern you upload your stories, I get notifs from AO3 either late at night or as soon as i wake up. So they’re like bedtime/wake-up stories for me. 😛

Thank you for the ask, though, dear friend ♥️♥️♥️ this made my morning. Looking forward to your stories on the 14th!

[luckyshotwrites]

Ch. 33 // We’re Both Idiots! // Day 22

Contents (Warnings): soft teasing, character shenanigans, a little tiny sprinkle of angst, more character information, and further monster/magic explanations. (THIS IS GOING TO HAVE SIX PARTS, JEEZ).

Wordcount: 3425

-------------------------------------------------------------------

(Oct. 7th Friday)

He’s less threatening at this height. I thought walking beside Alexander sheepishly. I could feel the waves of his agitation lashing about. He doesn’t even look that hurt. Maybe Lev didn’t hit him as hard as I thought. 

He inhaled then side-eyed me. “Do humans normally stare this much?”

I wish I was blind. “You stare at me all the time and I never make comments on it.” I muttered.

He huffed. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

He flicked his head to fully look at me, “if you’re giving me permission to do more than stare-”

I stopped him, shaking my head profusely to shake all the terrible thoughts from my ears. “I was looking at you because I thought you might be really hurt because from where we were it looked like Lev hit you really hard.”

Alexander scowled.

NOW HE’S MAD BECAUSE HE THINKS I WAS CALLING HIM WEAK?! I shouted in my head. Not that I should have been surprised, communication with him was almost impossible. 

Lev chimed in, looking back and away from his phone, “he’s a wendigo, they can take it.” 

“Yeah,” Alexander muttered, rubbing his jaw. “My jaws still a little sore, fucker.”

Are games like that common? I asked myself.

We walked by several others, some of them looked harmless, fishing, dancing, and a weird game that looked like twister, except a team of two was going up a tube with backs to one another and coordinating the colors trying to beat another team doing the same in another tube. That looks like rock climbing while having a back buddy. I bet Wicks and I could rock it. I said in my head with a smile.

My vision floated to some of the people wearing onyx colored chains, or those carrying small idols that looked like cute cubi characters.

They apparently came with mini comics that I wanted to grab, but I refrained. Charletta would love that too. I couldn't risk bringing them something magic though, plus I feared Wicks might try to look up whatever I got him. He’s already suspicious. I usually tell him everything. I exhaled, and now I've kept him in the dark. I hope I'm not hurting him.

“Lynette?”

I snapped out of it, seeing Drake aiming at my pocket as my phone rang for Wicks. It was the empty knight home screen song since that was the only game he played and liked.

I frantically got it from my pocket. Speak of the devil.

I let the others walk further ahead. Alexander kept a steady eye on me regardless. 

“H-hey!” I answered.

“The hotel room you sent me looks nice and huge.” Wicks said. 

I had to stand up on a chair when I took a picture of our room, and left Alexander’s side out of my pictures. His bed was far too big. 

“It is nice,” I said. I tried to push off the subject. “And-uh-how are things going for you? Have you been keeping busy?”

Wicks grumbled, “yeah. A lot of my other coworkers are at a larger job right now so I’m picking up some of their slack with these smaller ones.” He then popped with worry, “I’m sorry if you were working, Lentils!”

“No, no, I’m not too busy.” 

“Great…” Wicks trailed off again.

“What’s been on your mind, you've been acting really funny with me.”

My anxious heart tugged as his end was quiet for a good minute or two. His voice rose from the silence.

“Charletta’s getting married in a month, can you believe that?”

He said, I smiled out of nervousness, “I know, it’s surreal isn’t it?” I chuckled with a light release, “I was thinking about you both today when my coworkers bullied me upon seeing my sick fashion sense.”

Wick’s cheerful voice entered, “OH SHOOT! LENTILS!” He sounded like he strangled the receiver as his volume went back and forth for a minute. “I sh-OU-ld HA-ve PA-ck-ED foR You!!”

A pure laugh sprang out, “I look good.”

“Send your outfit in the family group chat then, see what mom and Charletta say!”

I pinched at the front of my shirt, “no, no, that’s fine.”

“THEN YOU KNOW!”

“I KNOW YOU GUYS HAVE NO STYLE!”

Wicks hollered, “I’ll put them both in this call right now.”

“NO! I’ll-I’ll hang up!”

“On me?” He made a fake crying noise. 

“You’re a punk!! Stop!” 

He continued to snicker, giving a sigh that clearly held his beam. “Let's watch some stupid movies on Saturday night, and into Sunday morning, sound cool?” 

“YES please!” I demanded it. “I’m gonna need it after this festival.”

“Is it that bad?”

“No, it’s just-” I exhaled, “a lot of people.” 

I heard a bang on his end. "Are you okay?"

Wick’s voice sputtered out, more panicked. “Well, have fun with it, Lentils, and keep sending me pictures!” He sounded like he was moving. “I love you too, Lentils!” 

“I love-" he hung up before I finished. I tried to call him back but it went to voicemail. Was he in trouble?

My phone pinged with a text.

Wicks: Sorry, boss walked in. Talk later, love you, be safe, and if there is an emergency, call my number. ❤️❤️❤️ 5:45p.m.

My shoulders dropped. I put my phone away after sending him a message back. I looked up seeing them all walking ahead of me. They were broken up into groups, most of the night crew were in the back while the morning crew were up toward the front.

Now time to get back to these weirdo's. I joked in my head, making my way back to Alexander, Drake, and now Lev.

…

Drake *While Lynnette was on the call.*

“She’s such a pain in the ass.” Alexander grumbled.

Drake chortled, “what’s the complaint this time?”

Air left his lungs in a puff, Alexander waved his hand around, “you’re not the one around her constantly.”

It’s a good thing I’m not.

“It is your job, you brought her here.”

Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose, “yeah yeah.” He brought out his slightly annoyed grin, “what would you do in my position then?”

“Eat her,” Lev said, slowing down to walk with them. “Which, I’ve been meaning to ask, Alexander. You’ve never brought a human to the pizzeria before…” He stuck his tongue out, “so why did you decide to invite Lynette? Couldn’t you have just eaten her in the store and been done with it?”

He lifted up his hand and pointed at Lev, “well-” He brought his hand back up to his head. He almost forgot. I can't believe I never asked him that. Drake thought.

“The party." He adjusted his glasses, "I didn’t want to eat before it. Especially when I just got Sasha, and I still had so much to set up.” He ran his hands under his eyes, “but you're right, I should have just-”

“What did I miss?” Lynette’s voice popped by Drake. 

He listened to her fluttery beats. 

Drake kept his sight off her, staring at the small stores they passed instead, “another conversation you’d dislike.”

Alexander groaned audibly and Lev laughed at him. He could hear the soft jests of Lev at Alexander. 

“Ah,” defeat deflated her tone. 

Then he felt her eyes cast over him. “And are you okay? You’ve been quiet lately.” She continued, “I mean, I’ve never really seen you all interact outside of work, but you’re usually a lot more talkative”

Stay calm. He reminded himself. Her body leaned near him, innocently. “I’m fine, really…” His lips quivered and he turned to her but before he could do anything, Alexander grabbed her arm. Did I reveal too much? He asked himself, seeing Alexander’s slight gaze before he turned back to Lynette. He threw his hood over his head and pulled at the strings until he only had a small hole to look through.

…

Lynette

“HEY, shortie.” Alexander walked backward tugging her along, “who’s turn is it going to be after this festival, mine right?”

I disagreed. “It’s my turn, you went Sunday, Lev went Monday, and Dra-Claudia went Thursday.”

Lev and Alexander looked disappointed.

I have to look at my list later, I haven’t even thought of a game. Besides the one with Claudia right now. I internally rolled my eyes. 

He let me go when he hit his back against Viola. 

“Hi, Alexander.”

“Hey,” He gave a nod of acknowledgement, “sorry.”

She stopped along with the others, because we were standing outside the food tent.

Now that we were standing next to it, I noticed the strong, crisp, delicious pizza smell. My stomach grumbled very softly. I had what, a bagel for breakfast and a coffee? I asked myself. Great, here comes the pizza mood.

Everyone looked to be working in their human form, then again so did a lot of individuals in the food zone from what I saw. Or maybe other humans work with monsters like me? Though, none of them really had the black sweatband on their arm like me.

Others in that "terror" tent did. I said to myself. I still can’t believe some people offer themselves up to be eaten. I kept my eyes from going to Alexander.

It’s not my fault I judge their grotty diet harshly. My mind went over the logistics again. I still don’t understand how they can sustain themselves off other people's energy? There like leeches without the blood…I smiled thinking of going to one of the open umbrella tables to sit.

If they took blood like him it wouldn’t be that bad, right? Actually, I don't think all vampires would take the blood out of someone and put it in a blood bag. I held my head, why am I having these thoughts now. I wouldn’t be under heavy fire today, and I did feel a lot more at ease with a lot of space between the others and me. At the pizzeria if I was cashiering I would be trapped in a corner, or in the break room. Most monsters at the event looked at me funny, and that's pretty much it. 

A floating pizza grabbed my eye. SO wait, do they use magic on them? I had never witnessed the whole project. And I swore the day before I was hired I saw one floating too. Then again there were a lot of times in my life where I swore something off. Then I freaked out. That means when I was little and told the Paytons I saw a monster, I WAS RIGHT!

I muffled a shout with my hands. They called me crazy!

I was about to text Wicks then stopped, holding my phone out. Lynette, you can't do that, he can't know about monsters. I grumbled seeing the time, is it really almost six o’clock? I looked back up at the others in the tent, squinting, and once Claudia moved toward the side of the counter I was, our bet entered my head again.

“I need to get the last few forms off my list.”

Claudia turned to me curiously, “hmm?”

“The monster-”

“OHHH! I was kidding earlier,” she chuckled and continued before I could stop her, “but since we’re taking it seriously, you gotta tell me exactly what they are too, you can’t name off something similar.”

“No way, you looked serious earlier, Claudia!” I exclaimed. “If it was a joke, tell me after you had your fun!”

Alexander’s growl butt in, “what are you two talking about?”

Claudia smiled, “Lynette wanted to engage in a bet with me-”

“You didn't give me a choice!” I stammered.

“Clearly you wanted to play because you reminded me of it again.” She tapped her own head, “I would have forgotten if you didn’t remind me.”

I screamed more into my hands to catch my own idiocy.  

“Why,” Alexander exhaled, “WHY do you keep putting yourself in stupid situations.”

“BECAUSE I AM A BIG DUMMY!” I pointed to myself then at him, “BUT I BARELY UNDERSTAND HOW ALL OF THIS WORKS, LET ALONE WHEN ANY OF YOU ARE KIDDING, SERIOUS, OR-” I threw my hands up, “URGH, you know what, Xander, you’re not one to talk.” I was so engrossed in the embarrassment that I snapped back, “you always act so bothered by me but you put me here, so you’re just as d-dumb, we're both idiots!” I stumbled over the last sentence in a poor attempt to defend myself.

And once I had a second more to mull over what I said, my relieved grin fell and I cowered back seeing his approach. “I’m sor-gahh” 

I was yanked and held close to their chest. I glanced up, relieved it was Viola.

She faced Drake, still holding me with an arm over my neck, lightly. 

“Is this what you have to deal with everyday?”

Drake gave a sigh. 

Alexander gestured to me, “SHE STARTS IT, I’M JUSTIFIED.”

“I DO NOT, XANDER!”

He pointed at Viola. “Let her go.”

“No, Mr. Problem child,” Viola directed me with her. “I’m not going to see you get in trouble for breaking the rules.”

“I-” He stopped his argument and met Viola’s eyes. He took a big inhale then exhaled with defeat, “are you just going to ignore what she said to me?”

“Of course not,” Viola said, “but unlike you, she was ready to apologize.”

Alexander rolled his eyes, “yeah, because she knew I’d get her back.”

“Good point,” Viola said. “I guess I have to figure out a way to punish you too.”

I flinched in her grasp. Alexander dropped it at least. What is she going to do? She doesn't eat girls right...right?! No, she can't eat me anyway. Then what is she going to do?

She let me go and I turned to face her. Why do they always look so much bigger when they threaten me? I looked over her form and she twirled me around. Then she pulled my arms back, "hold this position."

"For-for how long?" I muttered.

"Give me a moment." Viola tweeted, her voice sounds so sweet yet when I look at her, she looks like she'd snap me like a twig. Unlike the others, they looked and sounded scary. Well, except Claudia, she seems so harmless. And Drake doesn't threaten me. I sighed, so it's the big thr- "O-o-ow!" I exclaimed as she was putting something up my arms.

"Sorry, your arms were in the wrong position." She said, moving them before putting something on my shoulders.

When she let go I fell back into her, losing my balance entirely. "What-ah-is this your bag?!"

“Yep, and you're going to have to carry it until we get back to the hotel."

I squeaked out, fighting to stay upright. "What's in here!"

“A few of my gifts to my partner, Elise, my friend Henry, my younger brother, five other sisters, your gifts for your family, your clothes, spare clothes for anyone who needs them, a few treats, and...no I think I took out the dumbbells.”

“All that in here?”

“It has a slight seal on it, I’m not that great at encryption magic, so you can still feel a lot of the weight.” She then flexed, “look at it this way it’ll help build your muscles.”

I don’t think even if I could bulk up that I'd be able to lift people around as easy as any of you do. I thought in my head. I struggled to maintain balance once she helped me plant my feet. “You're not being serious about carrying it the whole time are you?”

“I am,” Viola gave a hefty pat to the backpack, almost making me fall again. “Now don't drop it.”

…

“Hey, hey,” The grayish haired male said, tapping at the top of my head as if it were bongos. I was too comfortable and tired from holding up the backpack for twenty minutes to stop him. I was sweating, so I rested under one of the umbrella tables. “Your head plays a very nice tune.”

“Thanks…” I said.

He sat next to me on my left, while on my right was Zilla, avoiding him. Her eyes are definitely sharper than his, he looks like he's just here for a good time. 

None of the few sitting at the table with me were in their monster forms. Tila was kicking her feet back and forth, while June was eating some pizza of his own. He pressed it into his body at his neck and it slid inside him.

That’s so weird. I said in my head as Claudia slapped a plate down in front of me. She ate a slice too.

“You eat normal food?” I asked.

I never saw anyone on the night crew eat lunch, besides Drake with his blood packs.  

She happily munched and hummed, “I eat all kinds of foods.”

Good to know. I looked down at the two triple meat pizza slices. I’ve never even eaten our pizza before, have I? I always wanted to bring some home, but given the time I got out and sometimes how I had to leave, I didn't have the chance.

I lifted up the slice, went to take a bite, and felt Zane lean closer to me. “Hey, do you mind if I have the first bite?”

I looked at my slice then gestured to my plate, “you can have the other-”

I jumped with a yelp, seeing Tila underneath the table eating the slice in front of my legs. “When did you get there…” I trailed off, thinking it wasn’t worth it. I got ready to rip my slice. “We can split it in-”

He took a bite before I could finish, “mhm, this is pretty good, thanks.” 

Zilla squinted at him and pulled my arm to her, “it’s not that good.” She took a bite of it too, and grumbled. “It is really good.”

“Right!” He tugged my arm to him and I squeaked out.

“Please-” I whimpered. “I only ate a bagel today.”

Zane stood up, “what?! How could you go a whole day eating just that?!” He snatched the rest of the slice from my hand and stuffed it in his mouth. “Lefs geff yoo amopher von.” (Let’s get you another one).

I held the straps of the backpack, hoisting myself up with a grumble. Ate my pizza right in front of me. I went up to the tent with him, stumbling about, and we begged for another pizza. The only ones left cooking were Sandra and Edgar. I didn’t see Tristan around. And Edgar looked more than happy to make us another.

Zane leaned back on the counter with the coverage of the tent, he was looking over at Zilla, waving. She turned around quickly and he sighed, smiling. 

I worked up the courage to speak, “are you guys…both the same monster wise too?”

I felt a sudden shiver, almost like I asked the wrong question. But, his smile looked enduring. “You’ve seen Zilla in action? Cool! Yeah! We're the same in our monster forms too.”

“I, uh-are you a certain type? I saw another naga earlier fighting Alexander and they didn’t have the-” I did a hand mouth gesture. "at their tail."

Zane chuckled, “oh no, we’re hybrids, mixed with a mimic.” He then tapped on my head again, “how about you answer one of my questions too.”

“Yeah?” I leaned my body down to allow the backpack to rest on the counter.

“Why did you end up staying here?” 

I stiffened up, “oh-uh- the money. It’s way too much for me to give up without trying.”

Zane smiled and fully faced me. I didn’t know if it was because he was taller than me, or because I knew what he was, but there was a very subtle fear worming its way through my body.

“I love the dedication.” He pushed at me lightly, I almost fell over given the backpack and had to catch myself. 

I smiled. His violet eyes had a different look too, it definitely wasn't that hunger I saw in their eyes. An indescribable thickness.

"Here's your pizza you two!" Edgar said. "I made it extra, extra large so you could share it around!"

Zane chuckled and took the giant box, "you're not going to be hungry anymore, huh, Lynette?"

I nodded along, "I bet I can finish it all." I tried to lighten myself up. He's probably as conniving as his sister, that's all.

…

Thank you for reading! :D Have a gouda day! (Nonnegotiable, if you're lactose intolerant, you're about to be in a lot of pain, sorry, not sorry. Lol).

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What I’d do for a Livable Income (Synopsis/Chapter - List)

[itstheoneshot]

Kinktober Day 21

Phone Sex - Yuta

!dom Yuta

It wasn’t often that you were awake when Yuta messaged you while he was on tour. The time difference meant that you would get a couple of hours of shared daylight to talk, but the rest of the time either one of you was asleep, or working. It sucked, and you missed each other terribly, but that is all part of the gig, and you knew that when you first started dating.

Tonight however was different. You were so immersed in the drama that you were watching, and the wine that you were drinking, that you hadn’t noticed just how late it had gotten. Three AM, to be exact, when your phone lights up with a text message notification on the screen.

Yuta

Are you still up?

You

I am.

Before you get a chance to send a second message, your phone is ringing and you rush to answer him.

“My love!” You gush, “I miss you!”

Yuta’s laughter echoes through the phone, and the serotonin that it gives you is immeasurable. Your communication over the last few weeks has been only random text messages and a couple of videos sent at odd times, so to be calling is incredible.

“I miss you too,” He replies, “Why are you awake?”

Now it is your turn to laugh, the alcohol has definitely gone to your head and you are feeling a little dizzy.

“Just drinking,” You mumble, “Watching TV, didn’t realise it was already so late.”

You swear that you can hear Yuta roll his eyes through the phone. He knows what you are like when you drink, as you usually drink together, so you know that he would be a little jealous to know that you are drinking without him.

“Well you’re stuck with me now,” He murmurs, “You aren’t tired yet, are you?”

You stare up at the ceiling, your vision a little blurry. You ponder his question for a moment, soaking in the sound of his voice before you answer.

“I’m not tired,” You reply, shaking your head even though he can’t see you, “I’m just thinking about you now.”

Your words give it away, causing Yuta to laugh again. You can’t lie to him, especially not when you have had a few to drink, and not when you know that he is alone at the other end of the line, thinking of you too.

“Oh really?” He plays coy, “What about me are you thinking of?”

You blush at this question, grateful that he cannot see you as he would tease you endlessly for how quickly flustered you become.

“I’m thinking about the way that you kiss me,” You start, your eyes fluttering closed as you imagine it, “About the way that your hands feel on my body.”

Yuta hums in contentment at your words, and you hear him readjust, moving to a more comfortable position in the hotel bed.

“What else, baby?” He asks, “Tell me what you would want to do if I was there?”

You find your hand trailing down your front, settling over your core that is already beginning to throb.

“I’d want you to fuck me, Yuta,” You sigh as your hand slips under the elastic of your panties, “I want to feel your cock stretching me out, I want you to ruin me.”

Yuta palms his growing erection, though of course you can’t see it, you know by the way that his breath catches in his throat that he is enjoying this just like you are.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He asks rhetorically this time, “I wouldn’t go easy on you though, with my hand around your throat, I might bruise you, baby.”

You push two fingers inside, as you rub circles on your clit with your thumb. Your hips buck at the feeling, and you let out a little moan at the pleasure.

“I want it,” You whimper, fingers working faster, “Yuta, fuck, I want it so bad it hurts.”

Yuta moans a little louder, having now pulled his pants down to free his cock completely, you can hear him stroking himself and it only makes you want him twice as bad.

“Are you gonna make yourself cum?” He asks, “Thinking about how good I can make you feel is enough to get you there, isn’t it?”

He is right, you have an incredible imagination, and you have enough past experiences to draw from that it isn’t hard for you to picture your fingers as Yuta’s cock, though it doesn’t stretch you the same, hearing his voice definitely helps fill the void.

“Yuta~” You moan louder, hearing his own hand move faster, his breathing getting heavier, “Fuck, I’m so close, god I want to cum on your cock so badly.”

Nothing but moans of each other's names are repeated as you each chase a high that you wish you were giving to each other.

“Cum for me,” Yuta orders you, “Baby, need to hear you cum so I can too.”

It is easy to fall apart for him, your arousal flows from you, surely making a mess of the sofa as you breathlessly cry out for him, hearing him do the same for you in a lower register as he releases too. Your chest heaves, rising and falling as your orgasm subsides and you move your hand away to give yourself a moment to regain clarity.

“You should sleep,” Yuta sighs, “But we should do this again soon, okay? I love you.”

You want to protest, but your eyelids are shutting without your consent, slumber closing in on you quicker than you would have liked it to.

“Okay,” You reply, “I’ll see you in a week, but talk before then… I love you too.”

———

Kinktober Masterlist!

[harringtonswriting]

the one with the upside down kisses | s.h.

summary: steve has something he's always wanted to try, and when a raining evening comes along, he can't help but want to try it out with you (modern!au; spidey!steve universe) pairing: steve harrington x gn!reader warning(s): some language, some slightly suggestive content word count: 2.1k notes: hi hi!!! i'm back and i'm here to humbly offer my own take on spidey!steve. emma and i have been discussing this for a while and i decided i wanted to try writing this; i love it, and i really hope that you do as well! this is just a small piece for now, but if you wanna see more spidey!steve in the future, please feel free to let me know and to send in requests for him! if this is something people wanna see more of, i do have more plans for future fics/blurbs for him as well 👀 enjoy!

...

It starts raining just after dinner. You hear the raindrops start to beat against your kitchen window as you’re doing dishes, and you don’t mind the quiet rhythmic sound of the rain hitting the glass as it mixes with the music you have playing at a low volume. It’s just you tonight–you’d come home to an empty apartment after work, a scribbled note from your boyfriend on your kitchen counter (and a bag of chips that he’d left open next to it, and a pile of his clothes on the floor) letting you know that he’d been there, but had to run off to assist with a bank robbery, but he loves you very much (and you need more snacks).

You’d slipped the note inside the drawer of your desk with all the others he’s written to you over the last few months since you’d started dating, all the different colours of sticky notes gathered together in your own little collage of Steve. Sometimes you pull them out when you’re having a bad day, or if you’re worried about his safety (especially if things look rough on the news, though you don’t take anything the Daily Bugle says to heart unless it’s something written by Nancy), to read through.

You then grab his clothes and take them to the bathroom to throw them in the hamper before you head back to the kitchen to settle into your nightly routine of getting changed out of your work clothes and into something comfy, and cooking dinner for yourself. You know Steve’ll be going on patrol after he finishes up with the bank robbery, most likely until much later, but you hope he’ll stop by after if it isn’t too late. He usually does, either swinging in through your living room window, or through his own window to change and then come over to yours (though he’s basically moved in with you at this point, so it’s not often he goes to his own place first).

Once you finish the dishes, leaving them to dry in the rack on the counter, you take your phone and sit on the couch to flip through things to watch while you scroll through your phone–you check the latest updates from #SpideyFails because Steve isn’t here to pout about accidentally clotheslining himself on a streetlight again, and then respond to some texts from Robin and look at the ten different pictures of Ozzy that Eddie’s sent you. The rain is still going strong, the sound of it ricocheting off your living room windows almost soothing as you weigh your options. Just as you finally decide on a movie to watch–which is the one you’ve been watching on repeat lately, but it’s a good movie and Steve isn’t here to poke at you for doing it–you feel your phone buzz on your leg, and the screen lights up. You can see Steve’s name attached to the message, so you grab your phone and unlock it to see what he’s sent you.

From: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>meet me on the fire escape at 10

You check the time on your phone, seeing that it’s almost eight o’clock, and look out the window at the dark city view from where you are on the couch. He’s usually done between ten and eleven on a good night, which you were hoping was the case tonight, but it’s more than a little odd that he wants you to meet him outside when it’s raining. You chew on your thumb before you text him back.

To: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>Why? It's raining

Steve’s response comes back quickly–he must be taking a break somewhere, or maybe patrol is more dead than you’d thought. You hope he’s staying as warm and dry as he can–his suit is waterproof, thankfully, but not very well insulated. And he always refuses to wear anything other than underwear underneath it. It’s caused a number of arguments during colder weather.

From: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>surprise :))

Steve doesn’t explain himself beyond that, and despite how you roll your eyes and throw your phone onto the other side of the couch as the movie continues playing. You know how much he’s going to pout if you don’t do it, but you also know how much you enjoy staying dry inside. But why does he even want you to meet him outside, anyway? Especially that late at night?

As much as you want to watch the movie you put on, you can’t help but let your mind wander as you think about what Steve might want you to meet him in the rain for. You could cross food off the list–the two of you had learned the hard way that swinging across the city carrying takeout usually ended in disaster, and if he really wanted something he’d either order it himself to be delivered to your place, or more likely he’d ask you to order it for him (with payment in kisses to follow when he got home).

Maybe he changed the colours of his suit? You didn’t think that’d be it given how attached he is to his current suit and how well it works for him (and his body, you’d absolutely noticed how good it looks on him and how good it makes him look), and besides, that’s something he can show you inside, preferably in your bedroom after he dries himself off.

Before you know it, it’s nearly ten o’clock, and your phone is buzzing on the other side of the couch where you’d thrown it, and it’s Steve again. You reach over and grab it, not bothering to pause the movie, and unlock your phone to read his message.

From: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>dont see you on the fire escape >:((

You can honestly imagine him pouting right now–you wouldn’t be able to see it under his mask, of course, but you’d know he’s pouting with his forehead wrinkled, the little furrow between his eyebrows and his soft pink lips pulled down at the corners. You shake your head, a smile on your face as you type back an answer.

To: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>It's not 10 yet, you said come out at 10

Are you messing with him? Absolutely, because you know Steve is gonna be grumbling at his phone and aggressively tapping his screen while he texts you back.

From: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>.....ok well im here NOW >>pls come out and look up babe

You put your phone down on your coffee table, getting up and walking over to the living room window in front of the fire escape. You look out, though through the rain beating against the glass you can’t make out much besides the faint glowing of the different lights in the city. You lament your nice, dry clothes for a moment before you crack the window open. And then, thinking better of things for a moment, you run and grab a few towels to leave by the window so you and Steve can dry yourselves off when you come inside, before you’re climbing over the window sill to stand on the fire escape.

The rain is cold, much colder than you’re expecting, and it runs down your face and your body and more quickly than you’d like, you’re soaked through. Remembering Steve’s last text message, you use one of your hands to try and shield your eyes as you look up above you. And that’s when you see him.

“Come here often, gorgeous?” Steve is crouching, upside down, hanging off of the fire escape above yours by a strand of webbing. You can hear the smug grin in his voice, muffled slightly by the mask on his face, and he lowers himself down so his head is level with yours.

“Come out on my own fire escape? I feel like I should be asking you if you come here often, Bug Boy,” you tease him, and Steve gasps exaggeratedly, one hand leaving the webbing to smack into the spider symbol splashed across his chest.

“Bug Boy? Really? I come here to make sure your neighbourhood is safe, and that’s the best you can come up with?” he asks, which has you laughing. He sighs dramatically, before the hand on his chest goes back to hold the line of webbing. “I’ll take that over what Goblin and the Bugle were saying about me today, though.”

His voice is a little lower, a little more subdued when he says that, which tells you that whatever had been said had gotten to him today. He normally shrugs it off, laughs off whatever insults or vitriol gets spewed his way, but some days it gets to him. Today seems to be one of those days. “Hey, hey,” you tell him, stepping closer to him so your right side up face is directly in front of his upside down face. “You’re my Bug Boy, and you’re the best one the city could ever ask for. You’re my hero. I’m lucky to have you.” You mean it; you know how absolutely lucky you are to have Steve in your life; sure, it’s a hundred times more chaotic with him and all the craziness being Spider-man brings, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You love him more than you ever thought possible, and your love for him grows every day you’re together.

“Maybe you could show me just how lucky?” He seems to have gotten back his sense of humour, and you can imagine his eyebrows waggling underneath his mask. Normally you’d crack a joke back, especially with the cold rain pouring down your body, but you’ll do that next time. Today you’ll show him how much you love him.

You reach up and, as gently as you can, reach under the neck of his suit to find the seam for his mask. Once your fingers find it, you pull it down until the bottom half of his face is exposed, the mask resting just above the tip of his nose. One of his hands grabs one of yours then, before you can tug it down anymore, and you stop. He brings that hand to his mouth, placing a soft kiss to your palm. His lips are warm against your skin, and you can see the little bit of stubble on his chin and upper lip; the pretty brown moles dotting his cheeks and the sliver of his neck you can see.

You bring your other hand up to cup his cheek, and then you’re leaning forward to press your lips against his own. Water had started to run down his face, so they’re a bit wet on both ends. Steve’s lips are warm and soft against your own, though, and before you know it your thumbs are rubbing along his jawline as his tongue is pushing its way into your mouth. You let it, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss. You can feel the lack of oxygen going to your head, though, and you regretfully break apart. Your breath floats around the two of you, the heat mixing with the chilly air and the rain, and Steve’s grin is impossibly wide.

“Always wanted to try that,” he tells you, letting go of the webbing completely to drop down onto his feet in front of you. You knock your shoulder into his, laughing for a moment before a chill runs down your spine. “Oh, shit, right, it’s raining. Get inside and get warm, baby, I just gotta grab my bag and uh, stuff.”

You absolutely want to get out of the rain so you climb back inside, grabbing a towel to dry yourself off as best you can before you head for your bedroom to change into dry clothes. You hear the window slam shut a few minutes later, a few muffled curses as Steve no doubt faceplants again coming inside, and you grab some dry clothes for him to change into while you hang his suit to dry in the bathroom, and then the two of you can crawl into bed together while he tells you about his day.

(You don’t say anything, though, when you notice later that a new framed photo has made its way onto your night stand, one of the two of you kissing in the pouring rain, beside some cold medicine and a glass of water and a brand new note for your collection)

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter 1: Flickering Lights

Raining Hellfire Series | Season One

Word Count: 6525 words.

Warnings: Swearing, flashbacks to past trauma, bad relationship with biological parents, Will's disappearance (let me know if I missed anything!), + fairly decent writing if you pretend it is

[A/N: I can't blame you if you find this hard to read, my terrible writing + a high word count would make anyone suffer. But, if you do read all of this chapter, I hope you like it :) Also much more Eddie content to come it's hard putting Eddie into the story when he wasn't introduced until Season 4]

Flickering Lights

What did you do?

Oh my god Y/n

WHAT DID YOU DO???

You wake up with a pounding heart, sweat soaking the bed. It had been a while since you had that dream.

The alarm clock on your bedside table read 8pm, meaning your well-thought out ‘power nap’ has lasted 8 hours. All the sleepless nights you spent studying seemed to have caught up with you.

“Fireball him!”

Your head spins to your window, noticing that you had left it open before sleeping. Bed creaking, you walk over, grabbing at the handle while hearing the busy chatter of young boys.

Living next to the Wheelers’ house meant that you had your very own commentary of the events that unfolded in the basement. Mike and his friends usually played D&D down there, something you never knew existed until you moved to Hawkins and got to know the family next door.

Mike’s friends were as annoying as they were loud, happily interrupting your day as you came home to drone on about their campaigns. Personally, you didn’t truly mind. While you’d rather walk into your uncle’s house in peace, it was sweet that they saw you as someone they could talk to. All because you and Nancy had grown close over the past 2 years.

You thought being the new Freshman in Hawkins’ High School would at least give you a fighting chance. Until you learnt that everyone already knew eachother since they had grown up there, and you felt just as lonely as you looked. Nancy being assigned as your tour guide was blessing sent from the big man himself, she not only showed you around but began inviting you to lunch with her friend Barb. Admittedly, it was probably out of pity at first but after you got to know eachother, there was an instant connection.

You count yourself lucky to live next door to a family that welcomes you as if you were one of their own.

Slamming the window shut, you quickly adjust your look in the mirror. Even though you had been here two years, your room was still pretty bare. You hadn’t taken much with you in the first place, leaving most of your things in California since you left so quickly. There wasn’t much reason for you to decorate. Your plans to leave as soon as you graduate were set in stone. No matter how long you stay here, it isn’t ever going to feel like home.

You make your way into the living room, noticing the beer bottles that had been abandoned on the kitchen counter as you walked past.

You live here with your uncle, an arrangement your parents had made since the event. It’s not that you hated your uncle, but you certainly didn’t like him. You understood how inconvenient it all must have been, especially since your aunt had died three months prior to your arrival. But rather than just talk, he liked to drink. A lot. So did your mother in all fairness, so it must run in the family.

The living room was filled with pictures of your aunt. Mostly from when she was younger but your uncle loved taking photos when she was alive, taking any opportunity to snap a picture when he thought she looked beautiful. It was something that was quite bittersweet now. Even the chair that sits untouched in the corner as if it is waiting for its owner to return. Bittersweet.

A note was stuck to the dining table.

‘Out with a few people from work. Try not to get into trouble.’

You sigh. It wasn’t an uncommon note for him to write. The notes he left were always short and snappy and always left out any possibility for you feeding yourself.

Grabbing the note and ripping it in half, you venture into the kitchen, swiftly grabbing the bottles to take with you as you exited through the back door toward the metal trash-cans. The air was much colder than you realised as it attacked your bare legs. Clearly this wasn’t the weather for comfy shorts.

The sudden sensation caused you to drop a bottle, smashing as soon as it hit the concrete.

“Fuck.” You whispered, knowing that there was no way you would be able to pick up every piece.

“Need some help there?”

You brought your gaze to the young boy who was now staring at you with a goofy grin, clearly amused at your impromptu balancing act.

“Oh hey, Dustin.” You said casually, as if your arm wasn’t cramping from the awkward position.

Without a word he takes a few bottles from your hand to help you straighten up, you both discarding the bottles before turning back to eachother.

“Thanks.” You chuckle, staring down at him. There was a pretty big height difference between you two, but that was expected for a 16 and 12 year old.

“Anytime, Y/n. You know you’re my favourite Wheeler.” His smile was too precious.

“You realise I’m not actually- wait. What about Nancy?”

Yes, there was Mike but him and Nancy always had a special bond.

He begins walking back around to the Wheeler house, curiosity leading you with him. He brought you to join his friends, silently pointing at Nancy’s window. Looking up, you could see her stood by it and facing her room with a phone in her hand.

“Ah yes, she uses a phone. She must be the devil.” You mock, earning a small giggle from Will.

Dustin ignores your comment, turning to Mike instead.

“There’s something wrong with your sister.”

“What are you talking about?” Mike questions, helping Will with his bike before walking over to join you.

“She’s got a stick up her butt.”

“Yeah. It's because she's been dating that douchebag, Steve Harrington.” Lucas chimes in, shaking his head in disgust.

You look back up to her window, seeing her twirl her hair. You knew she was talking to Barb but it was undeniable that she was talking about Steve.

“So she’s dating ‘The Hair’... I don’t think that qualifies her as a jerk.”

“Yes it does!” Lucas replied quickly.

“Yeah, she's turning into a real jerk.” Dustin said solemnly, Mike adding that she had always been a jerk.

“Nuh-uh, she used to be cool.” He said defensively, grabbing his bike. “Like when she and Y/n dressed up as elves for our Elder Tree campaign!”

“Hey! Don’t go spreading that around. And if anyone asks, Nancy did that long before I did.” You really didn’t need him blabbering about something you did two years ago.

“She didn’t even accept the pizza slice, Y/n. Who would do something like that?” Dustin stared at you. It was pretty clear that Nancy’s recent behaviour has left him disheartened.

“Only a true monster.” You said shaking your head and grabbing your heart dramatically before faking a faint. The eruption of giggles meant you had succeeded in cheering them up.

Dustin gave you his signature toothless smile and you ruffled his curly hair before they all said goodbye and rode off. Will and Mike still behind but talking to one another so you thought it best to just go back inside.

After kick-brushing the shards of glass towards the bin (you’d deal with it tomorrow morning), you stepped onto the small porch of your back door and swung the door open. You heard Will’s goodbye and the sound of pedals before the porch light began flickering.

Great, you thought, I guess I have to fix that too.

“So did he call?”

“Keep your voice down.”

You were stood by your locker with Nancy and Barb. You had no idea how you got to that conversation but clearly they preferred the topic of boys much more than you did.

“I told you, it's not like that. Okay, I mean, yes, he likes me, but not like that. We just made out a couple times.” Nancy says with a lovesick look in her eyes.

You groaned, placing your head on your locker. Your so-called ‘nap’ meant you hadn’t slept more than 2 hours last night and you were starting to feel the consequences hammering in your head. Barb, however, took your groan as a different meaning.

“‘We just made out a couple times’,” Barb mimics Nancy’s voice before returning to a serious tone, “Nance, seriously, you're gonna be so cool now, it's ridiculous. Even Y/n agrees with me.”

“No, I'm not. And Y/n just doesn’t like Steve.” She replies, sending a satire glare your way. It’s not false; you did like to fantasise about Steve’s reaction to waking up bald one day. But seeing how much your friend liked him meant you had to be nice.

“It’s not him necessarily. It’s those friends of his.” You say, shuddering as if the thought was disgusting. Truth is, you and Steve used to be good friends in Freshman year until he started hanging out with Ken and Barbie.

“You better still hang out with me and Y/n, that's all I'm saying. If you become friends with Tommy H. or Carol -” Barb says.

“Oh, that's gross! Okay, I'm telling you, it was a one-time... Two-time thing.” Nancy defends herself, opening her locker to find a note. You read it immediately and groaned again.

“As much as I love talking about someone who thinks there’s no such thing as too much hairspray… I need to get to class.” You slam your locker shut, saying quick goodbyes as you walked off.

Class didn’t start for another 5 minutes but truthfully, the conversation was boring you. Sure, you’ve talked about boys before. Plenty of times. But it never felt the same as when you were 13.

“Oh my god Y/n, did he, like, kiss you?” Your best friend asked, her voice squeaking slightly at the word.

“Ew, no. Well, not yet anyway.” You said, leaning back nonchalantly. In actual fact, you were screaming inside.

“Well when you do, I want to be the first to know. Your first kiss is a big deal and I’m lonely so let me live through you.” She giggles, bumping your shoulder.

“Who else would I even tell?”

You hadn’t thought about that night in a long time. You stop and take a breath. To think that the year only went downhill from there.

Shrugging off the thought, you quicken your pace, turning the corner at such a fast pace that anyone coming the other way would surely collide with you.

Which is exactly what happened.

“OW!” A loud, slightly higher pitched voice rung out as your forehead most certainly hit theirs. The force was powerful enough to send you backwards, sending your books to the floor and scattering the pages that you had hoped would stay tucked into them.

“I’m so so so sorry.” You said hurriedly, wincing as you grabbed your head. That was gonna bruise.

“Well yeah I should hope-”

The voice stopped for a second and you removed the hand from you head to get a better view. And immediately, you blushed.

Before you was a boy, which normally wouldn’t phase you but this boy looked… cool. His clothes, first of all, were incredibly cool. All black with a long sleeve shirt that read ‘WELCOME TO HELL’ in bold red letters, hidden beneath a black jacket. And then his hair was just… wow. It was messy, but the good kind. It fell to his shoulders but was layered so it made it fluffier. Lastly, his left hand held three chunky rings, designs that you couldn’t very well due to the aching in your forehead. That very hand was now held out to you as he looked upon you with concern written on his face. He was just, well, beautiful.

All that staring at him caused you to become temporarily deaf.

“Helloooo?” He sang, waving his hand to get your attention. He most certainly already had it.

“Sorry?” You said, blushing even harder. What was happening.

“I asked if you were alright.” He smiled. God, you loved that smile.

“I, uh, yeah. Well, um, yes.” You rambled, attempting to pick up your books before you embarrassed yourself any further. You needed to get it together.

“As long as you’re sure.” He laughed, handing you a book.

Both of you slowly stood with you attempting to shuffle your books into a more comfortable manner. Why did you leave your bag in your locker? Ugh. When you looked back up at him, you opened your mouth but found you had nothing to say. Why was your brain just malfunctioning?

“Look-” You began, ready to apologise again and again. You didn’t want to make an enemy.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” He cut you off, crossing his arms.

“What?”

“I get it. Avoid the freak or you’ll be thrown from your little group.”

“I… what?” Confusion was setting in.

He leaned in, looking around the hallway before speaking.

“I get that you and the other clearly superior beings don’t like people like me or, well, just me. And seeing as I’ve never seen you around before, I will spare you the traumatising experience of having to admit that you and I bumped heads.” His voice had changed along with his demeanour. You were seriously missing that smile now.

“I’m not with them.” You were shaking your head now, and his eyes fell to your journal.

“Ah. Y/n. I’ve heard quite a few rumours about you.”

“What?” There were rumours?

“Hm. Yeah, you’re the one that’s trying to fit in with all the other pricks in here because you didn’t make it at your last school. So please, don’t use me as your way to prove your shallow heart to your glorious leaders.” He took a step back, clearly waiting for you to throw an insult his way.

Your heart sunk. You knew he had to have a good reason to hate them, the same way you did too. But you definitely weren’t expecting him to speak to you like that. You were wrong about him, the same way he is completely wrong about you. He was just like every other boy.

“Fuck you.” You said, barging past him, trying not to notice the way his eyes widened. You think you heard him say something but you just needed to find a bathroom fast. Tears were threatening to spill. It’s not what he said, but the mention of your last school tore at something inside you. Pain. Anger. Regret.

You burst into the first bathroom you found, closing and leaning on the door while trying to will the tears away. You needed to get your emotions under control. You let out a sigh before you heard giggling erupt from the other corner of the room. Pulling your focus towards them, your breath hitched. You’d notice that hair anywhere.

“Y/n, hey.” Nancy’s voice rang out. It was nice of her to pull her lips away from Hawkins’ very own playboy for two seconds just to talk to you. You tried not to notice the way her face was flushed.

“Hi.” Steve said, sliding his arm around Nancy’s shoulder.

You stared at them before realising the situation.

“Gross.” You plainly said, turning around and swinging the door back open. Nancy noticed your teary eyes and stepped away from Steve to look at you with worry.

“Wait, are you okay?” She asked.

“Never been better.” You muttered. Not wanting to stick around longer you quickly exited and made your way to class.

As much as you liked Nancy, it was none of her business.

Photography was something that you discovered a passion for in Hawkins. While living in California would have provided you with so many amazing photo possibilities, Hawkins just felt different. It was quieter. You found so much beauty in that. So when the opportunity of taking a photography class was presented to you, you took it.

Most days your teacher would let his class experiment with the school supplied cameras, something you loved since you didn’t have the money to buy your own. You desperately needed a job but nowhere would take you, mostly because you were only 16.

You sat next to Jonathan, watching him shift around with the focus on his camera. You liked Jonathan, he wasn’t like the others at Hawkins. In fact, it seemed he was the only male here who didn’t make you want to rip your hair out. He was most definitely shy, usually stuck in his own world. For the first year you knew him, he had barely uttered two sentences to you. But now he was a lot more comfortable with you. He was a friend.

“Taken any new photos lately?” You asked, resting your chin on your hand.

“A few. Nothing worth adding to my project though.” He said quietly before a satisfied hum sounded; he had set the camera to his liking.

Your teacher had given us a project that he, to your dislike, had named ‘Happiness’. You were instructed to take photos of what makes you happy, hoping you would dig deeper and create more meaningful pieces. The minimum amount of photos was twenty. You didn’t even have one.

“You wanna borrow my camera tonight?” He turned his eyes to your direction, raising his brow.

“Uh… no, no. It’s fine. I don’t really know what I’d want to shoot yet anyway.” Shaking your head and flipping through the textbook in front of you.

“You know you need to start sometime. Even if it’s just something small. Like a favourite place of yours, or even a person.” He says, bumping your shoulders with a knowing look.

He knew you were struggling with this. It wasn’t that you couldn’t take great photos, because you were amazing at it, but happy things just weren’t your expertise.

“I’ll think about it. So… you up to anything tonight?” You look at him, begging to change the subject.

He just shrugged, making notes in his book before putting his pencil down and turning his body to face yours.

“Have you seen Will lately?”

The question caught you by surprise. Was something wrong with Will?

“Yeah, I saw him last night when he was at the Wheelers.”

“Did you see him leave?”

“I remember he rode off with Dustin and Lucas but that’s about it.” You began to feel your stomach twist. Something was clearly wrong.

“Okay, thanks.” He said, rubbing his face.

“Is everything okay?”

He looked at you, eyebrows scrunching together before he shook his head and continued fiddling around with his camera.

“He just-” He said after a while, setting his camera back down, “He just didn’t come home last night. And I was working when I shouldn’t have been but my mum needs the extra cash right now and I know I should have been there to make sure but-”

“Hey, hey,” You placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him down, “He might have just stayed the night as Dustin’s or something and forgot to call.”

You knew it was an empty gesture, you had a bad feeling that you just couldn’t shake. You hoped that by convincing Jonathan he was fine, you’d convince yourself.

Will was a quiet kid, much like his brother, but you’ve seen the way he talks about his friends. When you first met he usually let the other kids take the lead in talking to you but as soon as you asked what D&D was about, you saw his face light up. Usually you would be bored half to death, but seeing how happy it made him, you became invested. You began to feel protective of him, of all of them. You don’t know what you’d do without them.

“I hope so.” He said in a small voice before the bell rang out. He grabbed his stuff, saying how he needed to get home. Understandable. You just wished that Will would be home when he got there.

Every day, after the last bell has rung, you would make your way to the benches that sat just behind the school, further up the field. It was usually an empty area where you could sit and listen to music without being disturbed. Somewhere you could think while not thinking at all. You were meant to meet Nancy for a study date later but it still gave you two hours to yourself.

Grabbing your Walkman, a tape already set in its slot, you placed the headphones over your ears and pressed play, laying on your back so that your legs hung off the edge of the picnic bench.

I hear the ticking of the clock

I’m lying here, the room’s pitch dark

I wonder where you are tonight

“Hello?”

No answer on the telephone

“Yoo-hoo?”

And the night goes by so very-

“What the hell?” The headphones were suddenly yanked away from you, causing you to squint against the sun at the figure that stood over you. You sat up straight and prepared to take back your headphones.

“Sorry, I did say hello but your music was too loud- wait, what even is this?”

“None of your business.” You say, snatching the headphones from their hands. The rings glinted in the sunlight, catching your eye. You recognised those rings. Oh shit.

“Keeping it to yourself. That’s cool, very mysterious.” He said with a chuckle.

It was him, the guy you had bumped into earlier. Even now, after a long day at school, he looked incredible- No. He may look like a god but he still insulted you.

“What do you want?” You ask defensively, a glint of anger in your voice as you remembered past events. Making sure to stop the tape, you clutched your Walkman before stuffing it back in your bag. So much for having some time to yourself.

“Hey!” He said, waving his arms to stop what you were doing, “I just wanted to talk. About earlier.”

He crossed his arms against his torso, looking at the ground. He looked shy all of a sudden. He then took your silence as an opportunity to speak.

“I didn’t mean to be dick to you. Or insult you. I just…” He paused, walking around the space as he thought of what to say, “I get pretty guarded when I speak to someone. You spend so long as ‘The Freak’ that you get used to being treated like ass and I wasn’t in the mood for it today.”

“I-” You began, setting your bag down.

“No, I was an idiot and I insulted you. Which wasn’t cool of me at all, I don’t even know you and I was just as much of a judgemental asshole as the rest of them so I’m so very, very, sorry.”

You weren’t expecting this at all. In all honesty, you would have probably forgotten about the meeting in a few hours time. Words were stuck in your throat and you just blurted out the first thing in your mind.

“I like your rings.”

He looks at you in surprise and you feel the colour rushing to your cheeks. Why the hell did I say that?

“Sorry, I just didn’t know what to say and I didn’t want there to be this awkward silence because, like, the more awkward it gets the more I want to be silent but then that just makes it more awkward and I… I was rambling wasn’t I?” You clock his amused grin that spread across his face, creating the most precious crinkles you have ever seen.

“No, no it’s fine, it was cute.” He blurted. It was now his turn to turn red. He laughed weirdly, obviously embarrassed of his own remark.

“I’m sorry too. That’s what I wanted to say… that I was sorry. I get it, the whole people treating you like shit thing. I get that too. I can’t blame you for defending yourself. I just… is that really what people say about me?”

“Huh?” He shifted his gaze from your lips to your eyes.

“That thing you said, about the rumour. Do people really say that?” You quieten. You’ve been here two years now and you didn’t even begin to think what people were saying behind your back.

“No, no, no… well, not exactly.” He quickly sat down next to you on the bench top, placing his hands lazily on his lap, messing around with his rings. Why does he only have rings on his left hand?

“What do they say?” When he stays silent you enquire further, “Seriously tell me. At least if I know I can prepare myself for when Tommy and his band of walking cliches come for me.”

“I haven’t heard much,” He finally says, tilting his head towards you, “But I heard people say all sorts of crazy stuff when you first appeared. Something about you being sent away because your parents didn’t want you. And one about you only being friends with that Wheeler girl because you wanted in to the hoard of wannabes.” He said so matter of factly as if he didn’t believe it’s true.

“Oh.” That’s all you say. You had to admit, that stung.

“I don’t believe them!” He raises both his hands as if he had just been caught by the cops.

“No, don’t worry it’s… fine. At least I know now.” You quickly added. You weren’t a wannabe, but the first part was true.

“Anyway,” He said, “I never got to formally introduce myself when I made the most awful first impression in the world.”

He gets up to stand in front of you, bowing so theatrically that you began to giggle.

“Eddie Munson, at your service.” As he straightened up, his hair whipped behind him and he extended a hand, “And you are?”

“You already know my name.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Shh, pretend I don’t, I’m trying something here.”

“Okay, I’m Y/n, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Eddie.” You take his hand, trying to ignore how the brush of his skin made your heart flutter.

“Pleasure is all mine, Y/n.” He pretended to kiss your hand before gently dropping it and sitting on the grass in front of you, stretching his legs and using his arms to prop himself up.

“No last name there Y/n?” He asked.

“Not something I use very often. I’m thinking of dropping it completely, like Madonna or Prince.” It’s true. You never say your surname out loud. You weren’t even sure you were allowed to after that look your parents had given you that night.

“I like it, make a statement.” He nodded, he obviously noticed how uncomfortable the mention of your family surname made you.

“Exactly.”

You both talked for a while, mostly about school and how much you both disliked Harrington and his gang, laughing at eachother’s jokes until there was a moment of silence. Not awkward just… peaceful. You were looking into the distance, noticing the young boys you knew were riding their bikes past the front field. There were only three of them.

Remembering what Jonathan had told you suddenly brought you back to reality. As you looked back at Eddie, you saw he was already staring at you, a soft smile on his face.

“What time is it?” You asked, looking at the watch on his wrist, attempting to hide your own smile at his own but failing immediately.

“It’s about… 5.” He said nodding in agreement with himself.

“Oh shit I’m late!” You started grabbing you bag, hopping off the bench and turning to look at Eddie who was already stood next to you.

“For what?” He questioned, closing the space between you both as he looked down into your eyes. You couldn’t deny the warm feeling in your chest.

“I was meant to be meeting Nancy to study like 20 minutes ago! My god, I think she might actually kill me.” It was true, Nancy was very serious when it came to studies.

“Ah well, that sounds… fun.” He smiled, leaning against the bench.

“Yeah I can’t wait for her to scream at me about hydrogen atoms.” You laugh, adjusting your backpack. Thank god you decided to ride your bike in today. You had your drivers license but you were missing a key part; a car.

“Thank you,” You said, turning around, “for coming to apologise. I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” He smiled again, grabbing part of his hair to cover his cheek, “Now go, I would hate to find that you were brutally murdered by a science book.”

You laughed, saying a quick goodbye and sprinting toward your bike. Maybe he was better than you thought.

Your recent high had been shattered when you made it to the Wheeler house.

Karen had opened the door, welcoming you in and letting you know that Nancy was in the dining room with everyone else. As you both walked through, you could hear Mike’s raised voice as he complained about having to stay in.

“We’ve been over this. The chief said-” Karen said, sighing as if they had been having this conversation long before you arrived.

“I don’t care what the chief said.” He snapped, both of his hands on the table.

“Michael!”

As they continued to argue, you made your way to Nancy, smiling with raised eyebrows at the quarrel before you. She just shook her head in disappointment, smiling back as you took a seat next to her.

“Will could be in danger!”

“Wait, what?” Your attention now completely focused on the dark haired boy, “What happened?”

“He went missing, they found his bike on the side of the road today. He hadn’t made it home last night.” Karen answered solemnly. Your heart sank, so many scenarios running through your head.

“They’ll find him.” Mr. Wheeler said in monotone. He was clearly more interested in his paper than the conversation.

“More reason to stay put.” Karen chimed. She was clearly just trying to protect her child.

“Mom! I don’t see Y/n staying home!” Mike whined. You glared at him. Why did he have to bring you into this?

“Y/n lives next door, it’s not like she’s riding out in the dark. End of discussion.” His mother demanded, finalising their argument by taking a sip of her water.

“So… Y/n and I were gonna study for the chemistry test at Barb’s house tonight. That’s cool right?” Nancy spoke, looking at you to agree with her. This was news to you but you nodded along nonetheless.

“No, not cool.” Karen said, spinning around to face you.

“What? Why not?”

“Why do you think? Am I speaking Chinese in this house? Until we know Will is okay, no one leaves.”

You chose to stay silent. You knew Nancy didn’t want to leave just to study at Barb’s house.

“So we’re under house arrest?”

“Don’t be dramatic Nancy.”

“This is such bullshit.”

“Language!”

You zoned out of the conversation, your thoughts drifting to Will. You had possibly the nicest time of your years here talking to Eddie while at the same time, Will had been missing. He could be all alone and afraid. And you told Jonathan that he was okay.

“You’re just pissed because you wanna hang out with Steve.”

That caught your attention. Of course this had to do with Steve. Nancy looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read, yelling at her Mike for spilling her secret. You came here to study with your friend and she was just going to ditch you for her new boy toy. Rude.

“You’re such a douche, Mike!” She screamed, shoving out of her chair and storming off to her room.

“I… should go with her.” You mumbled as you stood up and left. You didn’t want to stick around much longer.

When you entered Nancy’s room, she was sat on her bed with the phone that she must have grabbed along the way. You silently sat on the edge of her bed, setting your bag down on the floor and taking your shoes off.

“Yeah, sorry, we’ll meet up another time… okay. Bye.” She hung up and placed the phone on her night stand, sighing.

“Steve?” It wasn’t really a question, you knew she wasn’t talking to Barb.

“Yeah… I’m really sorry. He asked me to meet up with him tonight and I couldn’t find you at the end of school to tell you.” She gave an apologetic smile. “But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Your mom is just scared. Will is literally missing. I can’t even imagine how Joyce is feeling let alone your mom.” It was a heartbreaking thought, knowing Joyce and Jonathan were having to deal with all this right now.

“I know, you’re right. Mike just gets me worked up sometimes. I mean, can you believe he just blurted about Steve like that?”

“It was uncalled for, I guess.” You chuckled as Nancy grabbed her cards and held them out to you.

The night went smoothly. You still worried about Will but trusted that the sheriff would find him soon. As you quizzed Nancy, the images of a familiar smile filled your mind. You just couldn’t get Eddie out of your head. Clearly it was written all over your face when Nancy tilted her head laughing.

“What’s that smile for?”

“What? Nothing. I just… really love Chemistry.” A failed attempt at misdirection.

“Shut up, you’re thinking about a boy.”

“How did you-”

She just raised her eyebrows.

“That obvious, huh?” You might be able to keep in words but your face always gave you away.

“Well, tell me! Who is he?” She squealed, excited that you may have met someone.

Before you could answer, there was a tapping noise at the open window, causing both of you to jump and scatter the cards everywhere.

“Yeah, who is he?” Steve said in a high-pitched voice, clearly mocking you both.

“Steve!” Nancy made her way to the window. You just stayed sat on the bed.

Yay..., you thought while rolling your eyes, it’s Steve.

“What are you doing here? I told you I would have to stay in tonight-”

“I know. We’ll study here.”

“No, I told you, absolutely not, go away-”

Yes, please go away Steve.

“I don’t want you to fail tomorrow.” He interrupts, flashing his signature smile. You didn’t think it was possible to roll your eyes harder.

Despite her earlier protests, she opened her window further, allowing him access. He climbed through, landing softly on his feet. You would be impressed if you weren’t aware that he has snuck into many girls’ windows before. What a gentleman.

“What did I tell you? A ninja.” He was clearly referencing an inside joke you didn’t know.

You began putting your shoes back on and stuffing your books back into your bag. It was obvious that you weren’t wanted anymore.

“Y/n, what are you doing?” Nancy asked with so much innocence that you figured she was oblivious to Steve’s actual plans for being here.

“She’s probably just tired.” Steve remarked, shrugging. That asshole.

“I didn’t feel like sitting here while you made out with Mr Hairspray over there.” You shot back, happy with Steve’s offended reaction that Nancy ignored.

“What? No, we’re just studying I promise.” Nancy walked to you, hand on your arm. “Plus you didn’t even tell me about that boy.”

“Wow, never thought Y/n would even have a boy.” Steve snorted with his hands in his pockets.

“Steve!” Nancy hushed. She knew you two didn’t get along but still managed to act surprised when you fought.

“Y/n!” She also said as you stuck your middle finger at him, standing and swinging your bag onto your shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Nancy.” You said, smiling in reassurance that you didn’t blame her for this sudden situation.

“Bye, Y/n.” Steve said cheerily, giving you a wave.

“Bye, Hairy.” You replied as you left her room, smirking to yourself.

You didn’t need to turn around to know Steve was angry with your nickname. A nickname that surely was going to make a comeback soon. It was too good to let go now that you started.

You stood at the counter as your uncle walked in, bringing the stench of alcohol in with him. He had been drinking with his work friends again. You were pretty sure he doesn’t consider them as ‘friends’, it just gave him an excuse to drink.

“Aren’t you meant to be asleep?” He muttered.

“I’m 16 and it’s only 9.” You replied softly. He wasn’t a horrible man. Truth is, he was still mourning. He and your aunt never even got to have any kids before she died. This was as new to him as it was to you.

“Ah. Well, I’ll be in the other room if you need me.” He patted your shoulder and left holding a beer bottle he had removed from the fridge.

You just sat in your room for the rest of the night, attempting to study the cards you hadn’t gotten the chance to look at before the horny mascot of shampoo had crashed your study date. But no matter what you tried, your mind was running a hundred miles an hour with every thought but chemistry. Will. Eddie. California.

You knew this year was going to be different. You felt it as you got into bed, body shivering as you turned off the bedside lamp that had began flickering.

Yet another bulb to replace.

Chapter 2: Pool Parties and Good Punches ->

[bullet-prooflove]

Three things for Douglas Hamilton:

Flowers, a book, and a letter

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @star017 @themaineoddity @mimi-8793

Companion piece to:

Photo Finish - You confront Douglas when some personal pictures are used by the press.

Services Rendered - Douglas decides there's going to be a reckoning.

Cursed - Douglas realises he's cursed.

Death Becomes Him - Douglas finds a reason to fight.

Here - Douglas wakes up to find you at his bedside.

Douglas spends the next few days in and out of consciousness.

Apparently that’s what blood loss does to you. He finds it hard to grasp things, to hold onto them. The only constant during this time is the security men in black suits that linger outside his door and you, always you.

There’s a million things he wants to say to you during his waking moments but they’re always interrupted by a nurse taking his vitals, a police offer with more questions, before he knows it, he’s slipping away again back into that haze of exhaustion and fatigue.

It’s past midnight when he wakes up again. The overhead lamp above his bed is turned on, the dull light casting a warm glow across the sunflowers you’ve placed beside his bed because he finds the lilies everyone else has sent too morse. The light is something you’ve started doing over the past couple of nights because you’d realised that waking up in the dark makes him anxious. It’s a symptom left over from the attack, one he thinks will stick with him for the rest of his life.

He tilts his head towards the chair you usually reside in and finds you tucked up asleep, using your jacket for a pillow. The book you were reading rests on his bed, a used thriller from the charity bookshop downstairs. It’s the book mark that catches his eye, the neatly folded letter written on his stationary. It’s the first of many love notes that he gave to you throughout the course of your relationship.

I think about you all the time  the first line reads.

He knows what the rest says, those private intimate words that were for your eyes only. The fact you still carry it after all this time, that you’re even here at his bedside speaks volumes about your feelings for him.

He thinks about your words back on the Mississippi Meanders that night, when you’d found out those pictures had been used, when you’d broken things off with him.

I can’t live like this.

And he knows that this right here, your presence in his life is just temporary whether you know it or not. When he heals, when he returns to his position you’ll be in the exact position you were all those months ago, your relationship exposed for the entire world to see. His new publicist, the one that hasn’t tried to kill him yet is already setting up a press appearance, he’s planned for you to be there by his side when he delivers his speech declaring his victory over death.

Nothing is really ours is it? You’d asked him as you stood upon the bridge looking out across the river and the truth is, it really isn’t, not while he’s the mayor. It’s as he looks at you sleeping in that chair that Douglas realises he has to make a choice.

You or his mayorship.

It shouldn’t a hard one, but somehow it is.

Love Douglas? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[avatarmerida]

Status Update

This is kind of two different fic ideas that I rolled into one? Because I’m trash and love this ship? Set like literally right after Labyrinth Runners. I just really love the idea of Willow and Hunter texting. I’m on mobile so pls forgive any errors or whatever k thanks ~Huntlow~

———

“Hey Hunter,” Willow said skipping over to where the Golden Guard sat as a student on the healing track finished liking him over. When she entered his view, a small smile graced his face and his tired eyes softened. “Ed had some extra clothes in his locker that should fit you, why don’t you go change and freshen up before filling us in on... everything?”

He nodded. “Excellent idea Captain,” he said taking the folded clothes from her. “Thank you.”

“It’s my outfit from the play last semester, don’t you think he’d prefer something more modern?” Ed whispered to her as as Hunter went to change.

“No, I think it’ll be just his style,” said Willow. “It’s very similar to the outfit his favorite character in his favorite book wears, so I think he’ll be thrilled.”

“Well, if you need any styling tips feel free to reach out,” replied Ed with a shrug.

Willow watched fondly as Hunter navigated his way down the hall, looking back at her for reassurance he was going the right way. She sent him a thumbs up to confirm and Gus couldn’t help but notice the sigh of content his friend let out in response to merely giving directions.

“Hmm, suspicious,” Gus murmured to himself a she ran beside his friend, nearly catching her off guard. “How did you know that?”

“Know what? That the clothes would fit?” Willow asked. “Just a hunch, I mean Ed and Hunter are about the same height so he should be comfortable-.”

“No, no I meant about the book,” said Gus.

“Oh, he told me,” said Willow plainly. “One night he asked what I was up to, and I told him I was reading and so we started talking about books which of course lead to our favorites, and that’s how-.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been messaging with Hunter this whole time?” asked Gus, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Willow couldn’t help but giggle as he looked so much like his dad when he did that.

“Well, I guess because you never asked and it’s none of your business?” she responded with a sassy smile as she adjusted her braid which has started to come undone.

“Yeah, well...” she had a point, Gus was at a rare loss for words. “You don’t usually keep secrets.”

“It wasn’t a secret Gus, it just wasn’t something I shared, that’s all,” said Willow with a shrug. “You can read our messages if you want, but it’s not like he was trying to recruit me to the Emperor’s Coven again. It’s mostly cute pictures of our palismans.”

“No, that’s okay. Sorry, you’re right; you’re entitled to privacy. It’s just that... if there was something going on you’d tell me right?”

“Something like what?”

“Something like... is Hunter okay?”

“Woah, that’s a pretty loaded question Gus,”

“I mean... when I found him he was literally living in the trash,” explained Gus. “And from what I gathered about his life in the castle based on context clues alone, the dude seems kinda messed up.”

“Well, yeah but who isn’t?” asked Willow. “He’s still getting used to opening up to people and he’s a little rough around the edges but he’s sweet. We mostly talked about flyer derby practices and he’d ask me about the plants I like.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s also a very slow typer so I did most of the talking to be honest,” chuckled Willow. “But, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry about him too. I’d ask him what he’d had for lunch and he’d change the subject, I’m worried he’s not eating.”

“I can safely assume he hasn’t been eating well,” said Gus, recalling the state Hunter was in when he found him. “I think he really needs our help but I think he might not wanna ask for it.”

“I think you’re right,” sighed Willow. “Wait, did you say he was living in the trash?”

“Did he... not mention that?”

———

Seeing his reflection in the mirror, Hunter has to steady his breathing again. He was still adjusting to... everything. What it meant to be him, who he really was, who he was supposed to be. The eyes that looked back at him were scared and tired and he wondered whose they really were. But he knew all of this would have to wait; he had people waiting for him, people who needed his help. People he could really help, not how the Golden Guard “helped”people. But would just Hunter be enough? Was he ever meant to be enough? Was he-?

“Hunter! Hunter! Hunter!” Gus exclaimed frantically running through the door.

“What’s wrong?” asked Hunter, concerned.

“I’m so sorry! Please don’t be mad!”

“Hey, what? W-why would I be mad? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? You look scared.”

“No but...” his eyes darted to the door and Hunter stepped in front of his, furrowing his brow in determination.

“Stand behind me Gus, whatever is it I won’t let it hurt you,” said Hunter, taking a deep breath as he neared the door. “Whatever it is, we’ll defeat it together. There’s nothing stronger than-.”

He pulled the door open quickly and stood ready to attack, his staff at the ready to take down-

“-the Captain?” Finished a confused Hunter, stopping himself dead in his tracks as Willow stood unwatered, her arms crossed and her face wearing a stern look that sent a shiver down Hunter’s spine. She slowly walked up to him, her face mere inches from his own, commanding attention and Hunter felt frozen and on fire simultaneously.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were living in the trash?” She said simply, her voice serious and haunting.

“Huh?” Said Hunter, obviously not expecting her to say this.

“I’m sorryyyyyy,” whispered Gus, hiding further behind him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were living in the trash?” Willow repeated, not backing down.

“It, uh, never came up?” He tried, offering her a nervous laugh.

“We talk every day and you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?” She said, refusing to lose his eye contact which made him feel petrified. “You let me talk for hours about different kinds of mulch but you couldn’t take five minutes to give me a very important life update?”

“I just didn’t...”

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t want to worry you...” he said quietly, looking at her sheepishly. Her face softened and she placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Well, whether you want me to or not I’m going to worry about you,” said Willow sternly. “What if something happened to you and you needed help? It’s okay to ask for help, ya know.”

“I-I do know... now, kind of...” started Hunter. “I’m just... still figuring a lot of stuff out and I-.”

“-don’t have to do it alone,” finished Willow. “I know how hard it can be to let other people help sometimes but it doesn’t mean you’re weak or a bother. If I asked you for help, would you think less of me or think I was weak?”

“What? Never, Captain!” Hunter responded without hesitation. “You’re fearless and confident and-.”

“-and even I need help sometimes,” finished Willow. Hunter thought he saw her blush, but he assumed it was just a trick of the light. He was secretly grateful she cut him off when she did because he knew the list was fairly long. “Being friends means working together and recognizing that you don’t have to do everything yourself. You need to realize that people have strengths that you don’t.”

“That’s absurd Captain, you have all the strengths!”

Willow laughed and took his hand. “Then let me help you,” she smiled. “The way you helped Gus. You don’t think less of Gus for needing help, do you?”

He looked back at Gus, still hiding from the wrath of a Willow and shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Great,” beamed Willow. “So after you fill everyone in on whatever is happening with the Emperor, we’re gonna make sure last night was your last night sleeping in the garbage. Sound good?”

Hunter fought back tears. “Sounds great,”

———

Hunter held Willow’s hand the entire time he was explaining everything to the Hexside crowd. Gus noticed when the subject became particularly painful or triggering, Willow would squeeze his hand and he’d take a deep breath and find a way to continue.

It was a lot to take in, but Hunter did his best to answer any questions the crowd had. There was still a lot he didn’t know (and a lot he wasn’t ready to share) but getting it all out in the open made the burden easier to bare. Having Willow by his side didn’t hurt either.

“Psst,” Amity whispered to Gus as Hunter spoke to Principal Bump.

“What’s up?” asked Gus.

“How long has that been going on?” She gestured over to where the pair stood.

“Hm? Oh, uh remember we told you he was on our flyer derby team and then he kind of got us kidnapped and then-,”

“No, no I mean Willow and the Golden Guard,” said Amity. “How long have they been together? Can’t say I’m totally thrilled, but they do look cute together. Guess Willow and I have more to catch up on than I thought.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Gus, confused.

“Oh, I guess it must still be early,” continued Amity, with a small smile. “But it’s pretty obvious, look at the way he gets sweaty and nervous the closer she stands to him.”

“I think Hunter’s just a sweaty and nervous guy,” said Gus.

“It doesn’t remind you of anyone? Not a certain human perhaps?”

Gus looked closer, focusing on the blush that made its home on Hunter’s face each time Willow spoke and couldn’t help but think it seemed familiar.

Just like Luz and Amity.

“Woah,” he said, finally seeing it.

“So I’m guessing it’s very early then,” she sighed. “Well, he is her type. Or was? Wow, heh, we do have a lot to catch up on.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” assured Amity with a chuckle. “I have firsthand experiences with this and I can tell by how red his face is right now that he most likely hasn’t figured it out himself yet.”

“Awh, that’s kind of sweet,” gushed Gus.

“Yeah,” agreed Amity fondly before her tone turned more sinister. “But if he hurts her...”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” assured Gus. “He’s kind of terrified of her?”

“Hmm, we’ll then he’s definitely her type.”

———

Now that Amity had pointed it out, Gus couldn’t unsee it. The way Hunter’s eyes darted to Willow, the way they softened when she went to speak, the way he almost forgot to speak because he was so lost in listening to her.

He couldn’t wait to tease him about it.

“So, how are you feeling?” Gus heard Willow ask Hunter as he ran up to his friends, the crowd slowly dissolving as everyone made their way home. “I know it was a lot.”

“It was,” said Hunter timidly. “But it’s good to know I’m on the right side now. I think I’ll sleep easier tonight.”

“Speaking of that,” sang Willow. “I already called my dads and they said you could totally stay at our house!”

“At y-your house?” Mumbled Hunter. “With you? Where you live? Captain, I-I couldn’t impose-.”

“It’s not an imposition, it’s an invitation!” She said. “I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“Well that’s... I mean I can’t... it’s just that-.”

“-just that Hunter is already staying with me!” Interrupted Gus, much to Hunter’s relief.

“Huh?”

“Yes!” Continued Gus. “He’s staying with me!”

“When did you two decide this?”

“When I found him in the garbage,” answered Gus. “I said ‘wow you smell awful, I don’t think 100 showers could help you smell better but my dad has this strong aftershave that could help hide the smell you should come over and try it!’”

Hunter wasn’t thrilled about Gus reminding the Captain he had been living in garbage or pointing out how poorly he smelled, but he was thankful for the rescue. He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to turn down the captain’s hospitality, but from Gus’ quick leap to his assistance he had a feeling his friend did.

“Yes,” added Hunter nervously. “That was what he said to me verbatim, I remember it well!”

“Okay...” said Willow not totally buying it but grateful to know Hunter would have a safe place to sleep. “Sound like a plan. You boys have fun okay? Text me updates? Even if they’re not good, I still wanna know what’s going on. Got it?”

“Affirmative, Captain,” said Hunter, suddenly less tense. “I’ll send you an honest status report.”

She smiled. “Good,” she as she made her way down the hall to start her own walk home. “And don’t stay up too late playing stupid games!”

———

“I win!” Announced Gus proudly, jumping from the spot where he and Hunter sat on his bed in victory.

“I don’t understand this game,” complained Hunter. “If it’s a thumb war, shouldn’t they have other resources and allies to call upon? How is this fun? Because it’s stupid?”

“Yeah, basically,” laughed Gus. “I heard it’s like a major sporting event in the human realm.”

“Whatever, let me inform the Captain of your victory,” said Hunter, typing on his scroll. Willow was right, he was a slow typer. Painfully slow.

“Ya know, you don’t have to tell Willow everything we do,” said Gus.

“But I promised her that I would,” said Hunter before his tone became nervous. “You don’t think I’m annoying her am I? Of course I’d misunderstand such a simple order, she’s probably busy and I’m eating her time! I’m so stupid to-.”

“Woah! No!” Gus cut him off. “Hey dude, you’re not stupid! That’s not what I meant at all! I meant if you wanna summarize everything in one text later on it might be easier for you. But if this is more your style, go for it.”

Hunter sighed. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I guess... I’m still getting used to this,” he said, motioning to the scroll. “I’m just not used to people wanting to know things about me or how I am. Before the Captain, no one had really asked me about the things I liked or disliked. No one really cared. It’s... nice.”

“So... speaking of things you like,” began Gus, smooth only in his own opinion. “Is there anything or maybe anyone you like that you didn’t tell Willow about?”

“Like what?”

“Well I know you guys message everyday but is there maybe something you wanted to tell her you like that she maybe didn’t ask you so you maybe didn’t think you could tell her but you wanted to?”

“I mean... yeah? That’s why she yelled at me in the bathroom earlier?”

Gus smacked his forehead. “I mean is there anything you wanted to tell her about how you feel? Maybe about her?”

Hunter looked frozen. “So you’ve noticed?” He asked faintly, his face fallen. Gus reacted to his word and not his appearance.

“Yes! Amity told me!” He squealed.

“Blight,” growled Hunter to himself. “I should’ve known she’d be behind it.”

“Behind... what, exactly?”

“This curse!” Said Hunter as if it was obvious. “It adds up, the Captain told me about their history. Of course she pull something like this!”

“What curse?”

“She’s testing me!” Continued Hunter. “Trying to test my loyalty or something deranged, I don’t know I can’t read her mind! But all I know is every time I’m near the Captain or talk about the Captain or even think about her I feel like my heart is going to explode! Like right now! Can you hear it right now? This is all Blight’s doing!”

Gus smiled. “Oh man, you’ve got it bad.”

“I know! That’s what I just said!”

“Hunter when would Amity have time to curse you? Or plan to curse you? She didn’t even know you knew Willow that well before today. And if you’ve had these feelings for awhile, well, the timeline doesn’t add up.”

“Then why do I feel this way?!” He demanded suddenly grabbing Gus’ shoulders. He quickly released him, not wanting to scare him. “Sorry! But I just... when I’m around the Captain... I feel afraid? But it’s not a fear I’ve felt before because it also feels... good? Trust me, I’ve been afraid most of my life, I know what I’m talking about. But I want to be close to her but far from her at the same time? And no matter which it is, I feel nauseous and dizzy and light and sweaty and-.”

“-happy?”

“I don’t have a lot of experience being happy but I’m assuming maybe, briefly, yes.”

“Dude, it’s okay,” laughed Gus. “You just have a crush.”

“I knew it! Someone is trying to crush me!” Said Hunter. “But if it wasn’t Blight, then who? Is this something the Captain did?”

“No dude, well yes, kind of? It’s...” how did he explain this to him? Was it better to know or not to know in this case? Would Gus explaining what a crush was help him or just embarrass him? “It’s not a curse, I’ll tell ya that.”

“A potion maybe? It’ll wear off soon?”

“Something like that,” laughed Gus. “It’s not a bad thing; it just means you like Willow.”

“Duh, of course I like the Captain,” scoffed Hunter. “She’s loyal and determined and tough and beautiful. Her only fault is wasting her time on lower beings that don’t deserve her, but overcoming that has made her stronger. But what does me respecting her have to do with these curse like symptoms?”

“Okay... let me try and explain this... the way you feel about Willow is the same way Amity feels about Luz.”

Hunter looked at him as if he had grown a second head. “I don’t want to try and get her dissected by your principal, why would you say that?” Hunter said with a concerned gaze. “You’re not making sense. Are you dehydrated? Let me get you a glass of water.”

Hunter hopped off the bed, mumbling something about never mistaking the Captain for an abomination.

“Here, you’re a faster typer than I am, let her know what we’re up to,” he tossed his scroll to Gus as he stood I the doorway. “I’ll trust you to edit the important parts. I don’t want her to worry.” At the idea of her his face turned red and she closed the door before Gus could make a comment.

Gus opened Hunter’s texts to Willow and saw there were... quite a lot.

He knew it was an invasion of privacy, so he collected all his inner strength and prevented himself from reading their precious conversations. Even though Willow had said they were mundane, knowing now what he knew about Hunter he was sure he could find some compelling subtext.

He did read the last few messages he sent to to see what he needed to cover. He quickly noticed he had started all the recent messages the same way.

STATUS UPDATE: have arrived at Gus civialin residency. Safe. The walls r yello

STATUS UPDATE: sum of the walls r blue

STATUS UPDATE: have showered.

STATUS UPDATE: his father is making sOUP. It Is WaRM.

STATUS UPDATE: there is an oRANGE roudn obJect in the soup. Do NOT CARe for it. Gus like s it??? HE can have Mine

The messages went on and on, with Willow responding to each one with a thumbs up or word of encouragement. As he stated to compose a message to Willow, an incoming text from her interrupted his typing. She had sent a picture of Clover curled up in a pile of clean laundry. She was right; they did send a lot of Palisman pictures.

Gus went to the drafts to retrieve the message he had started, and was greeted by a sea of unsent messages. Without thinking, he went ahead and sent them, knowing Hunter was serious about keeping his promise to Willow and was still new to using the scroll and probably didn’t realize they hadn’t sent.

“Wasn’t sure what temperature you preferred so I have three options of varying coldness,” said Hunter re-entering the room holding three glasses of water. “What did you end up saying to the Captain?”

“I told her I’m the all time champ at thumb wars and I sent her some messages that didn’t send earlier,” said Gus casually.

Hunter dropped the glasses to the floor (they did not break, they merely spilled) “You sent the Captain my drafts?!” He asked, mortified. Gus was surprised he knew what they were called. “All of them?!” He shouted, taking his scroll from the younger boy.

“Yeah?” Gus replied, confused.

“Some of those were from weeks ago!” Spat Hunter, as he starting pacing. “There’s a reason I never sent them! She was never supposed to see them!”

“Then why didn’t you delete them?!” Shouted Gus.

“I don’t know how to do that!” Shouted Hunter back. “I don’t even know how to send the colorful little pictures!”

“Okay, okay calm down,” said Gus, taking a deep breath. “It’s probably not that bad. This stuff happens all the time, Willow will understand. I’m sure it nothing bad!”

“No! It is! It is bad!” Said Hunter reading the messages Gus had sent. “Oh, see for yourself.”

Gus took the phone back and scrolled through to see what the damage was

I think my fAVOrite coloR is still gold? but NOT like being the Golden.Guard but like yOUR glasses, they look nice with yOUr eyes

wHAT if I sent u flowers?? Is that OK on The pLannt tra ck?? Or may be jUst dirt?.

Darius called u little Princess to day.Be cuz he calls me “Little pRINCE” but in mY opinion u wud be a queen

Coven head meetings r sooooo bORinG.wish I was with u instead

U look nice in that piCture wIth CLover.lovely

I Miss u

“Aw, Hunter,” Gus couldn’t help but smile. “These aren’t bad, they’re really sweet. Why didn’t you send them before?”

“I don’t know,” he said, looking to the ground. “I was embarrassed? But I don’t know why! They’re not lies. I just didn’t want the Captain to know them, but also I did? Does that make them lies then? I was just... scared of how she would respond. That she wouldn’t... that she’d think...” he sighed and allowed himself to collapse on the floor, raring his head in his hands. “I do feel crushed.”

“Hey man, it’s okay,” said Gus, sitting beside him. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“I know it’s not the end of the world because that I know how to deal with,” groaned Hunter. “This is even more complicated. What if she realizes how weird I am and then she never wants to talk to me again? Or even worse, she wants me to explain the messages further? What would I say?! Wait! What if we say I left my scroll out and Flapjack typed all that and accidentally sent all that? Or what if you tell her I died? Or-.”

“Hey! Snap out of it!” said Gus, this time taking Hunter’s shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay! Willow is your friend! She likes you!”

Hunter felt as though he was going to pass out. “Ugh, er how do you know?”

“She told me, she says she thinks you’re sweet.”

The blush was back. “S-she said that? About me? Did, uh, she say anything else? Maybe-?”

“Wait! She’s typing back!” Gus said and Hunter held his breath in anticipation and held the scroll straight to his face. The dots graced the screen for what felt like ages before finally her message appeared:

💚

“What is that? What does that mean?” asked Hunter shoving the scroll in Gus’ face.

“It’s a heart.”

“That’s not a heart, thats not anatomically correct at all,” said Hunter, rolling his eyes. “There’s no bile sac or veins and they’re not that color. Even it was, why does it mean?”

“You don’t know what a heart means?”

“I know what it does, pumping blood through the body and keeping you alive,” said Hunter before adding timidly. “Does this mean s-she’s glad I’m alive?”

“Actually-,” began Gus before stopping himself as Hunter rooked at the screen like it was a precious jewel. “Actually, that’s exactly what it means.”

“Wow,” said Hunter breathlessly. “W-what should I say back?”

“Whatever you feel dude, no pressure,” said Gus. “We should probably turn in though. I dunno about you, but I am super tired.”

“Huh? Yes, of course,” said Hunter, crawling into his sleeping bag but not taking his eyes off the screen for a second. . “Ya know, I’ve never gotten to stay up this late before. What time do morning chores start? 4am? Or 5am because it’s the weekend?”

Gus simply yawned in response, too tired to compose a proper answer and Hunter followed suit. He laid in his makeshift bed brainstorming the perfect responds for the Captain, hating to make her wait but unable to stop staring at her heart.

———

The next morning, Gus had awoken to Hunter’s snoring. He was relieved to see the former Golden Guard had managed to sleep in, getting some well deserved rest. He looked further and saw his scroll was till in his hand, and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Hunter falling asleep texting Willow. Looking further, he saw that in response Hunter had drafted a full page of golden hearts but had fallen asleep before pressing send.

Gus figured this was a draft he wouldn’t mind sending.

Message Sent

[angelaiswriting]

Stage Love (2 of 3) | Park Joong-gil

✏️ Pairing: Park Joong-gil x fem!reader (mentions of fake dating!Choi Joon-woong x fem!reader)

✏️ Summary: things finally start moving between you and Joong-gil, but what happens when, following the leak of some pictures, your agency decides to exploit a (fake) dating scandal between you and Choi Joon-woong for its own economic gain? (Not requested, based on an idea by @kind-wolf​)

✏️ A/N: took me forever to write this part, had a breakdown in the middle, and it turned out so long I’d need a part three. Bon appétit😬 jokes aside, this isn’t exactly what I was aiming for, but then again my fics do whatever the f they want, so... Let me know if you’re down for a pt. 3 or not.✌️

✏️ Content Warnings: modern!AU, singer!AU + fluff, (maybe still a bit of) slowburn, (slight angst, maybe?), pining, and (light?) smut, so 18+ ONLY! > Fingering f/r, oral f/r, mentions of handjobs, dry-humping; mentions of death, of a corpse, and of suicide, grieving?. Mentions of the show Tomorrow but no spoilers. [If I missed anything, just lmk.]

✏️ Word Count: 21,7k

part one  <<  PART TWO  >>  part three

The first time you receive that unsigned bouquet of flowers, you worry your home address might have been leaked somehow and that some fan has decided to go above and beyond to show you their love and support. After the porter hands it to you one day after a meeting with Joon-woong and the team for the soundtrack of an upcoming drama, you bring it up to your apartment and dissect it like it’s a specimen in a laboratory you have to study.

It’s the paranoia that’s been haunting you since that time, years ago, when a fan gift contained a smartly-concealed camera, you’re well aware of it. Just as you’re aware of how your whole team – not to mention your whole agency – is big on keeping your privacy intact (or whatever part of it can be protected), going as far as to decline any request for videos or interviews showing the inside of your house. They’re your reason why there’s no need to worry, but you still find yourself pulling each flower apart before putting them in a vase of water when you’ve made sure there’s nothing suspicious about the gift.

Maybe it’s just something your mother sent you and that she simply forgot to sign, you tell yourself. Or maybe it’s from Bit-na, your friend you haven’t seen in forever but whom you miss dearly. But when you bring it up on your Sunday night call with her as you’re watching one of your usual shows together, you come to find out she isn’t the sender.

The second bouquet – tulips, this time, and you wonder just how expensive they must have been this time of year – is delivered to you the next Monday morning just as you’re about to step out of the hall of your condominium right behind your manager. This time, to your relief, you notice a lilac-colored card attached to the wrapping, but you know you’ll have no time to properly look at it before it’s late at night. Before that, you have calls and messages and emails to take care of, and then another lyric writing session for the last-minute collab song you have with Choi Joon-woong.

“Who’s sending you flowers?” your manager, Ji-young, asks as you step out of your clothes to change into your interview outfit, and all you can do is answer with a genuine, “I really have no clue,” as you check your appearance in the mirror one last time before you’re ready to meet today’s interviewer.

People still want to know things about your collaboration album with Park Joong-gil, and pretty much no one is inclined to stop talking about it yet – your music, your chemistry, the raw behind-the-scenes content your agencies posted on your youtube channels and on your social media accounts. Both tabloids and fans ended up blowing that deal out of proportion – although you’re really not complaining: if anything, they’re giving you the perfect excuse to keep on reminiscing all those months spent working with him. The news about an extremely possible future song together hasn’t been leaked yet, but you’re honestly curious to see what the public’s reaction is going to be – both because of how much they all loved the two of you together, and because you really want to see how far whatever you have behind closed doors (not much so far, but still a lot more than you’ve ever had with anyone else, probably) can go.

When you’re back to your van by the end of the day, after a quick dinner on the set of the promotional shoot for a perfume, the tulips you received in the morning look like they have given up on life. They wilted, and it’s like they’re judging you for leaving them in the backseat for all those hours.

Paranoia threatens to rear its head again, but then you remember there being a card and you’re quick at pulling it out of the envelope.

I’m not sure I enjoy this waiting game of yours :( — pjg

It makes you chuckle, that sad emoji he drew at the end of the sentence – and all over the small piece of paper, like it’s middle school all over again. Still, there’s a part of you that can’t help but think, how cute! You really want him to never stop doing these random things that always make you feel special when you least expect them.

Your smile rivals the sun in brightness when you unlock your phone.

[10:09 PM] you: got your flowers x

That’s what you text him, and then you send a picture of his bouquet with a cheeky oops that makes you smile like a child in the back of your van. You can feel Ji-young’s eyes on you through the rear-view mirror, but she doesn’t ask what’s got you smiling like that – she’s quick-witted and as great an observer as Park Joong-gil himself, which means she knew you went down on him the moment you stepped through the door of your apartment the day you ended up fingering yourself to the memory of him.

[10:13 PM] joong-gil 💗: is that how you treat my gifts? :(

He makes you chuckle. He’s actually been bringing more happiness to your life than there has been in a long time. It’s the genuine kind, the type that makes you warm inside and wraps your heart in a feeling of fuzziness that gives it nothing but rest. You realize now, two blocks away from your apartment, that you haven’t made a single origami butterfly ever since your dinner date with him, two weeks ago, and probably even a while before that.

You also don’t remember when you changed his contact name, when you removed his last name and added that pulsing heart emoji, but tonight it takes you by surprise. Like you’re finally realizing that he’s been making your heart beat a little faster.

[10:14 PM] you: sorry, long day. i barely had a break :( btw was it you who sent me roses last week?

He doesn’t reply to you straight away, and you have the time to reach your condominium, take the elevator, and even change into your pajamas before you get a text back from him. In the meantime, you eye the almost completely dry roses sitting in an empty vase on the windowsill of the kitchen like they might have grown cameras of their own.

Instead of messaging, he rings you a call.

“I know you must be tired, but I needed to hear your voice,” he says as soon as you pick up.

‘I needed to.’ He needed to, you smile. It hits you deeper than an ‘I wanted to’ ever would, somehow. Like he can live his days and like he can wait for your schedule to clear, but also like he wants you and your company so badly that he simply can’t hold back and wait.

It makes you feel important. Like you really do matter in this crazy-paced world of yours, where you can never fully let your guard down or take the foot off of the gas pedal.

So, you chuckle, and you’re so empty-headed, drowning in this crush you have for him that is blooming at the speed of light, that all you can greet him with is a lame, breathless, “hey.”

“To answer your question, yes, I did send you roses.”

The grin on your lips makes your cheeks hurt when you plop down onto the couch, too tired to go back to your bedroom after the glass of cold water you got from the fridge.

“You could’ve signed it,” you giggle, no real bite behind your words. “I dissected it, I was paranoid that someone had found out where I live and sent yet another spy cam.”

He’s silent for half a second before his, “shit,” hits you along with the sound of ruffled sheets. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to cause all that. I actually did write a card, but then I panicked at the last second because of how cheesy it was and I threw it away.”

You really don’t know what this feeling setting your soul on fire is, but it makes you want to giggle and blush and hide your face underneath your warm blanket while you kick your feet. It makes you feel so good that it wipes away the exhaustion of the day and leaves you a clean slate, ready to start afresh tomorrow morning.

“Are you still there?”

“Oh, yeah! Sorry! You lost me when you said you wrote a cheesy card. I bet that would’ve been the cutest shit ever. The Park Joong-gil writing cheesy stuff to me?” You dramatically fan yourself with a hand despite him being unable to see you. “Every fangirl’s fantasy, I can assure you of that.”

He laughs, and two things happen almost at the same time.

One, it cuts your breath short – the sound that leaves his lips, at the other end of the receiver, and you can imagine him throwing his head back the way he often does when he’s really amused, closing his eyes and scrunching his nose up in the cutest way imaginable.

And two, your heart dangerously skips a beat. You’re taken aback by the sudden realization that you’re in so deep when it comes to him that you can’t even imagine how you’d be if things went south. If anything happened and the ‘us’ you’re both walking hand in hand towards shattered like an illusion reflecting on a mirror. You really don’t know how many paper butterflies your soul can take, and you don’t really think you’ll ever have another one tattooed anywhere on your body or on your soul.

“I really miss you.” He says it so intensely, with so much determination, that it really must be the truth. It reaches your heart like a thorn that hurts so good, somehow, makes it bleed warm honey, and you’re quick at shooing the butterflies away.

“I miss you, too. I want to meet up again, but I want to be able to hang out with you long enough.”

“It’s alright. You know I’m willing to wait for you.” And then, before you even have the time to think about all the feelings his words stir up inside you, he’s asking for your plans for tomorrow.

You end up staying on the line for longer than you anticipated, as it always goes with him, and at some point, the voice call turns into a video call, even if you feel like you’re unpresentable, with your make-up badly removed and the stained pajama shirt you should have thrown into the wash two days ago but didn’t. When you fall asleep, unable to keep your eyes open any longer, Joong-gil stays on the line for a while. He watches you, commits to memory the way you look when you sleep, the lines of your face, the way your eyes move underneath your closed eyelids, or how your lips part and stay like that.

You don’t know that and he won’t confess it, but it does something to him. He’s always meant it whenever he told you he wanted to get to know you in the past, but tonight the sight of you makes him think he’s ready to open up again – makes him believe he can fully open his heart up again and allow himself to be vulnerable with you.

*

The studio feels cramped. Between the lyricists, the RMT’s producer, your manager Ji-young, Joon-woong’s own manager… You’re sitting on the leather two-seat couch in the corner and breathing feels like such a hard task, like everything’s closing in on you – the walls of the studio, the equipment, the physical confines of your own body, bone and skin and flesh.

It’s been a while since this claustrophobic feeling last hit you this way, and you really don’t know what it is about today, but not even the memory of the video call you had with Park Joong-gil a few days ago seems to be able to ease your nerves.

I need a breather, but there’s no way those words manage to leave your lips. Instead, you can only look up at your friend and he seems to pick up on what’s going on from where he’s sitting next to the producer.

Joon-woong asks for a break – everyone seems to need it this morning, after all, everyone’s stress levels are way too high – and takes you up to the roof by pulling on your hand.

The air has a chilly bite to it and there are dark clouds on the horizon confirming the weather forecasts calling for possible storms. Once again, you’re glad you’re wearing Joong-gil’s hoodie – you didn’t even remember never giving it back to him after that night at Jumadeung until you found it at the bottom of your closet this morning. It still feels just as warm as it did that night, even if it’s lost any last trace of his scent, and suddenly there’s this restless feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can only describe as a wish to go back there. Go back to those fairy lights, the chocolate cake you shared that night, and the peaceful atmosphere that made you feel like you finally really did have some privacy. Like you could breathe and belong, even if for a little while.

“Are you alright?” Joon-woong asks, handing you a cup of smoking hot tea before pulling you down onto the bench to sit next to him. You didn’t even notice him leaving to grab you something to drink, nor whether someone else brought it to him instead.

“I am now, thanks.” Even you can feel the shakiness in the smile that stretches across your lips, but you can’t quite put a finger on the reason behind it. On why today’s like this, with nothing seemingly going right and everything going wrong – the corrupted music file, the writers of the drama calling for some last-minute changes to the lyrics of their main song, the technological problems in the recording room, and then everyone packed into that studio like it’s some can of sardines. “It’s just…”

He never takes his eyes off of you, not even when you look down at the paper cup between your hands and exhale a long sigh – you don’t really look at him, but you do feel his stare.

“It’s been a long… Hell, a long forever,” you chuckle, turning to face him for a moment before looking back at the rooftops and the clouds far away as Seoul feels like it’s stretching beyond its physical limits. You’re this close to tears that you know they’ll escape your hold if you were to look at your friend for a second too long. “I’m really tired. I feel like the break I had after the tour with Joong-gil passed me by in a flash and my stress never left. I wish…”

Another sigh. You’re grateful for the opportunities you’re given – the collaboration deals with other artists, the odd modeling or acting gigs, your fans and their gifts, and the fact that you’re still here, kicking and screaming instead of flying away.

“I wish this stupid soundtrack would go smoothly, at least,” you say, leaning back against the bench and letting your head fall back. Your gaze trails up to the sky above and that one plane flying by, leaving behind a straight line of white that feels nothing like what your life feels at the moment. You’re jumping from one thing to the next, juggling the billion different appointments that swarm your daily schedule – photoshoots, recording sessions, songwriting, interviews, promotions, training, dancing, and even fan meets, although those will start in a bit.

It takes you a moment – it’s actually taken you months – to realize that the anniversary is coming up and that soon it’s going to be fifteen years. Maybe that’s it – your soul just knows it, feels it, and all it craves is to go home, be with your mother, kick mud and water on the shore, and cry it all out in the freezing rain where you can pretend it’s just water, that on your face, and not tears.

You didn’t even fully realize it when, the day after your call with Joong-gil, you read the synopsis of this drama whose soundtrack you’re supposed to record today with Joon-woong. The main trope. The characters’ backgrounds, the lives concealed behind the façade of the here-and-now. The bittersweet happy endings the episodes leave you with, a reminder that the world has been painted in a million different color shades.

You don’t know why you break down when Joon-woong puts an arm around your shoulders and squeezes your forearm with one of those big hands of his. But that’s exactly what you do, and you have to take a long sip of your scorching hot tea to try and pretend like nothing’s happening, but the tears that managed to get to your lips make the tea taste salty. Maybe it really is the stress. The stress, and the exhaustion, and the fact that you’ve been craving Park Joong-gil’s soothing company probably even more than you do realize, or that you ever even thought possible.

Joon-woong pulls you to himself when you don’t immediately go back to your usual cheery persona. He wraps you in a hug that smells like coffee and aftershave and laundry detergent and safety. It makes you feel like a little kid – both the fact that he’s so goddamn tall and the fact that you’re crying in someone’s arms. And that’s when the sobs you’ve managed to hold in just spill out freely now.

“Why don’t we go out after we’re done here?” he asks after some time.

His head is resting on yours, still leaning against his shoulder, and your sobs have subsided. The tear streaks on your face are still wet, and your lips are still parted as you stare at Seoul’s skyline, but at least you feel somewhat lighter, like the weight on your shoulders has finally gotten more bearable.

“I can’t.” You shake your head slightly and finally pull yourself back together enough to finish your now lukewarm tea. It doesn’t give you that sensation of warmth it gave you at first, when Joon-woong handed you the cup, but you reason it’s still better than the biting cold of the wind that just picked up. “I have a full day of recording for my album tomorrow. And then there’s an interview I’ve been putting off for a while, and then they want me on a—”

“You need to breathe,” Joon-woong interrupts you, turning to look at you with concern painted all over his features. “You need a break before you break. Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been going through this? I wouldn’t have been mad if you had turned this collab offer down…”

“I really wanted to do this, though,” you reply, voice low. “It felt like a great opportunity to finally do something with a friend…”

“Not at the cost of working you to the bone, no!” He’s not mad, but his concern takes you aback nonetheless. It’s on his face, in his voice, in the way he reminds you of every single time your mother’s ever worried about her only child’s well-being. It makes you sit there for a moment and think, and you realize that there are more people that care about you than you ever stopped to consider.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be aired in three weeks,” you reason. “Who else would they hire on such short notice?”

There’s the little-kid part of you who’s standing on the precipice, ready to apologize for taking on more than you thought you’d be able to handle. Two albums in a year, a drama collaboration, the interviews that inevitably follow, and those extra modeling gigs you agreed upon as a way to broaden your horizons. But why would you apologize when this is part of the job? When staying relevant is just as necessary as the next good thing in this line of work?

Eventually, Joon-woong agrees with you. Yeah, finding a stand-in after all these delays would be a problem, he says, looking back out at what’s visible of the city from up here.

“Let’s go to Jumadeung after we’re done here,” you offer as you’re walking down the fire-emergency staircase with a clearer mind to go back to the recording room downstairs. “I really do need to relax for a minute, and you probably do, too.”

He agrees, again. If you’re lucky and you manage to record everything by the end of the day, then you’ll also be able to celebrate a work well done tonight as well.

And as it turns out, you do have some luck, this time.

The producer pulled some magic trick out of his hat while you and Choi Joon-woong were on the rooftop, and everything’s working smoothly now. The stress levels have reached an all-time low, and whoever wasn’t strictly needed for the recording session has been kicked out, which left only the producer, your friend, and yourself in the studio.

You also end up having fun. You’ve known Joon-woong ever since he signed up with your agency and you were still a trainee, but you would have never guessed he’d be this much of a fun person to work with. He makes faces in the booth when something doesn’t turn out as perfect as he’d like, and he also makes faces when you hit a particular note in one of your parts.

All that makes for some good content you end up recording and before you leave the studio way after sun-down, you both end up posting selfies online calling for some ‘secret project’ that’s about to drop. After that, you lock your phone and let your friend take you to his car.

*

Jumadeung is still as much of a pretty view as it was the last time you stepped foot in it what feels like a lifetime ago even though it was just last March. The only thing that’s different is your state of mind: with no trace of post-performance adrenaline and excitement, you’re a bit tired but on the right path to unplugging for an hour or two.

You order food and drinks, and end up playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who’s going to pay for tonight’s outing – you will, but no one will ever catch you complaining about anything, not when Choi Joon-woong has become like a little brother of sorts for you.

Joon-woong also doesn’t complain. Instead, you get to see a side of him you haven’t seen in forever. The fun friend, caring and sweet, ready to listen to your rants with both ears and punch your problems in the face with both hands. And in the peace of the booth, under the slightly dim hues of the fairy lights that seem to promise to keep any and all secrets in their embrace, you find out that your tongue doesn’t have much of a problem letting out some of the weights you’ve been carrying on your back.

“I’ve seen your interview, you know?” he says after Jade, the middle-aged owner, comes with more chips and shoots you a wink. “You get so flustered whenever someone brings Park Joong-gil up.” His giggle is half mirth and half somaek, and the way he squints his eyes when he pinches your cheek makes you laugh a bit too loudly. “You really make it too easy to know you like him.”

“You’re drunk,” you chuckle, pulling his hand away from your face and intertwining your fingers with his. “You have no clue what you’re talking about. Eat this.”

He eats the pork and then drinks from the water bottle you give him, and in the meantime, you try to quieten down that buzzing feeling going off in your chest. Your cheeks heat up, too, and you press the backs of your hands to your skin in a futile attempt to make that blood rush away from your face, but you’re not even able to suppress the smile that stretches across your lips.

You’re down bad for Park Joong-gil, there’s no shying away from that. It’s a fact. It’s obviously not the first time you realize this, but it’s probably the first time the realization hits you this strong. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re at Jumadeung, where everything feels surreal and just as possible as it always is in the wildest of fantasies. It’s also where things started moving between the two of you, like someone cast a spell and tied the same thread to both of your wrists, linking you together. Maybe it’s the fact that this is the first time someone who’s not Bit-na has called you out on it. You want to believe it’s definitely not the beer or the soju, nor the fact that you’re drunker on exhaustion than you are on alcohol.

Joon-woong’s hand on your forehead suddenly pulls you out of your reverie. “You’re also burning, you blushing little thing!”

You stare at him for a moment – unmoving, shocked, confused, and definitely a bit embarrassed, but then you’re laughing in his face, at his antics, at that cute expression his face has morphed into.

“Does he even know?” he asks after you make him sit back and drink more water.

“Yeah.” Distractedly, you think that maybe you should pull the rest of the beer to your side of the table so that he’s not tempted to have more. “He’s into me, too.”

His gasp makes you smile at how dramatic he is at times. “You told him?”

You think back to that night in Joong-gil’s apartment, after your dinner date. For a split second that seems to stretch on forever, you feel him between your legs, spread out on his couch – his fingers knuckles-deep inside you and his lips wrapped around your clit. You hear the way he grunted and then spoke sweet nothings you barely had the mental capacity to understand but that still felt so fucking hot in that gravel tone of his.

Would that count as you telling him?

The feeling that maybe you’ve never actually outright confessed your feelings to him sneaks up on you bit by bit.

“I think so… It was pretty obvious, though,” you reply, but it doesn’t hit him fast enough before you actually spot Joong-gil walking up to the counter.

It feels like being in a dream, what with the hazy atmosphere of Jumadeung and its fairy lights and whatnot. Maybe he’s just a figment of my imagination, you tell yourself as your mouth goes dry. Did you drink that much? Did you fall asleep? Are you really down this bad for a man that your brain has to conjure up images of him everywhere you might go?

“Are you two official, then?”

Are you? You don’t know, you haven’t met in person even once during the last two weeks. You never thought of asking whether he’s also seeing someone else, although such a thought feels so absurd the moment it bubbles its way up to the top of all your thoughts that you dismiss it immediately. Of course he’s not – he wouldn’t be sending you flowers or spending that much time on calls or texting (sexting, too, maybe?) you the way he always does.

“In private, yeah, I guess? I don’t know.” Going public seldom turns out to be the brightest idea in your line of work, after all, so that’s off the list – for now? Or forever? Those are questions you can’t really answer.

You watch Joong-gil hand Jade his card and you can’t help but stare at the way his black coat highlights the line of his shoulders. You want to walk up to him and hold him from behind, like you did that night, in his shower – his forehead pressed against the tiles and your hand wrapped around his aching cock as you peppered kisses over the expanse of his back while working him towards his release.

“What do you mean you don’t—”

“Hi,” you smile, breathless, when Joong-gil has finally turned around and is close enough to your booth to hear you. His mere presence short-circuits your brain while you slip down the rabbit hole of this crush you have on him a little more. It’s like you never resurfaced since you climbed down the set of stairs that leads to Jumadeung, that night all those months ago. You walked down, one step after the other, hand in hand with him, and then part of your soul has remained trapped within the confines of this fairyland dream of a bar, sitting in front of a man as charismatic as Park Joong-gil.

The surprise flashing across his face isn’t hard to miss. He staggers in his steps for half a second when he spots you, lips parted and brows furrowed, before he comes back to his senses and halts by your table. “Hey.”

Joong-gil eyes you for just a moment before his gaze trails over to Joon-woong, sitting next to you, eating the last pieces of his samgyeopsal and ranting on about you and the singer he hasn’t noticed is standing right next to him.

“Are you leaving?” you ask. “Why don’t you sit with us?”

Your heart is racing inside your chest. It’s everywhere in your body, but most of all in the butterflies that go off in your stomach at the sight of him. He looks just as charming as ever, dressed in all black, with his hair slightly tousled and his eyes back on you.

It’s then that Joon-woong spots his very own idol, almost chokes on his water, and then jumps up to his feet before pushing Joong-gil to sit down next to you. “Speak of the devil!” His tipsy chuckle is cut short by a hiccup, and you suddenly regret getting him drunk, or even just allowing him to drink as much as he did. “You two look good together,” he whistles, and it’s then that you lean across the table to slap a hand over his mouth.

“Shh! What are you doing?” you reprimand him with a hiss, quickly glancing around in case any of the other patrons might have overheard your friend.

But Joon-woong simply giggles, fixes the both of you with a knowing smirk he’ll probably have no recollection of come morning, and then leans back against the booth.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your date.” Joong-gil’s voice bites at your skin when he speaks, and you almost don’t turn around to look at him. But you do – of course you do, it’s like he’s a magnet and you’re a ferromagnetic butterfly that can’t stay away from his flower.

It’s like it hurts him, the idea that you’d be out and about with someone else when he agreed on waiting until November to really see you again. To see you, and touch you, and… Your neck grows hotter at the mere thought of what you promised him and all the mental images your mind comes up with late at night, when you’re left alone to wonder how he actually is in bed.

“A da—” You flip a finger between you and Joon-woong, incredulous. “We’re just— This is not a date,” you chuckle. Why would he think that? Why are you nervous?

“Yeah?”

“You two should DRT already.”

Both you and Joong-gil turn to look at Joon-woong when he suddenly speaks out of nowhere, seemingly more sober than he’s been in a while tonight.

“Define the relationship,” he explains, grinning at how comically identical the questioning expressions on both of your faces are. “Y/N says she doesn’t know where you two stand, but I did fear for my safety for a moment when I saw the way you were glaring at me,” he tells Joong-gil. “But what would I know?” he pouts right after, his right hand automatically going for his beer bottle.

Less than half an hour later, after forcing Joon-woong out of the door of Jumadeung, Ryeon and Ryung-gu come to pick him and his car up, and the way Ryeon and Joong-gil briefly eye each other before respectfully bowing their heads in greeting makes you think and worry and realize that they used to be something whose details you don’t even know.

Is it wrong to want a friend’s ex special someone? You’ve been asking yourself that question for a while now, unable to come up with an actual answer, even just a shred of reassurance that it is, in fact, alright. The heart wants what it wants, after all, unable of being controlled, but that feeling – like you’re betraying Goo Ryeon’s friendship – still lurks around the pit of your stomach every once in a while. Not even the smile Ryung-gu sends your way from his seat behind the wheel after cheerfully greeting you manages to put your soul at rest.

You end up going home with Joong-gil. Another bike ride, of course, with your body pressed so close to his back that you can almost feel your own heart beat in his chest and his in yours. He feels so close yet so far, and you can barely believe your luck (or misfortune) at having run into him at Jumadeung.

It shouldn’t, really, and you know it, but it somehow still eats away at you, the fact that you might have come off as someone who doesn’t have time to hang out with him but seemingly still goes out with anyone else. It has every last one of your nerves on high alert, and his silence during the whole elevator ride up to your floor doesn’t help ease them in the slightest.

It’s like a rift in your equilibrium, in that game of waiting you’ve both been playing since the end of your joint world tour. It’s also the first time you feel like you’re standing on opposite sides of the world despite standing side by side in a metal box.

The vase of pink cosmos flowers you received two days ago is the first thing Joong-gil sees when he silently steps foot in your living room. It’s another one of his gifts, one that came accompanied by a card with five verses of a love song you found out you both adore. The balance they were supposed to symbolize now seems to shake lightly underneath your feet.

“I think Joon-woong is right.” You’re the first to break the silence, still plagued by that sense of guilt that has snuck up on you out of nowhere. “About… clearly stating where we stand.”

“I’ve already told you I want you.”

“I’ve never been good at this, and I just want to make sure we’re exclusive.” Your eyes lock with his from the other side of the coffee table, unable to look away when he takes his coat off and lays it down on the back of your couch. “That there’s no one else.”

“There’s no one else.” His gaze softens a bit, and it prompts you to move closer to him until you’re almost standing toe to toe.

“And that wasn’t a date. It’s just been a shit day an–”

“I believe you.” His smile is what ends up easing your nerves enough to put them back to sleep, and when he cups your face in both of his hands, you find yourself breathing a bit better. “I didn’t mean to come off as jealous. You have no explaining to do. I just… God, I missed you so much that seeing you there with him got to my head.”

The smirk slowly grows on your lips, despite you trying your best to bite it back, and soon enough it’s a full-blown smile that makes you feel like you’re brighter than the sun itself. It scorches away any other thought in your head and leaves you with just him. “You missed me?” It comes out as a whisper, intoxicated as you are by what’s left of your drinks and the scent of him pulling you in closer than your stance already has the two of you.

“So damn much.” His voice lowers, and you’d be embarrassed by the way that affects you if you hadn’t expected it – the way that shiver trickles down your spine and straight to in-between your legs, like you haven’t been getting yourself off on the memory of him coming – down your throat, or in your hand, spurting thick cum on the tiled wall of his shower – for a while now. “I want to play fair,” he whispers, his lips barely brushing against yours before he presses a light kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You think you feel his heartbeat where his fingertips press into the sides of your face. It’s fast and strong, burning with the same desperate want you feel for him, but you have no clue whether that’s just you. You and the effect he has on your whole system.

“But it’s so fucking hard.”

There it is again, one of his innuendos that bring pictures to your mind. The first time you had a feel of his erection in that dressing room in Chicago, when his fingers had been brushing exactly that spot inside you while his mouth pressed kisses to the side of your neck, sultry voice whispering the nastiest things into your ear. That night in Atlanta, when you made out in your room, right in his lap, his hips leisurely rutting up into yours and cutting your breath short. Two weeks ago in his shower, your naked body pressed against his back, your hand wrapped around his dick and his hand wrapped around yours, guiding your movements as his moans made your pussy clench and your clit throb and you thought you’d come right then and there, untouched, when he whimpered at your touch over the head of his cock.

You wonder whether that’s just you – you and this unexpected obsession you seemingly have for his dick, the way it’s been driving you crazy since things started getting steamy between the two of you. You wonder whether that’s just you or him, too, but all you can do is stand there, putting all of your trust in your knees despite the fact that they feel weaker than jelly with the way he’s kissing – hopefully not marking – down your neck, one of his hands still cradling the side of your face and the other one slipping down to your backside, both to keep you up and push you closer into him.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he eventually continues, pecking your lips and staring back into your hazy eyes.

Maybe it’s not just you, you realize with a gasp when you manage to get a grip on yourself and feel the way he’s pressing right against you inside his pants. Maybe it’s him, too, and it thrills you to think that. To think he craves you just as much as you do him.

“All day every day.” His lips move against yours, and his eyes close for a moment when your hands trail up his back. You want to believe that’s because he needs a moment to collect and ground himself. You want to believe you have the same effect on him as he does on you – like your brain stops working and your body takes over, and your heart is so fast and loud in your chest that you can barely even hear or feel the outside world. “Every. Fucking. Day.”

He takes your bottom lip between his and gently pulls on it. When he opens his eyes again, you can see just how heated his gaze is.

“Even when I saw you there with him,” he groans, staring down at you. There’s this duality to him – it’s in the way his right hand fondles your buttcheek, giving you just a glimpse of his strength, and in the way his left hand cradles your face, like you’re something precious he wants to shield from damage. It makes your head spin, your lips tingling to just press against his and kiss him again. “When I feared it was a date. I still wanted you then anyway. You make me go crazy.”

You make me go crazy, too – you think you say those words out loud, but they don’t actually leave the confines of your mind. They’re stuck in there, as your brain fights with your body to work but ultimately fails.

“I can still taste you in my mouth.” He breathes you in right after he speaks. His nose trails up the side of your neck, and for a moment he stands there like that, eyes closed, lips pressed against the side of your head, half on your skin and half on your hair. “When I close my eyes, I see you sprawled out on my couch that night, dripping wet. I see you and hear you and feel you. I still fucking taste you on my tongue.”

You can’t hold back the gasp that leaves your lips as your knees grow weaker and your hands bunch his sweater up into your fists. “Fuck,” you whisper, and it’s then that he moves his head, smirks at you, and kisses you, lets his tongue glide over your bottom lip as you swear your heart is about to leave your chest. “Joong-gil,” you whine, breathless, and there are very few other thoughts in your now almost empty head. It’s all full of him. You’re all full of him in every single way but the physical one. “Fuck me.”

He kisses you again, tastes the remnants of the somaek you had at Jumadeung. His left hand leaves your face and joins his other one on your ass, and for a moment he’s content to just stand like that, kissing you, fondling your backside in his hands before pulling you into him. The lack of any sort of space between your bodies gets to your head, deepens your breathing, and whatever thinking ability your brain still has is immediately incinerated by the feel of him, hard and aching in his black jeans.

You’re back in Chicago, and in Atlanta, and on your knees in front of him, and in his shower behind him. You can barely breathe.

“No.” You can barely comprehend him when he pulls back to give your plea an answer.

“No?”

You want to ask what he means. Does he not want you? Is the memory of his mouth on your pussy better than the idea of having a repeat? But then he hums, smiling, and his hands come up to cup your face again. Neither of you moves, however; neither of you wants to lose the contact your lower bodies have.

“No,” he repeats. “We agreed on it, don’t you remember?” He pecks your lips, and then stamps kiss after kiss along your jawline until he’s playfully nibbling your earlobe, playing with your piercings. “Anything but my dick inside you.” He marks his words with a roll of his hips into yours that further sends your brain into overdrive. “It was your idea, have you forgotten? Wait until you’re free in November so that I can take you on every surface of both our apartments until we can barely feel anything else…”

You can feel the smirk in his voice, the cheeky bastard, but all you can manage is a desperate whine as you press your thighs together. “I don’t always have smart ideas,” you complain. Your heart is so strong in your chest that you can physically feel it beat against your ribcage.

“Why? It’s a fun little game,” he hums, pulling you along with him when he takes two steps backward to sit down on your couch with you in his lap. You want to tell him you’ll cry now that you’re pretty much sitting on his dick, but there’s no need to because those tears of frustration gather up in your eyes nonetheless. “It keeps me on edge.”

A chuckle bubbles up his throat when he picks up on you slowly rolling your hips into his, and his gaze trails down to where you’re sitting on top of him. He thrusts up into you once before grabbing a hold of your hips and guiding your movements, slowing them down when you get impatient.

“Is this mine?” he asks then, when he relaxes against the back of your couch and tugs at the hoodie you’re wearing.

You want to tell him that every single part of you is his, but then you remember what you’re still wearing and you hum against his lips – why is he so controlled when you barely know how to breathe or whether you’re still doing it right?

“Can I take it off?” He has one hand underneath it already, teasing up your spine and then moving back down.

“Please.”

He pulls it off of you with the t-shirt you’ve been wearing underneath, and then looks up into your eyes before unclasping your bra. You swear you’re hotter than the sun, and then that you’re even hotter when he drops your bra to the side and leans forward to press a wet kiss between your tits. His gesture pulls this embarrassing whimper out of you that makes you want to hide your face in the crook of his neck, but you can’t even move, not when his tongue comes out to lick one of your nipples before he gives it a suck.

“I want us to come like this,” he says against your chest right as he’s kissing marks into your skin where no one else is going to see them.

“I want you,” you complain. You inside me, any which way and anywhere you want me.

“You have me.”

God, he’s so infuriatingly stubborn, and handsome, his head leaning back and his hands pawing at your breasts, his jeans and your light pants an annoying barrier between the two of you.

“Not really though…”

He wipes your pout away when he bucks his hips up. “You said we’d wait until your schedule cleared up to fuck,” he reminds you for the second time, although it’s hard for your brain to process his words because then his mouth is back on your chest. “That’s what we’re gonna do. Because honestly,” he groans, bucking up again and making you moan loudly at the friction, “I won’t be able to stop once I finally have you.”

Another breathless fuck slips past your lips. Have you ever felt this hot? Has your heart ever beat this hard? You’re throbbing right against him, and you vaguely feel him twitch, and maybe by now you’ve soaked your way through your panties but really, it’s hard to concretely feel anything with certainty right now.

“Really?” you pant. You’re somehow so close – you’re tingling, and the coil in your belly is about to snap, and his mouth on your boob is hot and wet and you want it to stay there forever.

“Fuck, yeah,” he moans, pulling you flush against him and kissing you. “I won’t be able to walk for a while after that. Neither of us will be,” he chuckles, breathless, voice more gravelly than ever.

Somehow, you end up pulling his sweater off. Goosebumps wash over his flushed skin when it comes into contact with the cooler air of your living room. Your thumbs brush over his nipples, and you see the way he bites his lower lip before mumbling something about how you feel even better than what he pictures at night.

For a split second, you picture him in his apartment – on his couch, or on his bed, or even in his shower. The way he’d tug on his cock to the thought of you – of your body, the way you moan or whimper out his name, the way you came that night on his couch or in America. The way he’d moan and make himself come, spurt after spurt of white painting his hand or his abdomen or even his shirt.

Man, you’re fucked.

“It’s like you’re riding me,” he says, snatching you out of your open-eyed dream. He meets every single one of the rolls of your hips into his now, his hands on your hips and then up your spine until you’re moaning incoherently against his mouth.

“I’m so fucking empty,” is what you complain when you feel the way you’re clenching around nothing, throbbing, burning for something he’s not giving you. You can feel how sweaty your legs are in your pants, the way the cotton of your pants sticks to the back of your knees.

“I’ll make it worth the wait,” he promises in-between grunts.

Fuck – you think – is he really gonna come in his pants? But you don’t have time to dwell on your thoughts: his lips wrap around one of your nipples as his hand comes up to play with the other. A few perfectly-placed tugs on them, a few perfectly-angled thrusts of his hips up into yours, his clothed erection brushing against your core, and you feel yourself unravel and come undone.

Your moans are loud and whiny, embarrassed, and when Joong-gil leans back to pull you flush against his chest and hides his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his own moans, gooseflesh breaks out on your back and arms. You barely have the time to faintly see your reflection in the glass window of the oven in your kitchen right opposite you. He groans your name, and then he’s coming right underneath you, twitching against you, right inside his jeans.

*

When you wake up the morning after, you’re alone. The side of your bed Joong-gil slept in is cold, but his scent still lingers on the linen. You find yourself inhaling what’s left of his scent, that cold shadow of him, and the smile that stretches on your lips is so wide it hurts your cheeks.

Fuck. That’s when you realize that you’re down bad. That there is no coming back, the turning point is already miles behind you. Not even Ryung-gu has ever made you feel like this. Like you might combust on the spot because of how giddy you are, like this happiness you have inside is almost too much to be contained, even though he left without a word or a caress.

Bit by bit, memories of last night come back to your mind – Jumadeung with Joon-woong, and the ride on Joong-gil’s bike, and then the ride on his lap, right there in your living room. Even without having to leave your bed just yet to find confirmation, you know you won’t be able to stop seeing him whenever you’ll be resting on your couch – his skin, and his gaze, his lips wrapped around a pebbled nipple, and his hands on your bare back…

You giggle out loud, into the pillow he slept with, and you have to do your best to restrain yourself from running to Bit-na – or, well, to your chat with her – to just vent it all out of your system so that you can go back to being the sanest version of yourself – or what of that you can manage after Park Joong-gil came along and scorched everything else on his path. Hadn’t you listened to her when she told you to let things happen, who knows where you and Joong-gil would be now. What you would be.

Eventually, after much debating on whether you should just ditch your appointments for the day, you drag yourself into the living area of your apartment. Not looking at your sofa is almost a feat, but when you make it to the kitchen, the surprise of having your breakfast waiting for you on the table is enough to make you forget about everything else – what you did on the couch last night and the fact that you woke up alone. Part of you hoped you’d find Joong-gil somewhere in your house – maybe in the bathroom taking a shower, or going over his schedule at your kitchen table, somehow waiting for you to discuss what you knew you still have to talk about. The realization that he’s clearly not still here hits you like a pang in the heart that’s only slightly dulled by the food he’s made you.

I made you something to survive the day. Your gimbap is in the box on the counter. If you want, and whenever you want, you can tell me why yesterday was such a shitty day. No burden is too shitty to be shared x — pjg

Why is it that whatever he does, he still manages to make you feel all warm and giddy inside? Why is it that he’s so nice and kind, and also scorching hot and teasing? He gives you whiplash in the best way possible, keeps you waiting on your toes as you hang from his very lips.

He’s still the king among all your other thoughts when you’re standing in the recording booth, singing the songs of your new album. Its concept eerily fits what your life feels like nowadays, like you’re strapped on a roller coaster ride that’s going up and down, and then looping backward before jumping forward at full speed. It’s a dull rendition of how crazy this year has been – the collaboration with the one and only Park Joong-gil, your friendships – deeper with the RMT guys and stronger with Bit-na, even with the physical distance between the two of you – the new business deals you’ve managed to sign, the brief acting opportunity waiting for you next year.

There’s this one song, the very first track of your album, that feels like the wind in your face on that roller coaster.

Butterflies.

It came to you last, all at once while sitting in your car late at night, on one of those days when the sky feels starless, and that’s probably why you ended up putting it before all the others. It’s like that’s always been your starting point, what really pushed you to be where you’re standing now. It’s all the paper butterflies on the shelves in your living room and the one on your wrist put together, combined and condensed and pressurized into this knot that’s always at the back of your throat and that you’re finally ready – although still with some fears – to let go.

You record it last, however. It’s the heaviest of them all, after all, even if it somehow makes you feel so much lighter. It tastes like dried salt after a day at the beach, catching crabs with your father. It’s him flying your kite so up high you can pretend it’s a bird or even a dragon, and it’s you sitting on his shoulders so that you can make it fly even higher. It’s picnics by the sea, and nostalgic ballads after sunset, when he used to strum his guitar and pretend like he had followed his dream instead of that of his parents, with your mother dancing barefoot in the sand for the both of you.

And it’s you saying, You flew away, but can’t you see it? Can’t you see I followed the path you dreamed of?

You’re standing on the rooftop of the studio during your lunch break, right next to where you sat just yesterday with Joon-woong, your lunchbox with Joong-gil’s gimbap resting by your elbow as you look down at the street. The tears you thought would come still have to show up, but that stubborn knot at the back of your throat chokes you up nonetheless.

The same kind of questions that made you wonder about Park Joong-gil this morning come back once again. Where would you be, had your father stayed? Who would you be? Who would he be?

You ask yourself that, and you think about your mother, back in Busan alone, who lost the love of her life to something she couldn’t defeat for him herself. Had he stayed, would it still hurt – for you to see her and for her to see you?

It’s so cliché, that monarch butterfly blinking at you from a poster at the bus stop down at the corner, advertising some special event in collaboration with the butterfly park in Incheon. It makes a chuckle slip past your lips.

Did your biology-enthusiast father bring you there before your family moved down south? You really don’t remember anymore, although you do wonder when butterflies started carrying this kind of importance – and why. Why was metamorphosis so important when sometimes it’s just so hard to leave the safety of your cocoon. When you reach the stars but still have someone else plan and organize your life.

You switch on your phone when you sit down on the worn-out wooden bench to eat your lunch. Maybe if you can distract yourself enough, today’s recording session will fade quicker so that you can go home and start thinking about what you can do tomorrow to enjoy one of the very few free days on your schedule.

It’s then that all the missed messages and calls start coming in.

A couple of confused texts from your mother.

Half a billion texts and three missed calls from Bit-na.

An unexpected invitation to a group chat with Ryung-gu, Joon-woong, and Ryeon.

And then a link and a Let me know when I can call you by Joong-gil that somehow makes your heart jump up into your throat and almost choke on the last of his gimbap.

At first, you brush it off as just another dating scandal based on nothing, just like the one you barely had the time to confront yourself with when you first started working with Park Joong-gil. But then you force yourself to truly read and process the article’s words, and you jump back up to the title – RMT bassist Choi Joon-woong and solo singer Y/N dating.

There’s a picture of you and Joon-woong at the top of the page, and you recognize yourself from last night, when he drove the both of you to Jumadeung in his car. One unpondered decision and you end up trending online without even knowing.

That’s weird, you tell yourself – it’s just some random rumor, so why all this fuss in your messages? – until you scroll further down and read the statement the PR team of your agency released early that morning.

“We confirm that both our artists, Joon-woong and Y/N, are in the early stages of dating. We apologize to the fans who were surprised by this news, but ask for support as they grow together as a couple.”

You barely register the comments underneath the article and you definitely don’t dare open any of your social media apps because despite having muted notifications from anyone but the people close to you, seeing the drama that is most likely unfolding there will do your state of mind more harm than good.

“It’s all the agency’s doing,” is what Choi Joon-woong tells you through the speakers of your car as you’re headed to your agency’s building on the other side of the city, cruising through traffic at a faster speed than what your manager Ji-young would like.

You were supposed to have a chill night: order some food, and then sip on tea while watching that new drama you’ve been dying to start after Bit-na raved so much about it. Now it feels like you’re stuck in yet another bullet point on your schedule, written down on one of those colorful post-it notes Ji-young taught you to use.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You know you shouldn’t be mad at him – and you aren’t! Really! You probably won’t ever be, but there’s this turmoil in the pit of your stomach that makes you want to cry and scream and kick everything to the curb. Things were going well; you were opening up more; you found someone you realized you’d love to have by your side for however much time you’re given. And this feels like you’re being stabbed in your back by someone – something – you never thought would.

“It’s not that I didn’t,” Joon-woong replies with a sigh. You hear movement on his side of the line, hushed voices, and then a door clicking shut. “It’s that I couldn’t. When I woke up hungover this morning, the damage was already done. I’m at the agency now, I think you should—”

“Yeah, I’m coming as fast as I can.”

It’s nothing to worry about. No big deal at all. You spend the rest of those endless thirty minutes behind the wheel trying to convince yourself of that. But the truth is that all you can think about is Park Joong-gil. Last night with him. The food he left for you on your kitchen counter. That Let me know when I can call you in your text messages and to which you still haven’t replied.

The super in the hall of your agency’s building tries to stop you, or at least slow you down, when you march through the automatic doors, but you barely pay him any mind. Not him, and not the murmur that goes off when you get out of the elevator and walk down the corridor headed to the Public Relations office.

Everything inside you is just so deafening. Your heartbeat, your blood flow, all those thoughts pounding against the walls of your mind. You’ve had a few dating rumors to your name, but none has ever been confirmed, least of all by your own agency. It’s like you’ve been thrown a pair of dance shoes and now you’re expected to know how to ball dance out of the blue.

So blinded by all the worries swirling around in your head, you almost stumble backward when Ryung-gu catches you by your elbow mid-stride.

“Let’s not add a murder scandal to today’s list of nuisances,” he mutters into your ear as he steers you away and towards the meeting room.

“I was not—”

“Tell that to the secretary who was about to call security on you.”

“What? I have every right to be pissed off and demand explanations!” Everyone and their mother probably hear you all the way down the hall and to the elevators, but at the moment you don’t really care. You’ve kept your head down and worked hard ever since signing your exclusive contract, and never once complained about the mistreatment of your training years because you knew your hard work would eventually pay off.

“You won’t like what they have to say,” Joon-woong says when he pulls you into the meeting room.

Ryung-gu is quick to enter the room after you, and then Ryeon pushes the door shut before pressing herself against the privacy glass. The look on her face is apologetic, and the fact that you’ve never seen her this way confuses you even more. Your anger and annoyance quickly sizzle off of your shoulders and you’re left there, with Joon-woong’s hand still loosely wrapped around your right wrist, wondering whether you’re getting fired or used as a scapegoat before your career is finally sacrificed towards some obscure greater good.

“You should probably sit,” Ryeon says, forcing a smile and pointing at the nearest chair.

You do as you’re told, partly because you want this to be over with, and partly because all the what if’s crowding your thoughts won’t leave you alone otherwise – what if everything goes downhill. What if your friendship with Joon-woong gets tarnished. What if what you have with Joong-gil – and what you could have – goes to shit. What if the fans retaliate against you and your career becomes a horror story that will help make public relationships in the industry even more taboo.

Joon-woong sits down in the chair to your left, and Ryung-gu and Ryeon move to the other side of the table, away from the fury you might unleash. No one’s ever seen you truly mad, but nothing’s ever really happened to make you furious, so you reason they’d rather be safe than sorry.

“You know how your collab with the Park Joong-gil had a ripple effect that increased all of our sales,” Joon-woong starts, and you turn to look at him. He’s staring down at his hands on the metal surface of the table and suddenly it’s so clear in your mind, the reason why your agency and their PR team came up with that lie.

It’s always money, isn’t it?

“Everyone’s liked the two of you together since day one,” he continues.

“I’ve seen the shipping comments,” you interrupt. “Get to the point.”

The point is that everyone’s always hungry for something. Love. Money. Success. Fame. The macarons they sell in that tiny French bakery five minutes from your old house in Incheon. More juicy details about the private life of one of your idols, so that you can bask in the illusion of being able to get a peek behind the curtains that separate their public life from what goes on behind closed doors.

“Someone snapped a picture of us in the car going to Jumadeung last night, posted it online, and then rumors started coming up left and right. By the time the agency posted that statement early this morning, we had become the most searched names online.”

It’s almost like no one ever sleeps. Like they’re always watching you – through a spy cam installed inside a teddy bear you were gifted at a fan meet or behind the camera of some paparazzo.

“So what you’re trying to say is, they’re using us as a marketing strategy.” You look at Ryung-gu first, and then at Ryeon, and some of that anger comes back. It makes your fingertips tingle, and suddenly you’d rather be back in the recording booth, sobbing into the microphone because all you want to do now is tear wings off of fragile butterfly bodies.

Eventually, you turn to look at Joon-woong. He’s staring at you now, and he also does look more apologetic than you’ve ever seen him. You want to tell him it’s not his fault, that none of this is his doing, but then again would it really matter? This shitstorm didn’t only hit you; it also hit him, and that’s something you should keep in mind. You’re in this boat together and you should help each other steer it towards the nearest shore.

“They want us to play along for as long as we can,” he confirms. “I tried telling them we have our own personal stuff going on in our private lives, but they say it’s just part of the game. We signed with them, so now we have to keep on playing our part. The CEO saw the sales increase after your collab and your tour, and soon you’ll have your solo comeback, too. Our shows are also starting soon,” he adds, glancing at his bandmates.

“It’s bad to say, but we gotta ride the wave,” Ryung-gu grimaces.

Ryeon smiles. It feels genuine this time, although you see the look in her eyes. Distant, and glossed over, almost as though it’s trying to say that soon it’ll be over. “You should both hang in there. Play along until they say you can break up.”

“With a bit of luck, it’ll all fade away quickly,” Ryung-gu agrees.

You sigh, leaning your head forward and resting your forehead on the back of one hand. Maybe the idea of going to Jumadeung wasn’t that great, after all. Maybe you should’ve called Ji-young, asked her to take you there with your van – through the black tinted windows no one would have been able to snap any kind of picture.

“I know you said you and Joong-gil—”

You’re trying to shake your head without being too obvious, but when Joon-woong doesn’t pick up and starts mentioning last night’s conversation at Jumadeung, you lightly kick his foot under the table.

You want to say nothing’s been defined yet, but you also know that would be a lie. You and Joong-gil talked last night – probably not about everything you would have wanted, but definitely enough to know he’s yours and you’re his.

“Why—”

“If you’re worried about me,” Ryeon cuts in, stretching an arm out across the table and grabbing your hand, “it’s alright. I would have to be blind not to pick up on something going on between the two of you. I know he told you about us.” She shrugs. “Had we been meant to be, we would still be together, but that wasn’t in the books for us. I wanted things he couldn’t give, and he wanted things I couldn’t give. I’m glad he found the right match.”

*

You’re sitting behind the wheel of your car at a red light much later that night. After everyone with some importance in the agency sacrificed Joon-woong and the rest of the RMT to give you the heads up, the CEO, the legal advisor, and the PR and marketing teams walked in for a briefing meeting.

Do this. Do that. Make sure you’re seen out together. We already have brand gigs scheduled up for the two of you. This is gonna be the best year ever for us!

It shouldn’t be a surprise, you tell yourself, looking at the incoming traffic on the other lane. While you’re an employed worker there, you’re also one of their main money-makers. You produce music, and your music attracts fans, who, consequently, buy your merch, come to your concerts and shows, and are one of the reasons why you end up on TV or on the radio or get featured in YouTube videos uploaded by official channels.

You’ve always been money to them and it should have been expected that you’d always be.

It’s just that…

Your eyes well up with tears of annoyance, and you angrily wipe them away with the back of your hand.

It’s just so unfair. To you, and to Joon-woong, and everyone who’s going to fall for this stunt. To your mother, who’s going to want to know more, and to Joong-gil, who’s been living rent-free in your mind and then probably in your heart as well for so many months now.

You don’t even remember when you put that selfie you took with him as your phone’s wallpaper. No more paper butterflies in favor of a happy memory – you and the guy you’ve been crushing so hard on, making peace signs and grinning in your mother’s living room that one time you visited her and asked Joong-gil to come with you.

There’s no use in running away from his text message anymore. What puts your mind to rest is the knowledge that he’s in the exact same industry as you and that, if anything, he should be able to understand you and the situation you now find yourself in much better than many other people.

Without thinking too much about whether you should be doing it or not, you pull up his contact and press the call button.

He picks up on the second ring, just as the traffic light turns green and you can start moving again.

“Sorry it’s taken me the whole day to call you,” you blurt out before he even has the time to say a word. Now that you’re on a call with him, you worry he won’t want to listen to what you have to say. You worry that he might misread the situation, see stuff that really isn’t there, and hang up on you, never to be seen again.

Why do you worry so much about being wanted by him in more ways than one? Why do you want him to understand you and what you can’t yet say? You want to allow yourself to give an answer to those questions, but there’s a part of you, deep down inside, that just doesn’t want to risk ending up heartbroken.

“I turned my phone off because I was recording the new album’s tracks and when I saw the news, I went straight to my agency to see what the fu—” You cut yourself off. There’s no use getting pissed again, you realize with a sigh. “To see what was happening.”

“Are you alright?”

His question catches you off guard. Out of all the things he could have hit you with, he went with that.

“I’m…” You turn left at the intersection and then heave a sigh of relief when you see the metro station getting closer and closer, the sign that very soon you’ll be home. “I mean, I’m not that pissed anymore, but…”

“What’s going on?”

“They’re using me and Joon-woong as a marketing stunt,” you confess just as you turn into the underground garage of your condominium. There, you said it. It doesn’t feel as unbearable anymore, even though Joong-gil is dead silent at the other end of the phone call.

“So it’s not real?”

You frown. “Of course it’s not. I thought I made it clear last night?” It comes off as a question – you really did think you had been explicit enough, but then again, everything is subjective and he might have perceived it differently.

“Just making completely sure.” You don’t need to see him to hear the grin in his voice when he speaks this time, and it eases a weight off of your chest you didn’t even know had settled there. “Do you want to come over?”

You’re sincere when you reply, “I just got home. I think I’m too tired to drive around again right now.”

“Do you want me to  come over, then?”

Yes! You want to tell him that, but you also, “don’t wanna be selfish by asking you to come.”

“Script reading can wait. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Waiting for Joong-gil to ring at your doorbell gives you enough time to take a long shower to wash away any memory of butterflies, the recording session (that went smoothly, despite what you feared), and most importantly, the news that you’re – apparently – in a relationship with one of your closest friends. And it’s then, under the scalding hot stream of the shower, that Joong-gil’s words come crawling back and you realize he’s ditching work to come to see you.

It makes you feel a new kind of warm inside, like you have flowers blooming in your chest in a sudden bout of spring in the middle of October. It empties your mind completely and leaves you standing there, grinning at nothing but the mental picture of the man you are – again, apparently – head over heels for.

For a moment there’s no more fake dating Joon-woong, no more marketing stunts your agency’s employing to line its pockets with even more money, no more comments online talking about you or the picture someone snapped last night. There’s just you, in the shower, and then Joong-gil, and you realize – probably a moment too late, although it still shouldn’t come as a surprise – that your feelings have been growing even when you were trying to ignore them, and now they’re there, somewhere in your chest, in-between those flowers growing in your lungs and spreading down to your belly. And you have no clue what they mean, what they are, but you’re so grateful for them and for how alive they’re making you feel.

You’re on the phone with your mother – you reassure her that everything’s fine, that you will introduce Joon-woong to her, but that she has nothing to worry about and that no, nothing’s wrong between you and the ‘handsome man’ you introduced to her months ago – when you get a text from security making sure you indeed are waiting for someone.

“I will explain everything as soon as I can,” you promise her before bidding her goodnight.

Maybe if you could meet her in person, she would be able to reassure you that everything is going to be just fine and that there’s no need for your heart to beat this fast now that Park Joong-gil is riding the elevator to your floor. It’s like all of a sudden, those flower stems are constricting your airways, squeezing everything inside you like someone found a way to shove their fist into your chest.

You force yourself out of those mounting fears – what did the two of you talk about last night? What did you tell him, and what did he tell you? How clear were you? – and you open the entrance door just in time to see him step out of the elevator at the other end of the corridor.

He’s as gorgeous as ever, even when it’s clear that he’s simply thrown a jacket over his pajamas and put on the first pair of running shoes he found on the rack by his door before grabbing his helmet and heading down to his garage.

He strides up to you and for a moment he simply stands there, looking down into your eyes, his breathing short, almost as though he ran as much and as fast as he could before slipping into the elevator. When he doesn’t say anything, you want to ask him whether he is mad, and that’s exactly when you realize you actually are afraid he might be. You can take a lot of shit, but apparently, you can’t take Park Joong-gil being mad at you.

But then he’s enveloping you into a hug. He smells like the night, and his coat is cold against your cheek when you lean into him.  You want to stay here like this forever – or for however long that could be in real life and not just inside the fantasy world in your head – but then you think about the neighbor you share your floor with and how she could step outside at any given time. If another rumor came out of it, you don’t want to imagine what your agency might come up with. So, you wrap your arms tighter around Joong-gil and step back inside your apartment enough for him to be able to kick the door shut.

“Hey,” he whispers against the side of your face after another – apparently endless – moment of silence.

Your nodding into the crook of his neck makes him chuckle, and then his lips come down to your cheek to press a kiss into your skin that makes you sigh out loud.

Eventually, you let go of him long enough for him to be able to take his jacket and his shoes off before leading him straight to your bedroom. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show – or you’re just so dead set on spending time with him that you don’t notice. Only when you’re in the safety of your blankets and Joong-gil’s arms do you allow yourself to relax and gaze up at him.

“I’m so pissed,” you confess bluntly. Were he anyone else, his chuckle would worsen your annoyance, but he’s not just anyone and all you find yourself doing is hide your face in the crook of his neck like you just want to rest on him forever.

“I know,” he murmurs. You feel the ghost of a kiss against your hair, just before his arms tighten their embrace around you, pulling you closer to him and his scent. “I was planning the right way to ask you to be unofficially official, but your agency beat me to that.”

“I’ve always liked them and while of course I know they hired me so that we both could make money, I never would have im—” You stop in your tracks, frowning, your brain finally catching up with what he really said – not a they’re real pieces of shit but something entirely different. “You… What?”

You can’t look up at him. You simply look down at his chest, at how it rises and falls with every regular breath of his, and when you move your hand up higher, you feel his heartbeat underneath your fingers. Flowers and butterflies coexist in your belly, and you feel like you might explode in a billion, bright fireworks.

Joong-gil hums, one of his hands moving away from your back to join the one you have on his chest. His palm against the back of your hand, his fingers intertwine themselves with yours. “Yeah, I don’t see why we should wait.” His voice is low, not as stable as it usually is, and you feel his heart pick up its pace inside his chest. You wonder how fast your own is – and why it even is this fast in the first place when it’s been clear for a while how you feel even just about the thought of him. “We both like each other. We both want to spend time together. I can be yours, and you can be mine.”

You pause for a moment and draw your head back on his shoulder just enough to be able to look at him. There’s no trace of playfulness on his face; the smile that stretches on his lips looks just as genuine as ever. “Did you read the articles online? Did you understand when I said my agency is using me and Joon-woong for marketing?”

“I heard you loud and clear when you said the relationship was fake, yeah,” he grins. The fingers of his left hand play along the skin of your low back, underneath your pajama shirt, and his other hand comes up to cradle the side of your face. It makes you want to kiss him for hours on end, to let him take your breath away – just stay here with him and let your feelings blossom together. “You’re bound to fake-break up at some point.”

“You’d… make us official? Even when your agency’s against you dating?”

You want that. You want him. Life has no certainties and you try not to believe in absolutes, but you do know you don’t want him out of your life. You want to walk hand in hand with him until the end of the road, wherever and whenever that might be, even if sometimes it still does feel rushed.

“If you’d like that, too,” he hums, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “I told you I want to spend a long time with you. I meant it. Still do.”

You swat at his chest and your head finds its place back in the crook of his neck. He still feels you grinning against his skin, however, and it makes him laugh. But then you nod, and after pressing a light kiss against his neck, you say, “Let’s do it then.”

He maneuvers you so that you’re lying on your back and then he’s gazing down at you, one elbow by your head keeping his weight propped up. “Yeah?” His eyes stare into yours and you find yourself swallowing around nothing, looking up at him – he didn’t even need to kiss you to make you feel breathless.

“Yeah.”

“So can I be mean with Joon-woong for fake-dating my very real girlfriend?” He’s grinning, so you know he’s just joking, but it’s that last word that brings all the warmth to your face and then back down into your chest, until it’s seeping into every single fiber of your being.

It makes you chuckle. “Don’t you dare.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“No!” you laugh, trying to sit up, but then he gently pushes you back down. “He’s a good friend.”

“We’d better get matching rings so that he doesn’t get the wrong ideas, then.”

You exclaim his name, laughing at his antics, at how playful he feels right at this moment. It’s another one of those shards of him that seeps into your heart and your soul, like you know you’ll want to remember this moment for a very, very long time. “Can’t believe you’re jealous,” you grin, both of your hands coming up to cup his face before pulling him down low enough for you to peck his lips.

“I’m not jealous,” he shrugs, “just a bit territorial,” he corrects, bumping his nose into yours.

You chuckle, and it’s almost right against his lips. “Didn’t you have a script to read?”

“Nah, I think I’m just gonna spend the night with my girlfriend,” he says before kissing you. His tongue slips into your mouth when you gasp at the feeling of his touch between your legs. “Can I?”

You nod, lifting your butt for a moment to allow him to take your pajama pants off. “I feel like I’ll never survive till my schedule’s clear,” you breathe, voice unsteady, when he positions himself between your legs with a grin on his face.

“Do I have that effect on you?” He wraps one of your legs around his waist, and with how close he is to your core, you can feel his cock growing harder right against you. When you let out a soft moan, he grabs your other leg just to bring it up as well. “Do I make you lose your mind as well?” he asks, fully confident, rocking his hips against yours.

“Fuck, yes,” you whisper, cupping his face to bring him in for a kiss.

You could barely recount how you went from that to Joong-gil lying on his stomach between your legs, three fingers knuckle-deep inside your quivering pussy, his own hips slowly rutting into the mattress, as he brings you closer and closer to your third orgasm. You know for a fact that he’s come once already as well, untouched, and even just trying to guess in what amount you affect him makes you clench around his fingers as he sucks on your clit.

He grunts into you when you tug on his hair, after a brush against a particular spot inside you makes your oversensitivity spike through the roof.

“I’m gonna come,” you whisper, barely able to put the ceiling of your bedroom into focus as all you can think about is being filled by something other than his fingers. Even just the thought that his couple ring is coated in your slick is making your head spin and the knot in your abdomen tighten.

“I’ve got you,” is all he says before flicking the underside of your clit and pressing a wet kiss just below your navel.

His fingers curl up, tips pressing right into that spongy spot that makes your synapses lighten up that tad bit more, and then he’s back to teasing your clitoris until you come again, making a mess of his face and the sheets below you.

You’re still shivering when he comes up to kiss you, and your own taste on his tongue makes you whine into his mouth as your legs wrap around his waist. He hisses when his clothed erection comes into contact with your throbbing, wet core, but then he’s rutting into you as you make out and everything else vanishes, drown out by his moans and whimpers and gasps against your lips and the sparks flying underneath your skin.

*

Once you manage to swallow the sense of guilt you feel at faking something in front of everyone just for the sake of your agency’s revenue, it’s not that hard to play the part. You carry out the even more extra gigs both your and Joon-woong’s team take on, and you make sure the two of you are caught by paps when you’re out on fake dates or simply moving from one place to the other with either of your cars.

If you were busy before, you’re a little busier now.

After some additional recording for your album, you have to sit down at your kitchen table to answer the questions of a written interview they sent to your manager Ji-young all the way from the States.

After a day spent rehearsing your new choreographies – and after a day spent practicing for his comeback with Ryung-gu and Ryeon – you and Joon-woong have to take a stroll by the Han River, hand in hand, doing your best not to fall asleep on your feet.

It’s like working overtime in a period when you’re already putting in extra hours, but the agency’s proud of how the both of you are handling the hot potato they threw at your faces. They’re happy with how much popularity they are getting and how far up the charts both you and the RMT group are climbing. Not only that; the two of you have become a hot topic and it’s become hard to go anywhere online without seeing either or both of your names trending.

That’s how your mother and Bit-na find you when they drag themselves to Seoul at the end of October: an overanalyzed talk of the town.

“This feels like something that’d happen only in dramas!” Bit-na gasps after you finish filling her in on this charade you and your friend Joon-woong are playing. “Can they really do that?”

You shrug your shoulders. “No clue. But it’s only temporary, so Joon-woong and I are cooperating. We’ll probably break this off sometime after his comeback.”

From where you’re sitting on the couch, you can feel your mother’s gaze on you from where she’s standing in the kitchen, making the three of you soup. She’s been quiet all day – with her bad motion sickness, she’s never been particularly fond of long car drives, and she’s also been privy to this whole story since it started almost three weeks ago.

Bit-na’s playing with one of your butterflies while inspecting every single one of the ornaments on your shelves after having spent years looking at them through the screen of her computer. The tiny lighthouse she sent you as a gift for your debut is still there and you change its batteries every time they run out. You see her pick it up for a moment just as you get up to walk up to her.

“I didn’t think you still had this,” she mutters when you come to a stop by her side.

A chuckle slips past your lips and you carefully take the paper butterfly from her hands before replying, “why not? It’s a reminder there’s always a light in my life.”

“We’ve been friends for ages, don’t start making me tear up now,” Bit-na whines, pushing your shoulder and muttering an o my gosh underneath her breath before linking her arm with yours. “You know, I think you’re brave for doing this.”

“Doing what?” You glance at her side profile as she’s still focused on that tiny lighthouse. You think of her as one: always guiding you in the right direction when you’re lost in the fog and the darkness.

“Whatever they tell you to do.” She shrugs and then turns with a smirk, “or for wearing matching rings with a different guy from the one everybody believes you to be dating.”

There’s no concealing the grin that grows on your face, and you have to turn the other way to not let her see you beaming like that.

“When did he give it to you?” she asks from behind you, leaning her chin on your shoulder.

You tell her how you got those rings, after how clear Joong-gil made it that you’re now an item while still not breaking the rules of that little game you’ve been playing since that dinner date – although there’s really no need for Bit-na to know what transpired that night in your bed. Joon-woong made it clear that he doesn’t want to hinder your relationship with Joong-gil, and after a long discussion on this new marketing project carrying your faces, the three of you came to the conclusion that fuck it. If it comes out – that you and Park Joong-gil are seeing each other, that is – you’ll be able to pin the scandal to your agency wanting to control your lives even more and while that’s simply wishful thinking, you still did go to an actual jewelry store to handpick your couple rings. Maybe in the silly hope that someone would catch you, or that magically you and your friend would be able to go back to your normal.

Telling someone the truth about your phantom relationship with Choi Joon-woong really does end up serving its purpose of lifting a weight off of your chest, even when that someone is just your mother and your best friend from back home. It doesn’t make that feeling of being a fraud go away completely, but it does make it lighter to bear as you sit in the VIP section of the RMT’s first comeback show.

While you’ve always been a fan of theirs, this is mainly all for show, but no one has to know it, right? The people that matter already do: Ryeon and Ryung-gu are in on the secret, and Joong-gil has been wearing his matching ring ever since you gave it to him despite the fact that no one seems to have picked up on it yet. It feels like doing your best while still half-assing your way through an assignment at the same time: you’ll be on a video call with Joong-gil once you’re back home, while everyone else will be busy talking about the new pictures of you and Joon-woong tomorrow morning – and you know Bit-na will do a better job than your PR team at giving you a summary of what’s going on online about your relationship.

Things get louder in the audience when Joon-woong turns in your general direction during his ending fairy and shoots you a finger heart. It’s something Ryeon jokingly proposed a few days ago, while the four of you were chilling in Ryung-gu’s apartment watching the first episode of Tomorrow, that new show you and Joon-woong recorded those songs for – “Send Y/N a heart or something when the cameras zoom in on you,” but no one had really been serious about it.

Pictures of Joon-woong’s finger heart and of your reaction are everywhere when the shooting for your new music video comes to an end the day after and you finally get the chance to sit down in your van for a sip of water. You don’t even know why he’s apologizing in your chat for going through that playful plan when that’s exactly the kind of shit your agency wants in order to keep your names trending and their revenue coming in. You’re both in this together and as long as your higher-ups are going to keep the music going, both you and Joon-woong will have to keep on dancing.

“It makes me feel like shit that they’re forcing us to go through with this,” he says when you pick up his call. It’s sort of like a reversed repeat of your call with Joong-gil, when your agency’s statement came out and you spent half a day at the office being briefed on and fighting against this new plan of theirs. “I don’t have anything going on but you do, and I really don’t wanna ruin our friendship. What if this whole thing ends up straining it?”

Neither of you wants to worry out loud about something much scarier – what’s going to happen once you call this fake relationship off? What if the truth comes out and the public finds out it’s all been a play since the beginning? Despite it not being your fault, you still played your part, and the mere idea of losing everything the both of you have worked so hard and so many years for makes you nauseous.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you try to reassure him, even though all those other concerns are still swirling around in your mind. “Everyone involved knows it’s all play pretend. And you also have feelings, so don’t only think about mine. Soon enough this will be over and—”

“I hope that day hurries up. If I have to kiss you for the cameras one more time, I swear I…” You hear him gag at the other end of the call, even when his words make you burst out laughing.

“Am I that bad of a kisser?”

“It’s almost like kissing my own sister and that’s not something I’d ever wanna do!”

More kissing has to happen to keep your agency fed, however. It’s like some new weird fetish for them: after the first peck on the lips you and Joon-woong exchanged while out on a walk after they told you to get back to number one in the trending charts after Joong-gil’s cameo in the new show Tomorrow dethroned you, it seems like that’s all they want to see online now. You both try to seem as genuine as possible when doing it, but it’s hard to swallow down how weird it feels, to be kissing someone you’ve pretty much spent a considerable part of your life growing up with and with no feelings whatsoever attached.

What keeps you going is the knowledge that it’ll be over soon – and maybe in the future, when your contract expires, you’ll be able to consider signing under another label in the hopes that they’d never use you like this.

However, the RMT’s comeback stages come and go, and there’s no sign that your agency will let you call this off. Even when your schedule clears and that mid-November you’ve been so ardently awaiting comes around, you and Joon-woong have a photoshoot for a brand publicizing couple apparel – matching clothes, matching jewelry, and a pair of matching rings dangerously similar to the ones you and Park Joong-gil have been seen wearing despite no connection having been made, strangely enough. It has still presented itself as an excuse for Joon-woong to start wearing one on a chain necklace around his neck, in case rumors came out before anyone was really ready to face the backlash.

Both of you wonder when that fateful day will come.

You’re together late at night, on your very last day of work before your break. You’ve been planning on going back to Busan – back home – for a while now. That tug-o-war game between the idea of going back and the prospect of staying in your Seoul apartment finally reached its final round when, two days ago, you finally booked your ticket. It’s about time you do this; it’s about time you go back home, to your mother – and to visit your father’s grave on the anniversary of his passing.

“Maybe after our tour is over…” Joon-woong sighs, pulling you out of your thoughts and pushing your backpack into the luggage rack of the train that will take you back home.

You’re both dressed so that no one will recognize you, and the fact that probably not many other people will travel first class on the last train of the day makes you heave a sigh of relief. “I sure hope so. I feel bad for everyone who’s fallen for this…”

Joon-woong nods. “Yeah, I hope this won’t end up biting us in the ass.”

Outside the train, a female voice announces the express train to Busan will leave in fifteen minutes, and for a moment everything else is silent.

Imagine we’re going on an adventure, you hear your father say. You’re seven years old, wearing a yellow coat that matches your varnish little shoes and a fluffy bunny backpack, your tiny hand holding tight onto your father’s index finger as your mother’s just a little further away, buying gimbap for you to eat on your first train ride. We get on the train here and we get off alllll the way at the other end of the country tomorrow morning.

Part of you – the version of you who will forever be seven years old – is still there, on the platform, and your father is crouched down next to you, pointing out a pigeon or that one old lady with the bright bouquet of bluebells sitting all alone on a bench. And the adult version of you is standing there, looking back on the memory like it’s a video clip on your computer, but a thousand times more vivid, a thousand times more real. You hear the chatter of the passengers waiting for their rides, the screeching of a train’s brakes, and your father’s coat still smells of laundry detergent and that wooden scent that’s always been him.

Suddenly, Joon-woong’s hand is on your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Did tomorrow really have to come? Did you really have to wake up in Busan, in your mother’s embrace, and start a new life there?

“I’m fine.” But there’s this big, thorny lump in the back of your throat, and the butterfly on your wrist is pulling your whole right arm down, tugging and tugging like you used to tug on your father’s hand – to run on the beach, to show him something that caught your attention, to bring him out of his endless work.

“Are you sure?” You meet Joon-woong’s eyes and you’re this close to tearing up. When you went home last time, a few months ago, the world didn’t feel this heavy and constricting – was it the excitement of the end of the world tour? Was it Park Joong-gil’s hand in yours? Was it the fact that it was just a random day? “It’s probably not too late for me to get a ticket to come with you.”

The female voice over the speakers announces five more minutes until departure.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, plastering the best smile you can manage on your face and squeezing his hand. After the endless schedule he and his group mates just came out of, this is just for you to bear. “I’ll close my eyes and wake up in Busan. I’ll text when I’m there, okay?”

Joon-woong lets you go reluctantly, almost as though the part of him that wants to stay with you and avoid you going on your own just had a fight with the part of him that respects your will and lost. He waves at you from the platform when the train starts moving and doesn’t stop until you’re out of sight, and you do the same.

A tear breaches the dam of your lashes and trickles down your cheekbone and into the black face mask you’re wearing.

Is it Joon-woong waving goodbye to you that is making you cry? Or is it the memory of a pre-adolescent Y/N, staring wide-eyed at your father on a stainless-steel table as your mother wails on her knees?

Fifteen years pass in the blink of an eye, and when you look back, you have no clue what even happened in that span of time. What were you doing at fifteen? What were you doing at eighteen? Where were you when midnight struck on the first of January and you turned twenty with your friend Bit-na on the phone?

Fifteen years pass in the blink of an eye, and it’s overwhelming, how these emotions feel as they resurface within you, turning your stomach upside down, inside out. Did you not process them? What gives them the right to come back barreling in full force right now, when you’re moving forward one step at a time?

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing those painful tears to crawl back where they came from, but that simply makes swallowing that tad bit harder. Your hands ball up into fists on your lap.

When the train makes its first stop, you have half a mind to grab your backpack and get off the train, call a cab and go back to Seoul, crawl into your shower and sit there. But before you can give it too much thought, you doze off for a minute. Be it the exhaustion of the day or your body catching up with the fact that now you’re off the hook, you find yourself slipping into unconsciousness.

It’s just black, no pictures play out a dream in your mind. It’s just black and voices, first off in the distance and then closer and closer, until you can recognize the voice you had when you were six.

Daddy! Daddy! Look at this one – you’re giggling. You have no need for a clear dream to replay that day in your mind because your subconscious has memorized every single detail about it already. It’s the sixth of October: that day your mother dressed you in your favorite floral sweater over jean overalls before dropping you and your father off at the Butterfly Park on her way to work. You had your bunny backpack on, one hand wrapped securely in your father’s, braids that touched your shoulders, and a chubby little finger pointing at the caterpillar in the glass window. So big and striped!

Do you like it? – he’s beaming. You don’t need to see him now to remember the way he looked that day behind his reading glasses. He was reading on his guide what to that little kid felt like fascinating gibberish. He had this gift to himself: he could make anything sound like the most interesting thing, whether it was a fairytale or the air conditioner’s handbook, that one time he had to fix it during a heatwave.

He reads and reads, telling you everything about that one specific caterpillar you had pointed out in your childlike fascination, and then repeats his question. Do you like it?

The sound you make is everything between a yes, a no, a maybe, and an it’s really a funny little creature and I’m also a funny little creature, so how can I tell?

Then, there’s light. It’s as small as a pinhead, but it’s there, and it feels like it’s swirling with colors and sounds and emotions.

This is where butterflies come from – he’s picking you up. You still feel the ghost of his touch as he picks you up in his arms – the present-day you, and the six-year-old you at the Incheon Butterfly Park, with her bunny backpack and her tiny little braids and her jean overalls, eyes big and round as she looks at the pictures he’s showing her.

Worms, Daddy?

Caterpillars.

But how? You hear your surprised gasp. Your tiny arm wraps around the back of his neck, and with your tiny hand on his throat you can feel the vibrations of his voice when he speaks.

They live and grow and when they’re ready, they build themselves a cocoon.

Like when you put me to sleep? You always say you’re making a cocoon for me!

Exactly like when I put you to sleep – and he laughs. You realize now, in this dream-memory of sorts, that that’s one of the things you’ve missed the most about him. His voice, and the way he’d laugh. They also go to sleep in that cocoon. And then, while they’re sleeping, they go through a metamorphosis – and he says that word with emphasis, because he’s also always wanted for you to have your own. And when they wake up and they get out of their cocoons…

They’re butterflies!

They’re butterflies, indeed, Buttercup.

Will I also be a butterfly one day, Daddy? When I grow up enough?

You already are my butterfly – his smile was blinding that day and as you start to stir from unconsciousness now, you can feel tears prickling at your eyes, behind closed eyelids, because that little kid really did think she’d have her whole life with her daddy. My pretty yellow buttercup, just like this one.

It’s flitting about before your eyes, when you open them and a tear trickles down. It’s the same yellow buttercup your father showed you that morning, behind the glass of the window preventing you from touching the butterflies – or preventing them from flying away. You see it land on the headrest of the seat in front of yours like you’re on its side of the window cage, staring out at the reflection of what you and your father used to look like when you were six and he still seemed happy.

Then you blink and the last tendrils of slumber retreat. The butterfly, six-year-old you, and your father disappear.

You sit there for a long moment, chest heavy and throat closing up, and you wonder what would happen if you could go back in time, to that day, and relive every single day that came after with the knowledge you have now. Would things be different? Or would you still be on this very train, going back to your mother only?

You fidget for a moment – only inside though, it’s like your body can’t really move. What if you do and then you break? Or is this your cocoon, and you’re going through your own metamorphosis, waiting to become a different version of yourself once you make your way out of it? What colors will you have then? How high will you fly?

[9:58 PM] joong-gil 💗: have a safe trip. Call me when you’re home no matter the time x

Joong-gil called you before you left your apartment. He wanted to wish you a safe trip, but that didn’t stop him from also sending you that message – and from putting a smile on your face. He wanted to wish you a safe trip – and hear your voice, and make sure you were alright. He’s not the only one who knows you’re going back to Busan because of your father, but he’s definitely the one that knows the most about him out of the few close people you have in Seoul.

You debated asking him to come with you like you did last time, but then you backed out of it because you didn’t want to tear him away from his life the way you did the night he was supposed to go over his script. Now, in your heart, it feels like you shouldn’t have hesitated. It feels like you should have asked him – to hell with your agency and their marketing stunt, to hell with the way they’re using you and Joon-woong, to hell with everything else. Because there’s this sudden realization hitting you straight in the face like a fist that goes down your throat to grip and twist your insides: it’s the first time you’re going back home alone. No Joong-gil, no Ji-young, no accompanying Bit-na back home after she’s spent a week at your place in Seoul. It’s just you, and your backpack (not a bunny one), and all these feelings reawakening inside you like a beast rearing its head after a long slumber.

What is it about anniversaries that is so hard to swallow?

Your fingers hesitate on the screen of your phone. You enter and exit the messaging app, glimpses of your chat with Park Joong-gil and of the picture of the two of you that’s become your wallpaper. Glimpses of a memory that won’t mutate and glimpses of a conversation that can still go on – and back, and a billion other directions.

[2:37 AM] you: i wish i

[2:37 AM] you: …

[2:39 AM] you: are you sleeping?

[2:39 AM] you: …

[2:42 AM] you: what would hap

[2:42 AM] you: …

You type and delete, type and delete.

Your mother is offline when you leave your chat with Joong-gil and check. Of course she’s asleep, it couldn’t be any other way. She said she’d pick you up from the station when you’d get there, but you also know that after her shift at the hospital she should be recharging her batteries now.

You check on Bit-na. She’s changed her profile picture from a selfie of herself to one with a man, probably the Seung-min she mentioned when she came over, that one chef she’s met through a friend of a friend and that seems to be a really excellent and sweet guy.

Your father was a really excellent and sweet guy, too. He comes back full force, and you’re left there, wondering.

Is Bit-na really happy?

Is Seung-min?

Is your mother?

Is Joong-gil?

Are… you?

[3:01 AM] you: i thought i could do this on my own, but it’s so very hard. it hasn’t been just my mom and i in so long. i feel like i’m tearing apart at the seams

You send him that. He – Park Joong-gil. You send him that, after much debating, even more deleting and retyping, after wondering whether this is a burden you have the right to share with him. He is yours and you are his, but is everything else, too? Is that what it means, to love someone?

Your phone is almost back in your pocket – Joong-gil is sleeping, he won’t reply, he’ll text something back tomorrow morning – when you feel it vibrate longer than it would with an incoming text.

It’s a phone call.

You quickly glance around your coach and only spot an old man at the other end, snoring lightly, deeply asleep. You glance around even if you don’t have a mind to pick up the call, but then you think about your father. What if he had called before taking his life? Would things have gone differently had he done that, had someone picked up the phone?

You shake your head.

JOONG-GIL 💗 flashes before your eyes, on the lit screen of your phone.

“Are you alright? Where are you?” is what he says when you bring your phone to your ear. The fact that it’s him – him, and his deep, reassuring voice, and the fact that he’s up at three in the morning, and that he’s there, on the other side of the call – is like a bucket of cold water soothing every itch and every ache.

“On the train,” you murmur back, careful not to be too loud even though it’s just you and that old man, and a whole empty carriage between the two of you. “I..” Your throat closes up and your vision blurs. You feel scattered all over the place – Incheon, the Butterfly Park, Busan, your house, the beach, your mother’s hospital and your father’s office. Pieces here and there, hidden away from your memories, and it’s like you should retrieve them to be able to go forward at the same speed of this train you’re on, but they’re so many you have no clue where to start. “I dreamed about my father. And… butterflies.” Your voice breaks on that last word, and you wish Joong-gil were there, and that you were in his arms, sheltered away from the rest of the world.

His exhale at the other end of the line tickles your eardrum. “I wanted to come with you,” he confesses after a moment, “but I didn’t want to impose myself.”

“I wish I had asked you to come,” you confess in turn. The landscape flies by outside the train window and you wish you were going in the opposite direction so that you could come back when you’d be ready.

“You can ask me now, and I will be there as soon as I can.”

Seconds tick by.

The train stops at a station. A few sleepy passengers get off, luggage in hand, but for the rest, the place is deserted.

You think it over, again and again, wondering whether you have a right to. “Can you come to me?” you breathe out, and then, on the next inhale, hold the air in, waiting for his reply. You’re hit by the realization that you want him to say yes – and that you want him to stay. Not just at your house in Busan, but by your side. Today, and tomorrow, and the day after. If you could always have a tomorrow with him, you’d be happy. As light as a butterfly, as bright as a buttercup.

“Of course I can.” You hear his smile. It’s like with your father in that dream: you didn’t need pictures to know how his face would move, what his expressions would morph into.

“And can you… stay on the line?” you ask, clutching onto your phone like a lifeline. “For a little bit longer?”

*

It’s silent, at home with your mom.

The pale light of dawn seeps in through the lace curtains of the kitchen. It’s like the ghost of a caress on the skin, so very distant, like a memory fighting to come back to the surface once more. Goosebumps awaken on your skin as you look at your mother falling asleep on the yo she laid out in the living.

Sometimes you wish you could be in her head, read her thoughts, or that you could both open up more. Talk about what happened without a ball of tears and regrets and sorrow forming in your throat. It would be the very best thing after watching both your mother and father sleep on that yo, together, gently kissed by the light of a new day rising above the ocean.

You’re quiet when you get up and even quieter when you wash the mugs you used to drink tea to warm up after the biting cold that welcomed you at the train station. When you’re done in the kitchen, you pad back to your mother and lie down next to her.

Her breathing is soft and even. The expression wrinkles on her face have softened, and you look at the way her eyes slowly dance behind her closed eyelids.

Is she her own caterpillar? Is she wrapped up in her own cocoon, under those floral blankets, waiting to turn into a butterfly?

Is that what comes next?

Did your father become one?

You glance down at your wrist, at that red outline of a butterfly, and there’s this tiny voice at the back of your mind – six-year-old you stuck inside the Butterfly Park, maybe? – that whispers back, yes, yes, he’s become the prettiest of them all.

She stirs in her sleep, your mother, when you gently push away those stray hairs from her face, but she doesn’t wake up. You notice the first gray hairs, poking out here and there on her head, even though her face looks as young as ever, so different from the version of her that picked you up this morning.

Is that how much tomorrow struck her, when it finally came?

You wake up a short time later, without having even realized you were on the verge of dozing off yourself.

Once, twice, you blink the sleep out of your eyes. You’re lying on your right side, facing the French window that opens onto what’s left of the backyard vegetable garden and the empty flower beds.

It takes you a while to come back to planet Earth, and a little bit longer to realize your phone is vibrating next to your head.

“Hello?” you ask without checking the caller’s ID. With your voice so groggy and laced with sleep, much lower than it usually is, it’s no wonder Joong-gil manages to figure out,

“Were you asleep? Did I wake you up?”

“No, I was already awake.” Your free hand shoots up to shield a yawn but it’s a second too late, even when you sit up and yawn a second time. Your gaze flits around the room, your left ear straining to try and pick up eventual sounds, but a look at the clock hanging above the television – a little past seven – and you realize your mother must have already left for work. “Are you still driving?”

“I’m about to pull up at your house,” he replies, and this time, a bit more awake, you pick up the faint notes of the music in the background. It sounds familiar, something you’re sure you’ve already heard even though you’re unable to fully discern it right now.

A gasp of surprise slips past your lips before you can hold it back, and then you’re shooting up to your feet, almost tripping in the tangled-up blanket. “I’ll wait at the door!”

The first thought that goes through your mind when you’re finally in his arms is, you smell like home. It’s sudden and not something you can really explain, but it still feels so raw, in a way. Like you’ve been stripped bare and he’s there, anchor and shield and lifejacket, and probably – definitely – so much more.

You breathe him in like you haven’t seen him in forever, and he lets you pull him in – closer, tighter, pulling at the wooly sweater under his puffer jacket, desperately clawing at his back, and desperately swallowing the tears back down. You’re strong enough, though, to stop yourself from crying.

It’s a different story one hour later, when he takes you to the cemetery.

You’re standing in front of the display case with the urn with your father’s ashes. There’s a picture of the three of you – your mother, ten-year-old you, and your father on the beach. All smiling at the camera, and it’s incredible how much pain you can hide behind a simple thing. You just show a glimpse of your teeth, and everything seems fine. Your mother’s crinkled eyes and a flower in her hair; you and your braces and those two stitched on your cheekbone from when you tripped right outside your ballet school; your father’s glasses, askew over the bridge of his nose, and his arms wrapped around the girls of his life.

“I missed you,” you blurt out, trying not to shake even though everything inside you is clenching up. You have no clue when the last time you showed up here was, always overwhelmed by his loss, and by life with just your mother, and your job, someone else’s dream that slowly but surely has become your own.

If you sing loud enough, will he hear your voice? Will he see you? Will he come back?

“I miss you.”

You’re not even really aware of Park Joong-gil standing a few steps behind you. Looking at you. Looking at your father’s urn, at your father’s picture, at the tiny bouquet you pasted to the glass. Looking at you looking at all that, taking it in like it’s something that is ripping you apart.

And it is.

The pain you thought you had overcome – the pain you always manage to ignore while in Seoul – hits you out of nowhere, from each and every direction. It pulls you under like a wave; it shoots you up into the sky like a rocket. Pain and memories play a game of tug-o-war with you – your body and your mind and your soul.

Just as you were strong enough not to cry in Joong-gil’s arms earlier, you’re strong enough to cry now. The words you’d like to tell your father – whisper, and speak, and yell – die on your tongue, on your sobs, as you crouch down under the weight of a yesterday with him, a today with his ashes, and a tomorrow that’s so shrouded in fog you’re not able to see through it.

It takes your body endless minutes for you to register Joong-gil’s arms around you – strong and secure, pulling you back into his chest like you can let go for a moment and lean everything on him. His face is in the crook of your neck, gently whispering things you can’t really hear over the sound of your sobs and the blood in your ears.

“I told myself I wouldn’t cry,” you manage to say at some point, blinded by the tears, barely aware of the fact that you’re now sitting on the cold tiles of the floor, between Joong-gil’s legs, instead of still being squatted down. “But I can’t.”

He lets you cry it out. He lets you tug at his hands when you silently beg him to hold you closer so that you can feel something else other than this emptiness and this pain, like your own cocoon of sorts.

And he sits there with you through it all, until the tears die out and you’re resting back against him, the back of your head leaning against his shoulder as you look up at the small bouquet you bought for your father from the floor. His lips are by your temple, the ghost of a touch that does more at calming you down than any amount of words ever could.

“How are you really?” is the first thing you ask, voice sore and throat tender. You’re still looking up at those flowers, breathing through your mouth, and while your heart is still beating fast, it’s not desperately galloping in your chest anymore.

“Hmm?” His hum reverberates in his chest and into yours, and he tugs you a little closer.

You swallow – saliva or another lump of tears or simple sadness, you don’t know. “My father always seemed so happy, but then he took his life. He wore a mask for so long and we didn’t see it. And we couldn’t do anything. We never asked.” You tilt your head slightly to the side, taking one deep breath after the other. “So, how are you really?”

He thinks for a while – or that’s your own interpretation of it. And the silence is a nice caress on the heated skin of your face, where the cold of the weather is making what’s left of your tears bite. “I’m… okay. I’m so in love with you that being powerless now tears my heart out of my chest.”

When he asks your same question back, it takes you a while for you to give him an answer, to make order among your feelings and your thoughts and your memories. To lighten your heavy heart and call back your soul.

You tell him about your father, and your mother, and how overcome your job makes you feel, like you’re constantly wandering without going anywhere or like you’re going in too many directions at once without finding your place. You tell him about Bit-na, and how sometimes you wish you were her, teaching little kids ballet and being free to date her Seung-min without having to worry what anyone but her parents think of her and of him and of them together. You tell him about Joon-woong, so sweet and dear, caught up in this web of lies just because your agency wants more money.

And you tell him about yourself. About six-year-old you, her bunny backpack, her twin braids, looking at butterflies with her Daddy. About the tooth you chipped in your Incheon home or all the times you used to run on the beach after moving to Busan.

And then you tell him how you feel – that you don’t know, but that you know you want to love him more than you love everything else because he feels right. And like home. And that your dad would have really loved him, with his deep voice and how he plays the piano, and because that one night he made all of his daughter’s favorite foods, and because he makes her feel happier than she’s ever been in a long time.

When you eventually get off the floor and walk outside, it’s snowing finely.

“If we were normal people, what would you do?”

“I’d love you openly.”

*

Your mother ends up insisting for Joong-gil to stay at your place again. Having someone around is nice, she says, putting even more rice into his bowl than she normally would for herself, after commemorating her husband’s death.

You really don’t want to say it out loud, but it’s clear on her face: how happy she is that Joong-gil is here. Not just simply in her home, but in your – her daughter’s – life. It’s like life is light again, whether that’s for just a moment or whether that’s something that’s here to stay.

When you wake up the next morning, still wrapped up in Joong-gil’s arms on the yo in the living room, you’re barely able to read Joon-woong’s text before you see the pictures someone must have taken of you and Joong-gil at the cemetery.

[6:53 AM] joon-woongie: i hope you’re doing alright, with everything but especially with the anniversary of your dad’s passing 🫂 i’m sorry someone took pictures, but don’t let the agency get to you. i’m on your side and we can both bite back together!

“What are you doing up already?” Joong-gil’s morning voice is a nice combination of groggy and soothing, even more when those words are muttered into the crook of your neck.

“Someone took pictures of us during my breakdown,” you whisper back, eyes glued to your figure crouched on the floor, head on your knees, and Joong-gil kneeling down behind you. The way he held you. The way he pulled your hair away from your face. You didn’t even know he had kissed the side of your head, and that’s the only thing you’re grateful for those pictures because that new knowledge really does make you feel warm inside. “I’m really sorry. Your agency will probably give you hell.”

“Hell is playing by your agency’s lie of you and Joon-woong dating,” he exhales, making you turn in his arms and taking your phone from your hands just when it starts to ring. “I want to be with you. I’ve wanted to be with you for a long time now. I don’t want to have to hide our us just because I’m afraid of what might or might not happen tomorrow. I don’t want a tomorrow where we’re not together because of the rest of the world.”

Your smile turns into a grin, and soon you’re beaming. You haven’t beamed this bright in fuck knows how long, and it feels good. It feels great, even, and you want to continue feeling like this. Today, and tomorrow, and the day after. “Is that your confession to me?”

“I’d confess to you every single day, with every single breath I take,” he grins. “Call Joon-woong. I can handle anything they’ll throw at us.”

When you pick back up your phone, however, it’s your agency calling.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Wow, kudos to you for reading this far! 😅💕

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