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i-cant-sing · 1 year

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Yandere Royal Gay AU pt 8

Part 7 is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more.

You didn't want to open your eyes.

You had woken up a while ago and realised you were back home when you heard your father's voice. He was singing to you, more humming than actually saying the words but... you recognised the lullaby. It was something he used to hum to you when you were sick or couldn't sleep as a child.

It was incredibly personal, one of the few memories that you cherished with him.

So why did he have to do it in front of Keigo?

It took every fibre in your being to not get up and strangle him while pulling his eyeballs out.

"You have a soothing voice." Keigo whispered from your side, brushing your hair with his hand, while you clawed the sheets from under the covers.

Dabi smiled, feeling perfectly content now that he had his most precious treasures in front of him, safe and sound. "How are you feeling now? Do your wings still hurt?"

"Not as much. Emperor Kai's healers did their magic. I'll be flying again in no time." Keigo sighed as he looked at you. "Its her I'm more worried about, Dabi."

"Why? Kai already healed any minor injuries she had-"

"Physically, yes, she's healed. But what about mentally?"

"What about it?" Dabi pushed, eyes narrowing. Keigo sat up straighter. "Dabi, regardless of what AFO did or that you saved her-" "we saved her, Keigo." "- right. Regardless, she... she will be affected by all of it. That was her mother's homeland, her people, and AFO was her grandfather. You and I both know Y/n isnt one to just- just hate anyone or hold grudges. She'll be crushed by AFO's death, or all those villagers deaths. I mean, you did see how she reacted to Tomura's death-"

"That's enough." Dabi snapped, voice barely containing the rage he felt. "You will never speak of those names again, Keigo. What happened to them, what I did to them- it was a kindness! A mercy compared to the punishment that they deserved and would've gotten if it weren't for Y/n being there."

"But Y/n-"

"We will take care of Y/n. You and me, together will help her forget about those traitorous bastards and everything will return to normal." Dabi closed his eyes, pausing before opening them again. "We are all that she needs, Keigo. Now more than ever."

The blonde smiled softly before moving off the bed and over to Dabi, the latter gently pulling the blonde into his lap, hands cautiously settling on the base of his wings.

"I never doubt you, Dabi." Keigo whispered as he kissed him. "I trust you with my life, and Y/n's." Dabi smiled against his lips. He adored how protective Keigo was over you, and he's the only one who is allowed to be possessive over you.

"I know, love." Dabi murmured, tightening his grip on the blonde's hips when he tried to move. "Where are you going?"

"Gonna make something for Y/n to eat."

"The kitchen staff-"

"-will mess it up,I just know it. Just let me handle this Dabi. I'll be back soon, hm?"

Dabi sighed. "Dont take too long." He watched him leave before turning back towards you, taking your hand in his as he resumed humming the lullaby.

He traced his thumb over your wrists, staring at it absentmindedly as his mind went back to the events of the battlefield, heart swelling up with joy at his victory over AFO and his entire kingdom. His lips quirked up slightly as he recalled the screams of the people burning.

They deserved it.

They deserved it and so much more for what they did to you, for taking away his one and only child and torturing you in god knows what horrendous way they came up with.

Isn't that why you looked so miserable and devastated at the battlefield?

Dabi's eyes flicked to your face, widening when they met your own.

You were awake.

"Y/n!" Dabi squeezed your hand before getting up to sit on your bed. Taking your face in his hands as he looked at you with concern. "I- are you okay? How are you feeling now?"

Hollow eyes stared at him, your mouth remained sealed shut as you looked at him. But just before it creeped Dabi, you blinked and then tears started to fall down your face.

Dabi immediately (but gently) pulled you to his chest, practically sitting you in his lap like a child, arms wrapping themselves around you like a warm cocoon to calm you down as he continued to look down at you with even more worry when great sobs racked your body.

"Y/n? Oh baby- its okay, its okay! You're fine." He pulled your face away from his chest, cradling your face in his hands as his thumbs wiped away the tears from your cheeks. "No one is mad at you. I am not mad at you, more concerned is all. When you went missing, I- I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead and it hurt, Y/n. It hurt me that you died hating your father, and I never want that. I just-" Dabi closes his eyes and sighs before opening them. "I dont blame you for your actions. You ran away because of me, and while that may not have been the wisest decision, I understand and... I forgive you. You were misled by people you trusted, and they paid for their actions. Now, I want us to start anew again. Put everything behind us and become a happy family again. You, me and Keigo, together against the world, hm? How does that sound?" You all but wailed louder at the mention of that whore's name, but Dabi just percieved it as you being overwhelmed and pulled you tighter against his chest.

With one hand rubbing circles in your back while the other was carded in your hair, Dabi kissed your temple, smiling softly as you cried hard into him.

"Its okay. Let it all out, Y/n. I've got you, baby. I've got you."

And I'm never letting go. Ever.

Dabi left once you'd calmed down, saying that he was going to inform Keigo that you were finally awake. You of course, would rather gouge out your eyes than meet that murderer, but that idea was thrown out the window when your nanny knocked on your door, Inko looking visibly surprised to see you awake.

She all but rushed over to hug you, tears falling from her eyes as she pulled away from you suddenly, bowing her head as she apologised for touching you. You smiled sadly before opening up your arms, and Inko hugged you again. She was allowed to drop royal protocol, the woman had practically raised you.

A few minutes later and you heard Keigo and Dabi walking in the hallway. You pulled away from Inko and told her to tell them that you were taking a bath.

"Please! Just tell them you drew me a bath, I- I-" Inko didn't need to be told twice as she ushered you towards the bathroom and quickly shut the door behind her, right in time for Dabi and Keigo to barge in.

"Where is she?! Where's Y/n?" Keigo asked, whipping his around for you, as if you'd be hiding somewhere. Inko bowed, greeting the two men, raising her head only to see Keigo looking at her impatiently and Dabi raising a brow at her.

"Well?"

"The princess is taking a bath, your Majesty. I had recommended it to help heal her wounds better-" She began lying, but Dabi cut her off.

"Let me know when she's ready. Dress her in soft clothes, I want her to be comfortable. You will take care of it, hm?" Dabi ordered, and Inko bowed her head in obedience.

"Of course, your Majesty."

"Come on, Keigo. She'll be back soon. Why don't you continue making her lunch? We'll all eat here." Dabi suggested, his hand on Keigo's back guiding him out of the room.

You sighed as you heard them leave, closing your eyes as it dawned that you had escaped facing Keigo but only momentarily.

Inko entered the bath, smiling apologetically as she knew that you didn't like Keigo.

"I'll draw you a bath, princess. Why don't you wait on the bed, hm?" You nodded, going to sit on your bed just as someone else knocked on the door.

You nodded at Inko and she opened the door to see who it was before harshly whispering at someone to leave.

"Who is it?" You asked, standing up. Inko looked back at you apologetically before pushing the door open and revealing-

"Izuku." You whispered. Your childhood best friend was wearing his Knight armour as he beamed brightly at you.

"Princess." He greeted. "May I come in?" He asked only to be whacked on his head by his mom. "Izuku! She's busy and besides, the Princess needs to rest-"

"Its alright, Inko. He can come in." You nodded, as the woman let out a sigh of relief before going back to drawing you the bath.

Izuku walked towards you and you motioned for him to sit down next to you on the bed. "Its been a while." He started. You hummed. "It has. And I'm sorry."

Izuku gave you a quizzical look. "What for?"

"For how I treated you before I left." You looked down at your hands, playing with your fingers. "For snapping at you. That was uncalled for-"

Izuku grabbed your hands, his large rough ones engulfing yours. "You don't have to explain anything to me, Y/n." You shook your head. "I want to." You whispered, as your voice turned wobbly. "I don't want to lose- I cant- T-Tomura-" Izuku pulled you into a hug before your tears could fall. He patted your back and hushed you. "Shh, you won't lose me. I promise, I won't go anywhere."

You sat on your bed uncomfortably with Keigo and Dabi in the room. The maids had brought up a small table and chairs with food to your room, since Dabi thought it'd be best to dine here while you rest. You however, can't rest as long as that murderer is in the room.

Sure, Dabi killed your grandfather and killed many of the villagers, but you could see where he was coming from. Your father's reaction was somewhat reasonable since his daughter, his only heir, was kidnapped and he didn't know whether you were being tortured or dead. And you can see it however you want, but deep down you blame Keigo for AFO's death.

You blame him for the villagers deaths.

You blame him for your mother's death.

You blame him for Tomura's death.

"How's your soup?" Dabi asked.

"Its good." You said without looking up from your plate, just like the past 20 minutes. You can't bare to bring yourself to look up at him, unsure if your heart will break more at the sight of him whoring to your dad or if you'll end up raging and kill him on the spot.

"Of course it is. Keigo made it himself for you." Dabi locked eyes with the blonde, who blushed. "Dont you wanna say thank you?"

Here we go again.

There was a audible shift in the energy of the room. The tension could be cut with a knife, as Dabi once again forced you to interact with Keigo.

Keigo leaned towards the king. "Dabi, I don't think that's necessary-"

"Thank you." You said, finally looking up and directly at Keigo, a small courteous smile on your lips. "It tastes delicious. Thank you for going out of your way for me."

Keigo's mouth parted in shock, this was- this was the first time you looked at him with genuine respect- talked to him nicely. Even Dabi was surprised at your change in behaviour, he didn't expect you to actually be grateful, maybe spat out a forced thanks with a grimace but not this, not you actually finishing the bowl of soup.

"I- oh, it's no trouble. I'm glad you liked it." Keigo managed to say, looking at Dabi with confusion, but the king only grinned.

He was glad you were coming around, beyond happy that you were going to turn over a new leaf with him.

It's about time.

Just then, a guard came in, apologising for interrupting but requesting the king's attention for an urgent matter.

Dabi left, promising to return soon with letters from Enji and grandma Rei, and his siblings.

Keigo cleared his throat as the two of you were left alone. "Oh, you finished your soup! I'll give you some more- oh, where are you going?" He asked, watching you peel the covers away and get off the bed. "To the bathroom? Let me help you-" He moved to grab your hand but you snatched it away, before continuing to move to the bathroom.

You didn't close the door behind you, perhaps you wanted him to follow you if you fell or something. But when you got on your knees in front of the toilet bowl and locked eyes with him, Keigo knew he wasn't going to like what he was about to see.

In the next second, you had shoved fingers down your throat and gagged until you induced vomiting, emptying your stomach out.

Keigo rushed towards you, eyes wide in horror as he asked why did you do that. But you didn't answer him. Instead, you called out to Inko (who intentionally pushed Keigo away from you when she saw you on the floor, looking faint and out of breath).

"Princess! Are you alright? Should I get the physician?" You shook your head.

"No, just- just had some disgusting soup that made me sick. Could you- could you do me favour and get rid of it? I swear, just the smell of it in my room is making me lurch again." You commented while looking at Keigo.

Inko only nodded as she helped you back in bed before taking out all the food in your room, but not before asking Keigo to leave.

"My apologies, sir, but I think it'd be best to let the princess rest for now." She said, not sounding sorry at all, practically blocking his view of you as she stood in front of him, eyes staring into him boldly.

Had Keigo not been shocked by your actions, he would've had smacked her across the face for such blatant disrespect.

But Keigo left silently. He needed to process what just happened.

Two more weeks passed by, and you had received many letters from your loved ones and friends. Your father was still far too paranoid or perhaps it was his possessiveness that didn't allow you to have any visitors. The option of you stepping out of the castle was out of the question, even you knew that. But he could've let your grandparents see you, or even your friends who were actually there with him on the battlefield.

At least uncle Shotou was here. He sat by your side on a chair, while you were in your bed, back propped up against the headboard.

"They're all worried about me." You mumbled as you opened another letter. "I feel bad making them worry over me. Don't you think I should meet them to let them know I'm well?"

Shotou nodded. "I agree with you but your father still hasn't budged from his decision. He says that it's just not safe yet for you to meet people, and that you should still rest until you're better."

"But I am better! Any minor injuries that I sustained have healed ages ago." You whined. "Its just- its frustrating being alone in this castle!"

He tilted his head slightly. "You're not alone, Y/n. You have me, your father, the servants, the knights-"

"You know what I mean." You sighed. "Its okay if he doesn't want me too meet anyone else, but can't I at least visit... mum? I can go with him, or you, or even the guards- I just- I just need to see her! It's been too long."

Shotou heaved a sigh. "I had brought it up to Dabi, but... he said no."

You remained quiet for a few moments, looking down at your lap as your brows furrowed.

"He's mad at me." You mumbled.

Shotou's head shot up. "Y/n?"

You nodded, sniffling a little. "He's mad at me. That's why he won't let me meet anyone. That's why he won't let go see mom. He- he thinks it's my fault that I was with AFO." You bit your lip. "And it is. I did run away from him. But only because I was mad at him. I thought that some time away from each other would heal our problems. But... nothing changed. If anything, we're more far apart than we were before. He- he's punishing me. And people are getting hurt because of that- because of me-"

Shotou cut you off by holding your face and turning you to him. "Y/n, this isn't your fault. None of it is. And your dad, he's not mad at you. He's not punishing you. He's just- its just taking him some time to cope with all of this. You have to see where he's coming from, hm? He lost you- he thought you were dead. And now that he got you back, he's just- he doesn't want anything to hurt you, anyone to take you away from him again." He said, which made you cry even more and Shotou pulled your head to his chest, patting your back as your tears wet his garments.

After Shotou left your room, he went upto Dabi's office, hoping to convince him to let you meet Rei and Enji at least. But before he could knock, he overheard Keigo's moans and he immeadiately turned on his heel and left, hands clenching into fists at the thought of that disgusting whore.

He reached his room and sat on his desk, thinking of what to do to help you. Even if Keigo wanst there, Shotou doubts Dabi would've listened to him. So... if he wasn't going to do something, then maybe Shotou could help you?

You are the princess after all, the next heir to the throne. It is his duty to help you in whatever way possible.

Pulling out a sheet of paper, Shotou grabbed his quill and began writing away.

Keigo and Dabi laid in each others arms, Keigo's hand resting on Dabi's bare chest while the latter played with the blonde's hair.

"What's on your mind?" Dabi asked.

Keigo raised his brows and shook his head. "Nothing much."

"You should know better than to lie to your king by now, hm?" Dabi commented before asking again. "Come on, tell me."

Truthfully, Keigo was concerned over his last interaction with you. Why were you so hostile towards him? But earlier, in front of Dabi, you were so nice to him.

Keigo sighed, nuzzling closer to Dabi. "I'm just concerned about Y/n."

Dabi softly smiled. He liked it when Keigo worried over you.

"She'll be fine, Kei. She just needs to adjust to everything. Time heals all wounds." Keigo didn't reply and Dabi could see that he was still thinking about you. When you were gone, Dabi felt like this was the end of the world. He could only imagine the heartbreak Keigo was going through. They both loved you, and now that they had you back, their anxiety didn't go away completely. They still couldn't believe it, that you were still alive and well with them. In fact, the first night after they brought you home, Dabi didn't sleep a wink. No, he kept on checking in on you. Keigo, despite his injuries and heavy medication, was in a similar state.

"Why don't you go and check in on her? It'll put your mind to ease." Dabi offered, sitting up to pour himself some wine. Keigo nodded happily as he pulled away, kissing Dabi's cheek before wrapping a robe around him and scurrying out of the room, the king chuckling at the sight.

Even when you were a kid, Keigo often found himself watching over your sleeping form, something about it made him feel at peace. To see you safe and sound, in arms reach to protect you from any harm that should befall you... perhaps that's exactly what Keigo needed at the moment.

He made his way to your room, the guards at your door knew not to stop him- it was Dabi's orders. Keigo softly knocked on your door, waiting to see if you're still awake. After a few moments of silence, he slowly opened the door and crept inside.

There you were, lying on your side, tucked under the floral covers that reached upto your nose. Your hair sprawled out over the pillow, a few wisps framing your face under the glow of the lantern in the room. Your lips were slightly parted and Keigo smiled at how you looked the same as you did when you were a baby.

He walked closer and brushed the hair out of your face, and leaned down to kiss your forehead as his hands pulled the covers closer to you. He turned to leave but halted when he heard a whimper.

He looked at your face, which was now scrunched up as if in pain. Before he could do anything, you started mumbling frantically, your head moving side to side, your voice turning loud as your words became audible.

"No! No! Stop, Im sorry- STOP! STOP! STOP! KEIGO STOP-!" Keigo rushed to wake you up from your nightmare, only for your eyes to snap open as you began thrashing in his arms, pushing away from him as you began screaming for help, tears streaming down your face as you backed away so far that you fell off the bed, still shrieking for him to get away, just in time for the Dabi to burst in your room with your guards.

"DAD!" You yelled, your body shaking as he made his way towards you. "HE'S GOING TO KILL ME! HE'S GOING TO KILL ME!" You cried out, pointing at Keigo.

"Y/n, honey, calm down. He's not going to hurt-" Dabi tried to console you, taking your shoulders in his hands but you were inconsolable. He looked at Keigo, and the blonde saw the slightest flicker of doubt- no, accusation; an incriminating look in those cerulean eyes.

"I didn't do anything, Dabi. She was having a nightmare and-" he tried to explain himself, something he didn't think he'd need to do with Dabi.

"HE'LL KILL ME! HE'LL KILL ME! HE'LL KILL ME LIKE HE HE KILLED TOMURA!" You continued rambling on, tears streaking your cheeks, not taking your eyes off Keigo for a moment, as if afraid that he'd strike you at a chance.

Dabi looked at your face, concern arising at the raw fear in your eyes. Its only when a trail of crimson left your nose and your chest began heaving heavily did Dabi finally say the words.

"Keigo, leave."

The blonde took a step closer towards you. "No Dabi, I can help-"

Dabi snapped his head back at him and with unbridled rage in his face, he yelled at him.

"I'M ORDERING YOU TO LEAVE! NOW!"

Keigo's heart shattered at the venomous tone, and his face showed it. But right now, Dabi was more concerned about his daughter not having a panic attack or passing out. He could worry about Keigo later, you were the priority now.

You're the priority.

As Keigo left, Dabi picked you up and placed you back in your bed, promising to spend the night by your side. With the way your eyes remained wide open, he was worried you wouldn't sleep. But sleep finally overcame you as you were held by Dabi, your head lying on his warm chest, barely hiding the coy smile as he told the guard to inform Keigo that he won't be returning to bed tonight.

The next morning, when you woke up, you were still curled up in Dabi's lap. True to his word, he stayed with you the entire time, and it didn't seem like he slept much.

"How are you feeling now?" He asked, eyes slightly tired from the lack of sleep.

"I'm better, thank you." You whispered, getting off his lap. You looked up at him, brows knitting together as you tried to think of what to say next, or about last night. "I- last night... I-"

He waved you off. "We'll talk after breakfast. I think you're well enough to join us in the dining hall, hm?" You nodded as he got up and walked closer to you, cupping your cheek with one hand as he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

"My precious." He smiled before leaving your room, right in time for Inko to come in to help you get ready for breakfast.

Dabi returned to his room where he wasn't surprised to see Keigo pacing around, worriedly. From the dark circles and red eyes, Dabi figured the blonde hadn't slept.

"Dabi, I am so sorry-" He started but was cut off by Dabi wrapping his arms around him.

"Its okay. Not your fault." He sighed, pulling away to kiss Keigo on the lips. But the blonde wanted to still clarify himself.

"I didn't do anything, Dabi- she just- she had a nightmare and I was just trying to he'll her-"

"I know, Keigo. I know." Dabi stared into his scared eyes and his gaze softened. "But you need to understand that when I tell you to do something, you do it without question. Without a second thought. Y/n is- she's still a child, as much as she pretends to be a grown up, deep down all of these events have scarred her in way or another. We have to give her time and we have to help her, hm?"

Keigo only nodded before resting his head on Dabi's chest, wanting to be comforted as well.

"Let's eat, hm?"

The three of you sat on the dining table, eating in awkward silence. You and Keigo didn't meet each other's eyes, Dabi kept looking between you two, hoping one of you would finally start talking.

He cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry-!" You and Keigo said together. You spoke again before he could (as you should, according to royal protocol. But everyone knows the King's favourite isn't one to follow rules.)

"I am sorry, for how I behaved last night, Keigo. I- I was having a nightmare and-" you sighed. "-Its not your fault. I reacted very poorly and I shouldn't have pushed you away or been afraid of you, I just- I just-" Dabi grabbed your hand and squeezed it affirmatively when he saw remorse in your eyes.

"Its okay, really. I didn't mind it, and I know it wasn't your fault either. But I have to ask... was the nightmare about me?" Keigo asked cautiously.

You looked up at him before looking away, eyes slowly welling up with tears. That was enough of an answer for him and Keigo could feel his heart drop at the thought of you being afraid of him.

"I am- I think I just need- I need some time to get used to you again..." you say.

Dabi hummed, giving a quick glance to Keigo who nodded begrudgingly as well.

"Well, now that this topic is over, I was thinking of sharing some good news." Dabi said, making the two look at him. "Since you seem to be in good health, I was thinking you could visit your mother. What do you think?"

"Really?" You whispered in disbelief.

Dabi nodded. "Of course, I'd be accompanying. Don't want you fainting or-" you cut him off by a big hug and loads of "thank you's".

He let you be excused so that you could get ready while Keigo watched him with a slightly hurt expression in his eyes.

"So... I shouldn't come with you two?" He asked in a low tone.

Dabi met his eyes and held his gaze before softening them. "I think some space between you both would benefit for her. After last night, I don't think she's strong mentally, Keigo. Her mother is a sensitive topic as it is... I can't risk her having another episode like last night."

Keigo stared at his plate before nodding, not meeting his eyes. "I understand. E-excuse me." He left the room.

Dabi knew being apart from you was the last thing Keigo ever wanted but... he could make him understand later. For now, Dabi needs to focus on you.

"Thank you." You said to your father who was behind you, holding the reins of his horse you rode on together. He insisted on sharing one ride, and you felt closer to him while he felt content now that you were in his arms, safe and secure.

"What for?" Dabi asked.

"Everything." You looked down at your hands and then ahead at the road. "For going with me to see mom. And for taking care of her grave. For last night, when you held me."

Dabi smiled and kissed the top of your head.

Soon you two had reached the castle and were getting off the horse when Shotou came out beaming.

"Someone is waiting for you-"

"Y/N!" Rei yelled as she dropped royal protocol and practically ran down the stairs of the entry door to hug you. "My child!" She began crying into your shoulder as her arms squeezed your form so hard that it almost began to hurt.

"Honey, you're going to break her." A familiar voice said, making you pull back from Rei.

"Grandpa!" You squealed as the older man caught you when you jumped, spinning you around as you buried your face into his neck, arms barely reaching around his broad shoulders.

"My doll, my little princess." He cooed as he kissed your forehead, his own eyes getting a little misty.

"Enji, stop hogging her." Rei smacked his arm.

He frowned. "Honey, I'm not hogging her-"

"Yes, you are!" Someone yelled as they yanked you out of his arms and into their own. "I've missed you so much, my baby!" She cried as she rubbed her cheek against yours.

"Hello, Aunt Fuyumi." You chuckled as you patted her arms to let go but she held you tighter. Fortunately, Dabi came to your rescue.

"You're hurting her, Fuyumi." He said as he pulled you away and behind him. Fuyumi gave him a quick bow and "Your Majesty." Before punching his shoulder. "I was worried about you! Would it have killed you to write back to me?!"

"I've been... busy." He replied. "Besides, I needed some alone time with my daughter before you came to hog her."

"I can't help it that she's my favorite neice!" Fuyumi defended.

"I'm your only neice..." you mumbled from behind Dabi. "Also, Where's uncle Natsuo-"

A loud crash was heard, making Dabi immeadiately turn and push you behind him. Of course, speak of the devil and the devil shall-

"I'm here!" Natsuo huffs as he gets off the horse he just crashed into some poor guards (their unconscious bodies are being dragged away).

He walks up the steps and quickly bows to his parents and Dabi before locking eyes with you and manically grinning as he lifts you up in his arms and spins around, making you chortle as you slap his arms to slow down.

"Oh youre a sight for sore eyes, you little brat!" He came to halt and you had to grab his arms to stabilise yourself. He pinched your nose, making you whine. "I'm never letting you go alone now! Gonna take you to battles with me, if I have to. Missed you too much."

You smiled sweetly at him. "I missed you too, uncle."

The Todoroki clan had decided to stay a week or two over at Dabi's castle, much to his dismay. Of course he doesn't like the fact that Enji and the rest of his family will be breathing down your neck, but Shotou convinced him to let them spend time with you here rather than whisking you away to Enji's kingdom where it'll be harder for Dabi to keep an eye on you (and not to mention the trauma he still hasn't recovered from since that was the place he lost you last time).

While you were being coddled and spending some quality time with the Todoroki clan, Keigo was finding ways to stay out of their way. He had initially greeted them when they arrived, but from their cold attitude and death stares, he'd much rather be ignored by them. And it's not like he or Dabi doesn't know how the royal family dislikes Keigo, so Dabi would often leave you with his family while he went to console his lover.

By the end of the week, as much Dabi wouldn't like to admit, you had looked much better and healthier since his family came. You looked happier, brighter. They were all having dinner together in the big dinning hall. Dabi sat at the head of the table, Rei to his right, then you and then Enji because of course your grandparents want you squished between them. Fuyumi, Natsuo and Shotou sat to Dabi's left.

"Baby you need to eat more! I could see your ribs from here." Rei said as she put another serving of food on your plate.

"But I'm full-"

"No, you're not. Now eat those veggies, I don't need your pretty hair falling out." Rei cooed as you begrudgingly followed her orders. She then narrows her eyes at Dabi. "You too Dabi, eat your veggies. Only drinking wine isn't healthy!"

Dabi hummed nonchalantly. "Yes, mom." He said, eyes trained towards the door. He sighed before beckoning a servant, whispering something to him. The servant nodded obediently and left.

"Aww, are you really going to eat veggies? What a good mama's boy you are." Natsuo teased, only to be whacked on the head by Fuyumi.

"Yeah, I'm having them bring more food." Dabi smiled.

A few minutes later, the hall doors opened and in walked-

Concubine Keigo.

The man who had been good at hiding himself for the better part of the week, was now walking towards Dabi. He bowed to him first, before bowing to the rest of the family. Even though his siblings masked their displeasure at seeing Keigo, his parents, especially Rei, made no such efforts.

She threw a nasty look when Dabi had someone bring a chair and seat Keigo next to him.

"You're going to eat with us?" Rei asked, not holding back the disgust in her tone.

"Mother." Dabi warned.

"What?" Rei shrugged, slicing her steak elegantly. "I'm just curious. I thought this was a family dinner."

Dabi's eyes darkened. "He is family." He looked at Keigo before bringing his hand to his lips, kissing it softly. "And if he wasn't before, he will be now."

The table had went dead silent as they all looked at Dabi, anticipating the bomb he was about to drop on them. Somehow, you already knew you were going to dread the news he was about to share.

"We're getting married."

And just like that, the curtain of happiness drops, your world shatters.

"I was going to wait a few more weeks before announcing, but since Y/n had been feeling better and you all came, I decided now would be the best time. I had proposed to Keigo long before Y/n was kidnapped-" you stopped hearing after that, you couldn't even if you tried. Your heart was beating too fast, too loudly for you to hear anything.

Is your father really going to marry Keigo? The man who killed your mother? The man who killed Tomura? Did Dabi even care about you anymore-

"Y/n?" Dabi called. Under the table, Enji held your hand and gave it a squeeze, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You looked at Dabi and Keigo, who were holding hands.

"Congratulations." You smiled. "When's the date?"

Everyone was surprised at your composure, Keigo who was holding his breath finally sighed in relief while Dabi looked proudly at you.

You've really matured.

"Well, we were thinking later this week, since everyone is still here. What do you say, Y/n?" Dabi asks, sipping his wine.

You hummed. "Very wise. Let me know if I could be of any help." The dinner soon ended, and you could feel everyone's eyes on you (except for Dabi and Keigo, they were looking at each other like they wanted to rip their clothes off).

Instead of joining the family in the garden for a walk, you excused yourself and left for your room. And only after you had closed your door did you finally let the tears fall.

How could he do this to you? How could your father marry that murderous skank? Was it to show you up? To teach you a lesson? It couldn't possibly be- because he loves Keigo, could it?

"No." You whispered harshly, as you sat on your bed. If this marriage happens, it'll put Keigo in a much powerful position, and it'll br far harder for you to take him down.

And not to mention, by law, you would have to bow down to him.

Concubines never get to be more superior than legitimate heirs, but since Keigo was already a favourite, and your lack of a quirk makes everyone question your legitimacy as a heir and a ruler, you have no doubt that Dabi will make you kneel to his slut.

Someone knocked on your door. "Come in." You said, fixing yourself.

It was Rei and Enji, concerned looks etched on their faces. Looking at them, you couldn't help the tears that welled up.in your eyes again.

"Oh honey~" Rei cooed with open arms as she hugged you, letting you sniffle into her gown.

"I- I'm sorry-" you tried to say, as you pulled away only for Rei to pull you closer to her. She sat on your bed and positioned herself in a way so that you could lay your head in her lap.

"You don't have to be brave anymore, Y/n." Rei said as she ran her finger through your hair. Your tears slipped down your face as you watched Enji sit on the foot end of your bed, taking your feet in his lap and rubbing your ankles.

"None of this is your fault, Y/n." Rei said. "I still want to go and yell at Dabi for even letting that whore sit with us, let alone marrying him-"

"Rei." Enji warned.

She huffed. "Your grandpa says that wouldn't be wise." She kissed your cheek. "How about you come with us? Hm? I can talk with Dabi and convince him to let you come with us until the wedding is over-"

"No!" You shook your head frantically. The last time you went away, your father proposed to Keigo. Who knows what that blonde will do this time when you leave. Take away all of your mother's belongings? Kick you out? Make Dabi question your legitimacy?

"I- I already told them I'd be here to help them. Besides, I shouldn't be away from my father on this joyous occasion. Really, I'm happy for him- for them." You wiped your tears away as Enji and Rei looked at you with pity. "I just- I just miss mom a little."

They stayed with you the rest of the night.

After the announcement to the family, Dabi had announced of his wedding to his kingdom. The news had gotten mixed reactions, they cheered and congratulated Dabi out of fear, while also throwing pitiful looks your way, hushed whispers about "poor princess Y/n". Good thing was that you spent most of your time in your room, so you didn't have to bear the embarrassment much.

You were standing in Dabi's office. He'd called you, and Keigo was there too. You didn't think it would be possible for them to be more closer and show more disgusting displays of affection, but here they are, shamelessly eating each others faces.

"Y/n! How have you been?" Dabi asked as Keigo got off his lap, giving a quick squeeze to his bum (you wanted to burn your eyes with acid).

"I'm well, thank you." You smiled, trying to contain the contents of your gut. "You asked for me?" Might as well come to the topic before they start doing more...stuff.

"Ah yes. Well, since the wedding is approaching, I wanted to ask if you'd like to be the maid of honour?" He said, shuffling through some papers- invites.

"You want me to be your maid of honor-?"

"Mine? No. I have Natsuo. I was asking if you'd like to be Keigo's, since he has no one to walk him down the aisle, Keigo suggested you. And you two are close, so it seems like a good idea, no?" He said in a tone that made it seem more like an order than a question.

How could he ask you that? Has your father lost his mind? Is he that horny to not give a shit about his own daughter?

You looked at Keigo, who was standing there with a chalice, his golden eyes piercing through you, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Of course, he'd convinced Dabi to suggest something as preposterous as this. Perhaps as a revenge for earlier.

"I think it'd be better if someone else stepped in. Perhaps one of the other concubines?" You offered. You'd much rather eat a bag of nails than let his filthy hands hold yours as you walk down the aisle.

"No, no. Keigo isn't close to any of the concubines. Besides, I think it'd show the rest of the world of our united front. Put all the rumours about conflict among you and Keigo to rest." Dabi said, deciding for you.

"Yes, your Majesty." You said, bowing as you left the room.

The next day was rehearsal day. The servants were working hard to decorate evey inch of the castle, making sure to prepare for guests from far and away, perhaps because Keigo told them that this was going to be "the biggest wedding of history."

You were standing in the church with Keigo holding your gloved hand. Just because Dabi said you have to walk him down the aisle, doesn't mean you need to touch him. The gloves were only the smallest barrier.

"Thank you for doing this for me." Keigo said as you both walked down the aisle towards Dabi. Every fiber of your being was screaming to rip yourself away from him.

"Anything for my father." Your lips formed into a tight lipped smile.

Ignoring your comment, Keigo asked you something even more cursed. "Have you thought of how you'd address me now that I'm marrying your father?"

Bitch. Skank. Whore. Pig. Murderer. Ostrich. Ass hat. Pile of shit. Slut-

"I have more important affairs to be concerned about." You said, dismissing the topic, but of course Keigo wouldn't let it go.

"Well, I have and I'd prefer if you'd call me dad or papa. Mama is also fine, but spare me the royal titles. I don't care for them and I don't want you to be formal with me. We're family now." Keigo said as you both reached Dabi who took Keigo's hand from yours, both leaning down to kiss your cheeks.

You wonder if his touch would still linger if you placed a hot iron poker.

You were walking towards your room, when you passed by your mother's. Opening the door, you saw Inko was there as well, going through your mother's closet.

"Princess!" She turned around, bowing to you with a gentle smile. "Look what I've found!" She showed you some dresses, your mother's beloved gowns, her tiaras, her jewellery.

"I was thinking that you could wear them on the wedding!" Inko said, as she pulled out a beautiful baby blue gown with jewels and sakura blossoms embroidered on it. "They should be of your size, bit I'm happy to make a few alterations to it if you'd like!"

You smiled as you tried on the gown, it fit you perfectly. "And if you pair it with this tiara and your mother's favourite ring!" She placed the white princess tiara on your head, along with the turquoise ring that had diamonds around it, with a gold band. "Your father gave it to your mother on their wedding night. Your mother adored this ring so much, she often said the turquoise stone reminded her of your father whenever he went away om wars." Of course it did remind her of Dabi, his eyes had the same colour as the stone.

"I'll wear this." You said as you admired yourself in the mirror, happy at how you resembled your mother. "Will you have them polished for me?" Inko nodded as she took the ring and tiara from you.

At least there's something you could look forward to at this awful wedding.

Guests had started arriving two days before the wedding. Few had been invited to stay at this castle, while others had rooms arranged for them at the other castles nearby.

You had insisted on at least letting your friends stay at the castle, but Dabi turned you down, saying something about security concerns. But he allowed them to visit you during the day.

"Katsuki!" You giggled as you hugged the barbarian king, who only lifted you up and twirled you around.

"Stop acting like a buffoon. Set her down, she's a princess, not a cat." Momo chided as she fanned herself. Katsuki only huffed as he set you down.

"Empress Yaoryuzu-" you started bowing but she hit the top of your head with her fan lightly.

"Forgetting how you're supposed to address me?" She asked, raising her brow at you. You sighed before giving a peck on her lips.

"Hey! What the heck that?!" Katsuki asked as he pulled you behind him. You placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. "Katsuki, it's just a traditional greeting in her land."

"Yes, but I don't expect uncultured barbarians to understand what traditions mean." Momo snickered.

"Alright, that's it-"

"Enough!" You yelled at them. "I have bigger matters to handle than to stop you two from fighting like children. So if you insist on bickering, please do it outside of this palace and on your own time. Do I make myself clear?" You glared at them as they finally nodded.

The "matters" that you need to handle are about you making sure that when Keigo marries Dabi, he doesnt get to sign a contract that states all about Keigo's new powers and "governing" opportunities. You need to make sure that Keigo doesn't get more power than needed, that he doesn't get a superior title to you, the legitimate heir, and that he doesn't get to add a clause or two that would benefit him and harm you.

A familiar servant passed by you, gave you a nod. Of course, you had initially thought of finding ways to stop the wedding altogether, so you had a servant bribe some concubines and knights to flirt with Keigo, if only to arouse rumours and better yet, catch him in a compromising position.

But you knew that with the wedding approaching, Keigo would be more cautious than ever, and it's not like Dabi would take off the veil of love off his eyes to even suspect that Keigo is cheating on him.

You sat in the garden after returning from the office, asking your uncle Shotou if the contract for marriage had been drawn up. He told you no, that its still in the works and should be coming in tomorrow evening, and when he asked why you wanted to know, you'd made some excuse about wanting to see whether your father was going to have new stamps made with Keigo's face in it.

He only chuckled, but both of you knew Dabi wouldn't be above doing such an abomination.

"What're you doing here alone, bub?" Dabi asked as he sat down next to you. "Everyone's inside, waiting for you."

You smiled softly. "Just... needed some air. Nothing to worry about."

Dabi hummed as he gazed ahead at the tree line. "I know everything is happening so fast and is hectic, so I haven't had the time to talk to you but-" He looked at you and smiled with soft eyes. "- I want to tell you how proud I am of you. For being so mature, for handling everything with such grace. I know this news wasn't easy for you, but I am grateful that you have accepted Keigo and have chosen to be a part of my happiness."

Chosen? There was never a choice.

You leaned your head on his shoulder. "Of course, dad. I will always love you."

He kissed your forehead. "And I, you."

The next day went by blur, mostly because of the guests and servants running rampant. Momo and Katsuki were in the backyard, away from the party, and you only spared a few glances when they began to duel. You couldn't deal with them right now, not when you had to go and read the marriage contract before Keigo could sign it.

You were on your way when you heard Inko arguing loudly with someone. For a sweet lady like her, it's not normal for her to yell at anyone. So, you went to check out the commotion first.

"THIS IS NOT THE JEWELLERY PIECES I SENT FOR YOU TO POLISH!" Inko said furiously, slamming her hands on the table. You peeked at the man she was yelling at, recognising him as the royal jeweller. "WHERE IS PRINCESS Y/N'S RING?!"

"I- um- they-" the man stumbled over his words as you finally let yourself in.

"Your Majesty!" They both bowed, as you waved them off. "What's the matter Inko? Where's my mother's ring?"

She shot a furious glare to the man, who cowered. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

You stepped forward and looked at the man with a calm smile. "Where's my ring? Did something happen to it? Did you lose it?" You asked and you could only imagine Inko's murderous intent if the man said that he did lose it.

"No, princess- I didn't lose it! The ring- the ring it's with- concubine Keigo!" You face never dropped as fast as it did in that moment.

"What? How is this possible?" You interrogated.

"After- after I took your jewellery from Inko, King Dabi had called me in to display all of the royal family's jewels, including yours! When he left the room, he told concubine Keigo to pick anything he'd like to wear in the wedding ceremony, and- well- he picked the late queen's ring, saying that it'd remind him of the King's eyes." He explained helplessly, but you had already left the room, storming up the stairs to take back your ring.

You didn't even have to go to Keigo's Chambers as you found the concubine standing in the hallway, a drunk blush on his cheeks, and wearing something glimmerd in the dim halls-

Your mother's ring.

"Y/n! I've been looking for you! Come, come to papa!"

All sense of logic and manners went out the window as you stormed towards him and slapped him so hard across the face, that he fell.

Keigo hadn't even begun to recover from the shock of being slapped when you began punching him.

"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?" You screamed. "WAS IT NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU TO KILL MY MOTHER, TAKE HER THRONE, MARRY MY FATHER, THAT YOU HAD TO TAKE HER RING AWAY TOO?! THOSE ARE MY THINGS! THEY BELONG TO ME, YOU FUCKING SLUT!" You shrieked as Keigo tried to dodge your hits without hurting you.

His eyes went wide when you wrapped your hands around his throat and began choking him. "I'm going to fucking kill you! I'm going to end this for once and for all!"

"Y/N!" Someone yelled as they ripped you away from Keigo. "HAVE YOU FUCKING LOST IT!?" It was Dabi.

"YES!" You screamed. "I HAVE LOST IT, JUST LIKE YOU HAVE WHEN YOU DECIDED TO MARRY THAT FUCKING WHORE! IN FACT, I HAVE LOST A WHOLE LOT MORE THAN YOU! I HAVE LOST MY MOTHER BECAUSE YOU BROUGHT IN THAT FUCKING BITCH! I HAVE LOST MY GRANDFATHER BECAUSE YOU WERE BUSY SCREWING AROUND WITH THAT WHORE! I HAVE LOST MY ONLY FRIEND, BECAUSE YOUR MURDEROUS LITTLE SLUT DECIDED THAT I DO NOT DESERVE TO HAVE ANY HAPPINESS! AND I HAVE LOST MY MOTHER'S ONLY LEGACY BECAUSE YOUD MUCH RATHER GIVE IT TO YOUR NEW BED WARMER THAN TO ME!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Dabi yelled, getting dangerously close to your face. "I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANYMORE INSULT AND DISOBEDIENCE FROM YOU! TOMORROW IS OUR WEDDING-"

"FUCK YOUR WEDDING! EVERYONE KNOWS YOURE GOING TO BE MARRYING A MURDERER AND ID MUCH RATHER KILL MYSELF THAN BE A PART OF THAT SHITSHOW!" Dabi went silent at your words, deathly silent. Then... he chuckled as he looked over his shoulder at Keigo who was already shaking his head, as if to stop him before he does something he regrets.

"Its about time she knows, eh?" Dabi said as he laughed.

"Dabi, dont-" Keigo started, but you cut him off. "Know what?" You spat.

Dabi looked at you, and his eyes held a cruel expression.

"Keigo didn't kill your mother. I did."

You couldn't- couldn't process the words that had left his mouth. So, you made him repeat himself.

"What?" You whispered. Dabi knelt down to your level, leaned closer to you so you could look into his eyes and see he wasn't lying.

"I. Killed. Your Mother." He said slowly, as if talking to a child. "I hated your mother, and the only reason I had been putting up with her for so long was because she was taking care of you. But one day, she thought she could threaten me by saying that she was going to leave me. I told her fine, signed the divorce papers and gave them to her. She wasn't expecting it, so she said she was going to take you with her. Now, that was something I couldn't allow. So, your mother decided to try to hurt me by poisoning you. When I found her plans, I confronted her and told her to either drink that same poison she bad for you or she was to leave tomorrow morning and never see any of us again. She instead chose to kill herself because she believed it'd be far more of a dishonour to return to her home as a divorcee and without child."

Tears slipped down your face. "N-No, you're lying. I saw Keigo-"

"Keigo tried to save her, but I told him no. I made him stop. The very thought of harming you was punishable. She deserved to die, and I had no sympathy for her when she dropped dead in front of me. I even had the antidote, but I chose to watch her die." Dabi said coldly. "All this time, Keigo had been covering up for me. He didn't say a word when rumors started, knly because he didn't want to have people see me as a murderer. He adored you, he's taken care of you, has quietly taken every insult you've ever thrown his way. And this is how you repay him?"

"Only Keigo and I have truly ever loved you. Your own mother wanted to kill you for her own selfish gains." Dabi said harshly as your world finally collapsed around you.

You couldn't say anything, do anything as you tried to make sense of his words, tried to find a way to that would tell you that he's lying. But you couldn't.

"GUARDS!" Dabi called. "Lock the princess in the hightower. Tie her to her bed, make sure she doesn't hurt herself or escape." He said before helping Keigo up. You couldn't protest as the guards dragged you to the hightower, didn't move a muscle as they tied you to your bed. All you could do was look up at the ceiling and cry mutely.

All these years, all this time, you'd been blaming Keigo, when everything that has ever happened to you was your beloved father's fault. The man you loved, the man you looked up to, the man you cherished... he had been the one who killed your mother?

The more you thought over his confession, the more you felt yourself age. By morning, you didn't have energy to even breathe.

The doors opened, you continued to look up at the wall, tears brimming your eyes.

Dabi walked in, and you didn't need to see his face to know he was still mad at you. No, the anger was practically radiating off him.

"You are to get ready and smile as you walk Keigo down the aisle. If you do something stupid, I will have your friends hunted down and killed. Do I make myself clear?" He didn't wait for an answer.

"Princess, please, at least eat something." Inko said pushing the slice of bread to your lips, but you didn't part them. Simply looking ahead in the mirror with a blank stare as the maids did your hair and makeup. "Izuku, she hasn't said a word since morning! I'm getting worried."

Izuku nodded and signalled the maids to leave. He turned your head towards to him and smiled warmly at you. "Y/n... princess, what's the matter? Tell me, so I can fix it, hm?"

Some things can never be fixed.

You didn't say anything, only looking at him with that hundred yard stare, and Izuku couldn't help but feel a little spooked.

He helped you walk towards the church where Keigo was already waiting for you. He was dressed in a white fitted gown that was sleeveless and backless, and had a fishtail. The dress itself had body chains made of gold and Ruby and sapphires sewed in an intricate pattern. And his veil? He didn't opt to wear one.

He looked at you and smiled kindly, although you couldn't really tell the difference at this point. "You look beautiful, Y/n." He held out his arm for you. "Ready to walk me down?"

You didn't have the energy or want to link your arm with his. Inko had to help you place your arm around his.

The doors to the church opened and the choir began singing hymns. The guests turned to look at you and Keigo, who was beaming as he looked at the end of the aisle where Dabi stood, a satisfied smile on his own face.

Your body felt weak, too weak and... different. You were dragging your steps, which fortunately no one could tell since they were hidden under your gown. At some point, it felt more like Keigo was walking you than you were walking him.

You weren't smiling at all. No, you still had the blank stare on your face, which luckily few people noticed since everyone was focused on Keigo.

"What's wrong with her?" Momo whispered to Katsuki as they saw your face. "Why does she look so... disturbed?"

"She must've seen your face." Katsuki remarked, although truth be told, he was also very concerned. Something felt off. Very off.

When you reached the end of the aisle, Dabi took Keigo's from you, and as rehearsed, they both kissed your cheek, but not before Dabi whispered-

"You forgot to smile. Behave."

Shotou guided you towards your seat in the front row, where you were sat next to your grandparents.

The officiant began the ceremony, but you couldn't pay attention to his words. All you could focus was on the turquoise ring on Keigo's hand.

"Y/n, are you alright?" Rei asked, a frown on her face. You didn't reply, opting to look at your father now.

Your father, your dad, the man you trusted more than anyone, the man who murdered your mother, who had murdered Tomura, who had murdered AFO, who had-

You couldn't breathe, you felt too warm, too hot, everything was burning inside you.

"You may now kiss the groom!" They locked lips, only breaking apart when someone screamed.

It took you a few seconds to realise that it was you who was screaming, only because-

Your hand was on fire.

By the time Dabi or anyone else reached you, your entire body had been engulfed in wild blue flames. Flames that were so hot and out of control, that neither Dabi or Enji or even Shotou could control them. Rei tried to use her ice, but it evaporated before it even came within 6 feet of you. The flames began spreading, making the guests panic and leave the church.

Shotou was the first one to piece it together. "Its her quirk!" Immeadiately, Enji and Dabi began giving you commands on how to control it, to calm yourself, to listen!

Dabi even tried to approach you, maybe if he were to touch you, you'd listen. But your fire was too hot, and you backed away anytime they tried to come closer, only screaming in agony as you burned yourself.

After 5 minutes, only when you fainted from pain and exhaustion did the flames stop. Your body... the aftermath made it beyond recognisable. Parts of your limbs were burned so badly, you could see the bone, while the rest of your skin had charred and burned well enough to know that no nerves will be working there.

Despite everything, you were still somehow miraculously breathing... barely. Dabi couldn't believe the nightmare he'd just witnessed, but his disbelief could wait as he gathered you in his arms and yelled at Shotou to get a doctor.

Everyone left the church, except for Keigo. He had dropped to his knees and was trying to wrap his around the horrible sight he'd seen. Be was trying to compose himself, trying to lie to himself that this... this was not his fault.

He knew he was wrong.

Dabi couldn't peel his eyes away from you, he needed to make sure that your chest rose and fell evenly. The moment it stopped- it wouldn't- but if it did, he needed to be there to resuscitate you.

Emperor Kai was fortunately right outside the church, waiting to be of assistance. It was a good thing he was from the land of healers, he was able to stabilise you.

While Dabi kept his eyes on your burned form, Kai opted to talk with Shotou. "It was her own quirk that brought out those flames, seemingly she got the dominant Todoroki quirk." He commented, glancing your way. "What she didn't inherit was the skin resistance to bare those very flames. She burned herself quite badly, and it doesn't help that the smoke from her own burning has damaged her lungs as well. She's still in a critical condition, I've done all I can. All we can do is wait and watch to see if her body can heal itself."

He also explained to Shotou that since its very rare to get a quirk at your age, that's why you couldn't control it. Kai reasoned that the reason your quirk did develop at that moment was probably because you were under some stress, maybe something had tipped you over emotionally, making your quirk appear so fiercely and harshly.

"Like an outlet, when we cry when we breakdown. She burned herself to release that stress." Kai explained.

Shotulou had walked him out of the room, only after ensuring that no one else was around did he ask that question.

"Her chances of survival... what are they?"

Kai's blank stare didn't give away the type of news he'd give. "Anything is possible, but it all depends on her body's ability to heal itself, her willpower to live. Medically speaking, I've done everything I can. Now, only she can save herself."

Can you save yourself, Y/n?

So... THOUGHTS????

And yall better fucking comment because I did not waste my entire fucking day on this when I COULDVE BEEN STUDYING FOR MY TEST ON TUESDAY FOR YALL TO BE DRY ASS.

Istg if I don't get interactions and comments and likes, I will make yall regret and kill characters left and right, AND REMEMBER THAT DEATH IS NOT THE WORST THING I CAN DO

#yandere dabi x reader #yandere bnha #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #bnha imagines #yandere dabi #yandere royal gay au #yandere king dabi #yandere concubine keigo #yandere hawks #yandere keigo takami #yandere keigo x reader #yandere todoroki clan #yandere endeavor

1K notes · View notes

phasecornnuts · 6 months

Note

Hiiiiiiii! If you’re still open for requests maybe you might wanna write something where the reader casually mentioned that they/she had a partner on earth before they died and Alastor takes it a bit too drastically and has just been very salty and asking too many questions 😭 if you like that

Please & thanks ❤️

Hey guys I've returned! Sorry for taking a little while, I was busy with finals/I wanted to relax on my spring break so I didn't have a lot of time. I lowkey kind of cooked with this one too so enjoy :3

Also, I sorta made the reader be from around the same time period as Alastor (sorta late 1910s early 1930s) for extra spice

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It had become a daily routine for you and Alastor to have afternoon tea together in cannibal town. Always, between the hours and four and six o’ clock after Alastor had finished his broadcast and you, your hotel duties, the both of you would walk down to Rosie’s Emporium to nibble on finger sandwiches, candied eyeballs, and other treats.

The sun was still high in the sky, sending fingers of light through the windows of the cafe; the building was alive with the chatter of demons and hell-born alike. You and Alastor had just sat down, a short cannibal girl with a heart-shaped face and glowing brown ringlets placing your usuals on the table. Oh how beautiful they were! Too pretty to eat, garnished with tiny sprigs of mint (or, at least, it may have been mint) and resting on plates of delicate porcelain. With polished silver beside them, and matching teacups and saucers too, it all looked like a party for a girl’s favorite doll.

That is, if it weren’t human meat.

Looking up from your plate, you saw Alastor turn his head to follow the cannibal girl making you frown. His gaze returned to you before he caught you staring, a chipper grin on his face as always.

“She could be a dead ringer for Mary Pickford, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows perked. You hadn’t looked long at the girl admittedly, though you stared long enough to know that she was no Pickford. You pursed your lips,

“I don’t see it, Lillian Gish maybe.”

He looked at you like a mad-woman, “You don’t!?”

“No! Her eyes are much too large!”

Alastor chuffed, proceeding to rest his chin on his dark hand, “In the eye of the beholder I suppose.”

You rolled your eyes, “You only say that because of her curls,” you stated while picking up the teapot and pouring yourself and Alastor your cups, “Now, drink before it gets cold.”

For much of your lunch neither of you spoke, merely enjoying each other’s presence while pecking on some food here and there. Throughout the meal the waitress brought more plates, pancreas tarts, minced tongues coated with cinnamon sugar, and sweet pies filled with rotted venison and cooked kidneys, all Rosie’s treat. Alastor had been taken by the small pies in their mulled deliciousness, the meat so tender you saw his eyes water. He pleaded you to try one, though you couldn’t, your stomach filled to the brim from the other treats and delicacies.

Alastor picked up the small pair of silver tongs from beside him and placed two sugar cubes in his tea, “I do say, it’s nice to have a meal companion again.” He took a sip from his teacup and grinned.

You nodded in agreement, lifting the milk jug from the table and pouring a generous amount into your cup. “Likewise. Good dinner conversation is a horrid thing to lose.”

“Truly.” He took another drink. “Before you, I hadn’t had a proper luncheon since my mother.”

“From what you tell she sounded like a fine woman.” His grin lost its eeriness, becoming fond instead.

“She truly was, and such a fine cook too.” Alastor gazed at the fine pattern painted on the rim of his saucer, “her jambalaya was the best, our side of the Mississippi” he chuckled. He began to remember then, “And her gumbo and her crawfish etouffee and her pecan pralines”

It was odd to hear his voice so full of affection, but nice too. So strange, to think a man who broadcasted his murders of other overlords and feasted on their flesh was once a little boy who clung to his mothers skirt and happily ate her cooking.

“Maybe one day you’ll cook for me then?” you teased

“Oh why wouldn’t I for my favoritest of sinners?” He took your hand.

You leaned in towards him, a silent flirtation. “Or perhaps I could prepare something for you?”

He looked at you from his dark, hooded eyes, a certain intrigue radiating from them. “Would you now?” he said, leaning in closer.

“Oh I would, anything you’d like.” the tip of your oxford lingering at his ankle. “My food was good enough for my darling back on earth, why would an overlord of hell have any complaints? Other than not enough seasoning I suppose.”

That was when the laughter in his eyes died. Alastor bit the inside of his cheek before finding the words to speak, “Your darling?”

“Pardon?”

“You had someone,” He straightened up, pulling himself away from you, “back on earth?”

“I hardly see how it matters now.”

Alastor’s tone grew curt, had such a simple word bruised his ego?

He crossed his arms, “What were they like?” each word as sharp as his teeth.

You pulled your hands close to you, confused at his curtness, “They were….they were nice. Cordial, spirited, vivacious, however you would put it. If you’re-” Alastor cut you off.

“How did you meet them?”

“On the trolley.” That only served to make him scoff.

“Tch, how common. The trolley.”

You chewed your bottom lip, trying to deny the anger towards him that began to knot in your belly. “It was a different lifetime.” You asserted, a hard finality to it. Pushing yourself from the small table you smoothed your skirt and adjusted the ribbon that was tied so nicely in your hair.

Without looking at him you said, “Tell Rosie I’m grateful for her hospitality and I will try to find a way to repay her. Also that I’m sorry that I had to retire without saying hello but I feel rather…faint.” Before leaving completely you said, “See you back at the hotel.”

The rest of the day you hid in your room, sulking and pacing. Charlie had tried to coax you out, seeing how angry you’d been when you came back, but you denied every effort she had.

“It’s not good to stay cooped up in there,” the Princess pleaded.

“I like my alone time.”

“But- but I had games planned! Husk was going to show us how to play Blackjack and Dominoes!”

“I prefer bridge, and he’ll just cheat us anyways.”

She gave a disappointed sigh, and outside the door you could hear Vaggie talking to her, telling Charlie to give you your space.

For three nights straight you avoided Alastor, finishing up your hotel duties quickly before hiding in your room. You grew bored after the first day admittedly, a person could only sleep and bathe and read so much. The fourth night is when he knocked on your door while you lied draped on your couch, your nose in a book you’d already finished before. Thinking it was Charlie, you ignored it, sure she’d get the message. It insisted however, rapping harder the second time. You sighed, annoyed. “Who is it?”

“Alastor, may I come in?”

A sour taste came in your mouth, “No.”

“You cannot lock yourself away from me forever.”

You lifted yourself off the couch, full of bitterness, “I can and I will!”

An electric hum filled your ears, the sound of Alastor weighing his words, “Could you at least entertain my attempt?”

Walking to the door and opening it slightly you saw his face, those deep, hooded eyes dark as blood, cracked lips, and hollow cheekbones. All of those beautiful, haunting features draped in remorse. You sighed, cursing the affection you had for him.

“Fine, but I’m still cross with you.” That made him smile, if only a tad.

Opening the door fully, you saw he’d brought one of the dining carts from the unused kitchen clad in a clean white sheet. Alastor pushed it to the center of the room before spiritedly ripping the cover from the cart, presenting polished silver dishes of raw meat and organs. From the bottom shelf of it, he had pulled a fine bottle of wine and two shining glasses.

“I helped myself to a bottle of Husk’s finest, the patrons here don’t have as refined tastes as you and I.” He gave a small grin. So this is what he brought with him, a peace offering. Your stomach was empty from only eating a small meal earlier in the day, so perhaps it was not in vain, though you weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him.

“I’ll help you set the table,” you offered, feeling guilty he put so much effort into pleasing you.

Alastor held his hands up, “No need darling.” He put his hand on his throat, “What I said the other day was very…” he coughed into his hand, “ungentlemanly of me, and I wanted to make it up to you.”

You folded your hands and held them to your chest, looking at the embarrassment he tried to hide. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, and raised your gaze to his. “Thank you, Alastor.” His grin widened as he sat down beside you.

He uncorked the bottle of wine, beginning to pour it into the glasses, “Of course.” He handed you the glass which you took gladly. The vintage was so dark it looked black, reflecting the lights that glowed from the ceiling. Swishing it, you could see the hidden shades of red that the wine hid.

“Demon’s blood, Husk calls it.” Alastor told you before he took a long sip.

“Fitting. Do you know how long he’s aged it?” Alastor shrugged, taking another swallow.

“I didn’t care to ask, but it tastes so good going down. Come, drink, I didn’t bring this up so I could get drunk by myself.” That made you giggle, how much he valued the both of you eating and drinking together.

Taking his lead, you titled your head back, savoring the warm burn of the wine going down. Its hot fingers lingered in your chest before fading, like drinking cold medicine. In three large gulps you finished your glass, noticing the way Alastor’s eyes watched your throat as you drank. After finishing your second glass you began to dig into the food he’d brought, pancreas tarts, cooked kidneys and…oh good god! On the largest plate was a raw heart, fresh and bloody.

“Where did you get this? You shouldn’t have!” Your eyes went wide and your mouth began to salivate. A raw heart! Oh and it was human too! Such a fine delicacy must have taken so much begging from Alastor!

“Rosie owed me a favor. And I owe it to you, for making such a jackass of myself.”

You took another sip of your wine, feeling your face begin to flush. You helped yourself to a tart while Alastor poured himself another glass. As you ate you felt his eyes on you again, focusing on the way your teeth bit into the pastry, your swan’s neck showing your swallow, and how your tongue dragged across your lips. Feeling bold, you placed your feet in his lap and wiped the corner of your mouth with your finger, licking the tip of it with your tongue. He swallowed, hard, his eyes growing wide.

“Are you looking at something?” Your voice a heavy seduction.

“Possibly.” He drank again. Leaning back on the arm of the couch, he placed his glass on the floor. The tips of his fingers grazed your legs, “Though I do have another question for you, if I may.”

A sultry smirk grew on your face, “That depends on what it is, Al.” God, you could see the glint in his eyes then.

Alastor looked up at you from his hooded eyes, “I’ve been wondering…about your “darling.” You arched an eyebrow; your interest piqued. “Did they ever have…you?” His breath shuddered.

“Have me, how?” You teased.

“Oh humor me my dear,” He purred

You smirked and shifted your legs in his lap. “Hmm, maybe once or twice…” You sit up from your recline and crawl onto his lap.

“What sorts of things did they do to you?”

Running your fingers down his chest you savored the way he squirmed and shifted, “All sorts of unholy things”

Alastor choked on his breath, his eyes transfixed on your face. Slowly, he caught it, regaining a certain boldness afterwards. His hand found the top of your stocking, fingering the nylon taut to your thighs. “Getting rather comfortable aren’t we my dear?”

The smirk you had deepened and you pulled in closer, feeling the heat of his breath tickle your cheeks. You looked into his eyes, “I could get much more comfortable if you like, Al.” For what seemed like ages you lingered, until you felt you had tortured the man enough. Slowly, you leaned in, seemingly ready to kiss his shiny red lips. Grinning, you pulled a piece of dry skin from his bottom lip between your teeth, peeling it to show the bleeding flesh beneath.

You sat back on his lap and spat out the skin. Looking at him, you saw that hunger in his eyes again. That fine line of decorum the two of you had with one another, ignoring the lingering gazes and longing touches, all thrown away with one bite. Underneath, you could feel his arousal beginning to grow hard. You rolled your hips slightly into him, earning a throaty groan from Alastor. From the silver dining cart you pulled the piece de resistance, that raw bleeding heart, and sunk your teeth into it, tasting the sweet flavor of iron. Trails of blood dripped from your mouth onto your decolletage, slowly turning brown and flaky.

Alastor’s breath heaved, growing even harder from that sultry cannibalistic display. He pulled you towards him and pressed your mouth to his, saccharine saliva mixing with sanguine. His tongue slid and twisted about yours, savoring every inch of its taste. You pulled away from him to catch your breath, making him whine. Leaning in again, he dragged his tongue along your neck, cleaning up the drying strings of blood.

Both of you straightened up then, him holding you proper now. One hand ran its fingers through his shiny red hair and the other cupped his aching sex, so taut against his trousers.

“Is that what you were so upset about Al? If they fucked me or not?” You purred into his ear.

The tips of your fingers fluttered over his hip, tracing its edge before returning to his cock. “I bet you wondered if I did this to them, didn’t you?” A small nip was placed on his neck, leaving a red half-moon. Your breath grew hot against his cheek as you whispered into his ear again,

“Maybe I did, and maybe I did so many more dirty things to them.”

Alastor enraptured your mouth in another needy kiss. His words heavy with radio static, “What sort of things my dear? Or are you all talk?” Your grin widened seeing the shock in his eyes when you began to unbutton his overcoat.

“Let me show you.”

Four little words was all it took to send him over the edge. Picking you up, his hands traced over all the parts of your succulent body. When he flopped you on the bed, hair as tousled as a pin-up, you reached out a stockinged leg to him, that devious look on your face growing. Oh how badly he wanted to have you, hastily unzipping your dress as you stripped him down to his undershirt and trousers. Deft fingers hooked around the tops of your stockings, pulling them down as fast as they could. You dropped his trousers and took off his shirt, admiring all of that soft, gray skin.

You pressed your mouth to the flesh of his stomach, blessing it with small love-bites that made him shudder. All along his torso you left red patches and traced your cool fingertips along the hard edges where his ribs poked out. You tilted your head up and moved his hands to the straps of your brasserie, exposing all of your hot, yearning flesh. He cupped a breast and lied on top of you. Grinding his sex to yours he moaned into your mouth. It had been so…so long since you’d been wanted, since someone pressed their body to yours and you felt all of their heat as they slid into you, over and over again.

“Al,” You breathed

“What is it?”

“Get on your back.”

And so he did.

Alastor’s back against the mattress and your palms against his chest, you let him enter you. He let out a string of curses when you did, and even more when you started moving in those easy rolling motions. Those large hands of his held the curve of your waist as you rode him, his eyes half-lidded as he watched your breasts bounce.

“The first time I saw you…” You began, going a little faster, “I wanted you,” You heard a small thud as he dropped his head against the pillows.

“I thought about you kissing me and touching me all over” That’s when the pulses of pleasure started to build up, prickling you in sweet needles that went all the way up your spine.

“And about you sticking your fingers in me and..and your tongue too” You felt your face heat up and your sex grow slicker, admitting those indecent thoughts you only entertained during late nights when your fingers wandered. Alastor gripped your waist tighter, making your rhythm harsher. You looked down on him, his eyes glazed over with euphoria, and felt your mouth pool with saliva.

Digging your nails into the skin of his chest you kept on. “For a whole week I couldn’t keep from slipping my hands between my legs.” Your voice, thick and hoarse. “I wanted to know what you tasted like, if-if your mouth tasted like blood,” that was when he quickened the pace even more. Your sex was so hot and wet, all the way at the base of your spine you could feel your orgasm coming to you, a full-body shiver that made your eyes well with tears.

The last part was what sent him over the edge though.

“Sometimes, I’d bite myself so I could taste the blood when I’d touch-” was all it took to make him come.

Fuck it felt good too. A weak falsetto escaped your mouth when he released, so warm and filling. That’s what made you reach your end too. You clawed your nails in his skin so deep there were two broken half-moons on his chest. Your thighs clenched against his torso, quivering, as you could feel your body become as light and floaty as chiffon.

Alastor let the both of you ride it out, that sweet joyous bliss. When your mind returned from the heaven it was sent to, you leaned over, resting on top of him. He moved you gently, pressing you closely to his chest. For a while, neither of you spoke, the air lingering with the smell of sweat and blood and sex. You ran your fingers through his hair again; He kissed the back of your hand before speaking.

“If I’d known all that would come out of making you angry at me, I would’ve earned your ire a long while ago.” You rolled your eyes, flicking his chest playfully.

“Perhaps we could do this again, without the arguing?” You propose, “You’re quite good at it.”

A smile stretched across his face as he played with a lock of hair that rested near your face, “Expect nothing less from an overlord of hell cher.” One of his hands slid to your lower back, tracing small circles on that creamy flesh.

“How about we try one more time without the arguing, for good measure?”

You smirked and kissed him again. All for good measure.

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel smut #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #fanfic request

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cillsworld · 3 months

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My devotion to you✧₊⁺

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚��✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Ship|Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary|you fall for your corrupt psychiatrist and he takes advantage of that.

Word Count|2765

Warnings|smut(18+!), age gap, abuse of power?, mentions of violent acts, oral(m rec!), rough sex, forced breeding!, baby trapping, (very) mild use of fear gas, mentions of drugs.

Notes|Jonathan is canonically 26 and reader is 18, reader is horny asf which is so real honestly like girl is down baddddddd. Also this is my second fic/piece of writing ever so that's cool, honestly it's a bit repetitive but I don't hate it sooo enjoy!

masterlist

You had always been an aggressive individual, constantly getting into fights both verbal and physical, being a headache to your parents, teachers, fellow peers and sometimes even the police.

Their last straw was when you beat a girl to unconsciousness for whatever irrational reason your brain had come up with and decided that you needed to be confined in a nut-house in order to change.

The first few days you were here, you were kept in solitary confinement with a straight-jacket to contain you from scratching your own eyeballs out, if you weren't insane before, that experience surely confirmed it.

But your disdain for the asylum went away as soon as your first session with Dr. Crane started, in high-school you were never big on crushes or boys really, since they all looked like wet rats and you couldn't bring yourself to be attracted to them.

That all changed when you saw the man that was meant to be your psychiatrist, Dr. Crane was the only thing keeping your remaining sanity intact, the man was so breathtakingly beautiful that all you ever did in your free-time was fantasize about him and count down the minutes to when you'd get to see him again.

Each session would consist of your failed attempts to flirt with him while he tried to bring your attention back towards the topic at hand, he was also the only psychiatrist you hadn't been violent against, that's why he was the one who actually stayed, just like you wanted him to.

So here you were, a smile present on your face as he walked into the room where you sat, confined by a straight jacked but nonetheless excited to see him, "you look unusually giddy today, what's the occasion?" He questioned while taking a seat across from you, looking down at the clipboard in-hand as he adjusted his glasses.

"I'm getting to see you after a whole week!" You responded with a giggle, leaning over the desk a bit as you usually did to get a better look at him, he looked back up with a raised eyebrow and sighed.

"Maybe if you didn't attack that man in the cafeteria, you wouldn't have been kept in solitary for a week and you would be able to see me earlier" he spoke with that usual stern tone of his, his words making you frown immediately, he looked and sounded so upset with you that you wanted to cry on the spot.

"He took my apple! What else was I supposed to do?" You retorted defensively almost immediately, jumping up a bit, all he did was stare at you, with that look that he knew would make you contemplate everything you just did, you calmed down and slumped back in your chair with that cute, conflicted look on your face.

"I'm sorry for yelling doctor Crane, are you mad at me?" You questioned quietly, your voice going soft and barely above a whisper, he swallowed with pursed lips before looking back down at his clipboard, writing something down that you tried to peer over to get a look at.

"No.. No, I'm not mad" he responded dismissively with a shake of his head, "but I have to say, this session isn't starting quite the way I had hoped" he continued making your expression falter, looking back up at you, "don't you think you've given me enough trouble for the week?"

"I gave you trouble doctor Crane?" You questioned with confusion lacing your voice and expression, leaning over the table with furrowed eyebrows, hugging yourself tighter then you were being forced to.

"Yes. I wasn't going to tell you but your little outburst caused me a lot of trouble with my seniors, they think I'm not making progress with you fast enough and they should give you to someone else" you immediately opened your mouth to protest when he said that but a raise of his hand signaling you to keep quiet was enough to make you shut yourself up.

"Now, I'm going to need you to be well-behaved for this session or I might as well hand you over" he threatened, almost daring you to challenge his words, "so.. Are you going to be good for me today?"

God why'd he have to word it like that, you quickly nodded while absentmindedly rubbing your thighs together, "yes I will Doctor Crane, I promise!" You responded, perking up and he nodded muttering a small "good", almost smirking at your compliance of anything he says in response to the simplest threat of being away from him.

“Now, I want you to tell m-“ you couldn’t help but cut him off, at this point it was a habit of yours and a casual occurrence, “what’s in that box doctor crane?” You questioned with a tilted head, nodding towards the briefcase that he’d brought in for the first time.

Usually your interruption would annoy him but this time it caused a rush of excitement in him, “I’m glad you asked darling..” your face heated up at the nickname that he called you rarely, every time he had said it, it had caught you off guard.

He opened the little black briefcase and as soon as he did the air felt different, heavy, your heartbeat had started to rapidly increase and every inch of your skin was becoming sweaty and clammy as anxiety filled you and your brain went panic mode.

”What’s in there doctor Crane?” You continued with the questioning now looking as if you were incredibly sick, your skin pale and flushed, “this, is a special creation of mine.. it’s what I use to keep extreme cases in line..”

His voice gradually became more raspy and deeper as he talked about it, looking into the briefcase with so much admiration that you almost wished you were it.

“I don’t like it..” you mumbled weakly as he brought it closer to you, instinctively leaning back as he did so, your vision going a bit blurry as your stared down into it, Crane on the other hand scoffed at your words.

“You aren’t supposed to like it" he replied in an almost snappy tone, closing it shut as he did so, "my dear, I need you to understand that if you keep misbehaving as you have recently.."

"I won't hesitate to give you an actually proper dose of what is in here" he patted the case as if to emphasize his point and you let out a soft gasp, "why would you do that doctor crane? I said I was sorry.." Your voice shaky and quiet, starting to understand why those patients you'd overhear would always talk of Crane as if he was the devil.

"You're already scared?" The way he said your name had a mocking undertone in it that you hadn't yet heard from him, "I said if you misbehave" he felt like a broken record, constantly repeating the same things and not getting much progress in return and frankly it was starting to annoy him too much for your own good.

He saw that sense of relief wash over you at his words, he couldn't help but want to ruin that peace and bring back the look in your eyes that sent his heart racing, "or.. I could give you a demo right now?"

"No-" you cut him off quickly, "that.. That's not necessary" you couldn't quite put a pin on the look in his eyes, was it amusement? Excitement? Either way it gave you a rush of adrenaline you enjoyed.

"are you sure about that? because I have an inkling that you'll get me in trouble yet again, if you don't learn that your actions have consequences" he was so serious, more then usual, while speaking that you couldn't even try to trick yourself into thinking he was bluffing.

"I would never do anything to get you in trouble.. Not- not on purpose" you spoke hesitantly, not trusting your words at all, "really?" He mocked with raised eyebrows, "if you're really that devoted to me why don't you prove it?" He spoke in a bored tone, leaning back in his chair as he did so.

"how do I do that?" You questioned quickly, a subtle pout on your face, "I don't know" he retorted with a click of his tongue, "you tell me.."

As soon as the idea came to your brain your heart went racing, maybe you escalated things too quickly, dropping to your knees and scooting under the table to go towards Jonathan, when you peaked out of the table from in between his legs to make contact with his widened eyes, you tried not to smile, "I can pleasure you? To prove my devotion of course.."

"well that's certainly an idea.." As usual his tone was hard to read, he really was contemplating, he'd have to admit the sight of you between his legs batting your eyelashes at him was a pretty one, if that wasn't enough to make him uncomfortably hard you being in a straight jacket on top of that made it harder for him to refuse.

"get one chance and you become a bitch in heat.." His voice was so low that you almost didn't catch what he said and you almost wished you didn't, your cheeks heated up and you opened your mouth in protest but he quickly clasped a hand over your mouth, shutting you up.

"if we're going to do this I'm gonna need you to stay quiet okay?" He told you and you quickly nodded, "good, now get to work" he said dismissively before removing his hand and leaning back in his chair, unzipping his pants and pushing it down just enough that it'd be past his hips and you could see the outline of his cock through his boxers.

It seemed almost uncomfortable as the boxers seemed like they'd burst open any minute with how his cock was straining against them, your mouth was watering at the sight though you looked up at him in confusion when he made no move to take the boxers off.

He raised an eyebrow looking down at you, "what? I really need to spell it out for you?" His tone was so obviously condescending that you almost felt ashamed it was turning you on, "your hands may be useless but you still have a good set of teeth princess, use it"

So you did, craning up your neck to take the hem of his boxers between your teeth and slowly pull them down enough to release him from, you almost gasped at the sight of him, he was a little above average in length and girthy enough to make you question if you could fit him properly in your mouth.

You stuck your tongue out and licked a strip under it from the base till the tip of his cock, taking the head in your mouth, licking the pre-cum, his hand came up to take a fist full of your hair startling you, "speed up darling, I don't have all day" he told you in an unamused tone.

You swallowed him halfway and started bobbing your head, hollowing your cheeks in an effort to impress him, your body pressed up against his legs as you moaned around him.

All you got in response was a little groan, his grip on your hair tightened and he started pushing your head up and down at a faster pace, pushing you deeper each time, you looked up at him to see his flushed face and pretty blue eyes roll to the back of his head as he cursed under his breathe.

The sight sent waves of pleasure to your core and made you uncomfortably wet, "that's it princess, put your pretty mouth to good use" he muttered under his breathe as his thrusts became faster and more desperate.

Suddenly he pushed you all the way down and you eyes widened from surprise, gagging around him for a moment as you tried to adjust to the foreign breaching of your throat, your nose pushed into his trimmed hair as you whined, looking up at him through watering eyes, he let out a soft with at the sight.

"oh don't cry darling.." He spoke with feign sympathy, "this is what you wanted right? To pleasure me?" He mocked as you whined once more, instinctively trying to pull back for air, he let you go after a few moments, only giving you a few seconds to breathe before pushing you down again.

He bobbed you at the same place, letting himself bask in the pleasure as you gagged and choked with each thrust, it went on for a bit before he completely pulled you off and up so he could see you properly, standing on your knees a line of spit was connected from the base of his cock to your lips.

He reveled in the sight of your flushed face with tears streaming down it, messy hair and chest heaving, "good.. You did good darling.." He said under his breath, patting your cheek a bit too harshly, "but you didn't cum doctor crane.." You responded quietly, a pout on your glossy lips.

"oh that's not for you to worry about" he responded dismissively before standing up and pulling you with him, making you whimper from the pressure on your scalp, he turned you around before shoving you on the table and you let out a squeak of surprise.

"what're you doing doctor crane?" You questioned quietly, even though you knew the answer specially when he reached for the hem of your trousers, you wanted him to tell you.

"m'gonna fuck you baby.. " his raspy voice responded while undressing your lower half as blood rushed towards your face, "you can see it as a reward for your hard work.."

You could feel the head of his cock rubbing on your cunt, you squirmed and pushed back against him with a whine, urging him on, he grabbed your hair yet again and pulled you up, bending your body uncomfortably as he leaned down, "stop being so desperate darling, it's not a good color on you.."

Before you even had time to process it he pushed almost all the way in and your jaw dropped as a loud moan escaped you, his grip on your hair tightened as your expression contorted from the pain and pleasure of it all, eyes fluttering shut.

"fuck, I knew you'd have a tight little cunt from the moment I saw you" he breathed out, staying still for the moment to let the both of you adjust before pulling all the way out till the tip and then thrusting in again, repeating the process as loud moans escaped you.

"thought I told you to stay quiet earlier.." He muttered before letting your hair go and untying his tie, "but that's just how you bitches are huh? Get a good cock in you and you lose all control of yourself" you whined in protest but not for long before he gagged you with his tie and tied it behind your head.

He held your hips up as his thrusts soon resumed, letting you lay limp on the rocking table, squirming and mewling as he chased his own release, he reached a hand down to start rubbing at your clit with enough pressure to make you see stars and clench tightly around his dick, making him release a loud groan.

"pussy so tight she's fuckin chocking me.." He turned you around, deciding he wanted to see your face while you both came, see your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your legs shook from the pleasure, he didn't falter in his thrusts while you came, not caring if he was over stimulating you and more focused on his release.

Even though your head felt blank and too foggy to form a coherent thought you could feel him twitching inside you and wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, making sure he came deep inside you.

Once her came off his high he quickly pulled out, "fuck, what did you do.." He panted out, raising one of your legs up to get a good look of his come dripping out of your hole and down your ass.

"now why would you do that?" He questioned; knowing you weren't allowed to or were on birth control, rising up and removing your makeshift gag, as soon as he did you craned up to kiss his stiff form.

"I love you Jonathan" you told him after pulling away with a smile, not bothering to answer his 'silly' question, all while he stayed a bit frozen, now realizing that he'd gotten himself into major shit.

#cillian murphy #jonathan crane #cillian murphy x reader #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy x you #dc #cillsworld

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chocosvt · 1 month

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HER | part five.

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

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

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

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

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

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

—AUGUST 3RD.

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

It was perfect.

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

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

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

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

Breathing out slowly, Wonwoo glanced down at his hands.

It was like the first time he met you.

Just suck it up. Go do it.

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

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

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

Wonwoo pushed the button to the elevator.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no movement from behind the door.

Swallowing very dryly, Wonwoo knocked again.

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

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

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

Wonwoo relaxed his hands.

“Hey.”

Expectantly, you said nothing.

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

He needed to say something fast.

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

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

But it couldn’t end so abruptly.

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

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

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

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

Was it good enough? Feasible, even marginally?

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

Your fingernails carved into the door.

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

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

Relief struck him like a breeze during a heatwave.

“Thank yo—”

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

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

He nodded.

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

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

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

“Kitchen.”

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

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

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

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses, sighing.

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

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

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

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

“Why?” He echoed dumbly.

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

“No, that—yeah, it makes sense...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He paused, chuckling.

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

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

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

Rolling out his shoulders, Wonwoo frowned.

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

“I had sex with Mingyu.”

“Uh, well… yeah.”

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

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

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

“Her, please, listen—”

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

“Can I just—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“It was because I liked you!”

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

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

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

Your mouth hung open, shoulders hunching.

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

“Please just spit it out.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh… god, Wonwoo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

Your nails clicked once against the island.

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

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

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

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

“Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.”

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

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

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

“Yeah… July seventeenth.”

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

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

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

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

“Do you like red velvet cake?”

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

You picked up the candle. “Want to?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

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

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

Sniffling again, you picked up the butter knife.

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

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

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

“It’s not my birthday.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I don’t sound like that.”

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

“Thank you.”

“… How does it taste?”

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

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

“Hm. Didn’t know that.”

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

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

“You said it doesn’t matter!”

“Now, that’s not what I said.”

“Don't act like such a smart ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo scraped against the cuticle of his thumb.

Does he just… leave?

It felt too abrupt.

He smiled at you, keeping it soft and mindful.

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

“Mmhm…”

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

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

“Her… are you alright?”

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

“Do you… should I go?”

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

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

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

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

“I know…” he murmured.

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

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling his throat burn.

“Can I comfort you for a bit?”

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

“I need you closer, please.”

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

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

But he liked you very much alive.

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

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

“T-That’s hard to believe…”

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

Threading your fingers deeper into his hoodie, you nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo had removed his hands from your face.

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

“You live inside me, too.”

Rubbing off your nose, you shook your head angrily.

“It can’t be like that.”

His throat twisted up.

“Why?”

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

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

“But I just—I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

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

The air was ice cold against him.

He just wanted your perfect body back in his arms.

“O-Okay… okay. I get it.”

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

Wonwoo sighed, curling his fingers in and out.

“No, I—I hear you. I promise.”

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

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

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

“I’ll go now, okay?” Wonwoo murmured.

Folding your arms, you sniffled a little, nodding.

“Okay...”

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

Except, you were silent.

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

—SEPTEMBER 8TH.

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

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

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

Wonwoo had also invited Sierra.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah… I see that, too.”

But he didn’t.

He was still in love with you.

And now Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

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

Surprisingly, Wonwoo was okay with that.

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo grinned, the pen stilling into his hand.

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

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

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

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

He was promptly greeted by a very shiny smile.

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

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

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

Scratching his temple, Wonwoo chuckled, “fair.”

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

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

“Meaning what?”

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

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

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

“Are you?”

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

That little smile you gave him was enchanting.

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

“Really?”

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

“That’s a bit extreme.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You quirked an eyebrow. “Who was that?”

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

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

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

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

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

But it was hard for Wonwoo to ask.

He studied the nervous hands in his lap.

“So… are you free after class?”

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

“No, you made the right choice.”

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

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

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

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

You nodded. “I’ll think it over.”

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

“Actually, can I ask you something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh… okay. Yeah. I can go.”

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

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

“Oh my gosh! You’re the best!”

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

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

Wonwoo smiled bashfully, shaking his head.

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

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

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

—SEPTEMBER 29TH.

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

“… Yeah, that works. Okay.”

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

“It’s Nancy.”

“What?”

“It’s—never mind.”

“Who’s Nancy?”

“I said never mind.”

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got this, playboy.”

“See you on the other side, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck! You’re here!”

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

“Uh, yeah. Just got dropped off.”

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

His face began to burn at the compliment.

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

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

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

His face grew warmer, sizzling almost.

“That dress has always looked perfect on you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be Wonwoo!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grabbing onto her shoulder, you gently guided her away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your arms folded, and you appeared so much smaller.

“Seokmin set the table already.”

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

“Yes, like an hour ago.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah,” he answered.

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

“Gosh! You shouldn’t’ve!”

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

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

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

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

Your expression faltered, shoulders sagging.

“My makeup? What’s wrong with it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He watched the fist unclench at your side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo smiled at you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I see what your gift is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait… you actually went to Rosette?”

He nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

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

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

“Unnecessary.”

“To you.”

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

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

“Well, I’m glad.”

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

“Uh—yeah, ‘course.”

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

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

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

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

“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes!”

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

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

“Should I take the box—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, hey guys.”

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

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

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

Wonwoo shook his head. “Not that well.”

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

Mingyu brushed the cracker crumbs off Seokmin’s suit.

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

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

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

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

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

“Rulebook?” Wonwoo echoed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… what’s the rulebook?”

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

“We? You and Mingyu, you mean.”

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

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

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

“Um, does Her know—”

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

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

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

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

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

“But I thought—”

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

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

“What happens if that fails?” Wonwoo asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In an instant, trepidation surged throughout his body.

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

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

“Oh—um, okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, got it.”

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

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

Wonwoo grabbed at his knees while pulling himself up.

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo squinted at you. “Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“You took classes?”

Shrugging, you muttered a simple, “yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a beat of silence. Your expression twitched.

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

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

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

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

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

“Probably Chrysanthemum or some shit,” Wonwoo muttered.

You laughed at his comment, “probably.”

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

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

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

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

“No,” Wonwoo chuckled, “that’s dumb.”

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

“Shit. What happened to it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo nodded at you.

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

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

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

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

“Anyway. That’s my take on it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Making the right connections is certainly key.”

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

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

“Hm. Yeah.”

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

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

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

She was the only one standing.

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

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

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

“Looks super delicious,” Seokmin complimented.

Mingyu nodded in agreement. “Smells even better.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfe—”

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

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

“I was trying to make it per-fect.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo could see your eyes burning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I already said no!”

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

“Don’t shout,” was all he warned.

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

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

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

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

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

“You still won’t listen!”

“I’ll listen later, I promise.”

“Mingyu, do you even hear yourself?!”

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

“Stop trying to control me!”

“Calm down and—hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

That would be nice, if Wonwoo had any appetite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t know where you were going.

But he didn’t need to.

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

“I think I already did.”

Wonwoo pulled tight on your warm hand, stopping you.

“Seriously? Let me look.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone there can go fuck themselves.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

“Don’t apologize.”

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

“It went off the rails.”

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

“I made you part of it.”

“I made myself part of it.”

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

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

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

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

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

He laughed, “I mean it.”

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

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

Your brow furrowed.

“What?” You urged him.

Wonwoo chuckled. “Fuck. Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Please. What is it?”

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

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

Your forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

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

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

“What’s your name?”

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

Wonwoo thought you might laugh at him.

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

Instead, however, you just stayed silent.

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

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

“No, one second.”

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

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

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

“Clever thinking.”

“Give me your hand.”

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

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

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

Only between you.

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

“Can I ask you something?” You said.

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

“Wonwoo?”

“Sorry—yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

He almost couldn’t breathe. “Everything.”

You frowned. “Even the bad stuff?”

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

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

“Hm…” you hummed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo and you were pressed together. Both unreceptive.

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

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

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

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

That was the beginning and end of the conversation.

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

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

He was glad he went to the dinner party.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, Wonwoo chuckled.

“We ran out.”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t care.”

“If he beats your ass?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It won’t be like that.”

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

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

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

Besides, Wonwoo would pay for it all, anyway.

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

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

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

“Everything alright?”

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

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

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

“That’s Bohyuk?”

Wonwoo nodded, “yeah.”

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

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

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“… I’m hungry.”

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

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

“Chinese?”

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course. Go for—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Writing out your apology letter?”

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

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

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

“Noted.”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll allow it.”

“Fair enough,” his friend answered.

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

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

As Wonwoo expected, it was the heavily watered-down version of everything that happened between Vernon and his family, however, it was enough to paint the picture. Taking a moment to slurp up some spicy noodles, you soon set the carton down and patted along your gradually swelling lips. The crumpled napkin was placed on the table.

“Yeah, I bet the money speaks for itself. You’ve got a bunch of stupidly rich university students on your roster. They go through just about everything they can get their hands on. It’s fucking insane.”

Vernon propped his elbows onto his knees, gathering more rice onto the plastic white fork while smirking at you knowingly.

“You’ve got that coke sniff, y’know?”

Wonwoo widened his eyes at Vernon, suspecting a wildfire.

But you merely shrugged, quite honest in your response.

“I know. I did it once with Mingyu, some friends, and I thought never again…” with a sigh, you massaged at your shoulder, staring off into a random spot that Wonwoo couldn’t pinpoint. “Mingyu was getting it for me at almost every party we went to. I don’t know. I thought, since he paid for it, since it’s right here, I might as well do it.”

Slipping the fork out from his mouth, Vernon grinned. “Coked-up sex is crazy. Especially when you've got the right cut. It hits.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo immediately chirped at him while setting down his emptied container of food, his voice sounding particularly stern, like he was scolding a child for making an ignorant comment.

“What?” His friend laughed, raking a tattooed hand through his loose and shiny black hair. “It is. Feels like you’re on another planet.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just think a little before you speak, please.”

Again, Wonwoo was surprised to see your nonchalance.

“It’s okay. I know what you’re saying. I think… like… Mingyu only wanted me to have it for that reason—I’m making it sound like some non-consensual, pressured shit—it’s not,” you muttered, waving around your hand in dismissal, “I just… the thing is I don’t like how I feel afterward. But it was never enough for me to say that I didn’t want it. I liked that it would take me out of my head for a bit. My mind would stop running on overdrive.” Then, you pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “The last time I did anything like that was the party at Seungcheol’s, though.”

Whenever the party was mentioned, Wonwoo would always bite down on his lip and tightly curl his fingers. He had discussed it with you in the past, beyond the summer evening spent at your apartment with a red velvet cupcake in between you and a painful, aching hug he could still feel all the warmth and regret to.

There were long, long phone conversations. And somewhere, stuffed in his mind, was the memory of you and Mingyu behind the door as he listened to every little sound—skin hitting skin, the desperation in your voice, wood smacking the wall.

“Yeah, is what it is,” Vernon replied. He pulled a toothpick out from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “Do I get my question now?”

“Uh… sure.”

Wonwoo had almost missed you staring at him. There was a concernedness to it, but when he smiled back you seemed to breathe.

“Still think I’m a gigantic fuckin’ tool?”

Immediately, you started laughing. Wonwoo followed suit, on the brink of embarrassingly blowing out the soda he just sipped from in a big spray. He was actually quite relived that Vernon had picked a more light-hearted question rather than something intimate. His friend swirled the toothpick around with his tongue, continuing to smirk in confidence.

“Giggle away. I’m curious, is all.”

Kissing your teeth, you held Vernon’s coppery, honey eyes. “You are a tool, one-hundred percent… but, I think you know that about yourself. And, um, you’re a good friend to Wonwoo. So… I guess my opinions about you have shifted. Appearances are deceiving.”

Pleased with your candour, Vernon grabbed his drink, leaned against the recliner behind him, and nodded his head approvingly.

“That tickles my fancy well enough.”

"Don't you think you'll want to settle down eventually?" You asked.

Vernon scrunched his eyebrow. "What?"

"Like, what if you find a girl. A really nice girl who could change your perspective. Do you think you'd want to settle down?"

With a quick laugh, Vernon shook his head. "Nice girls don't use half their last pay check to buy drugs. It's business at the end of the day."

Seeming skeptical, your eyes narrowed. "Right..."

"Vernon has his mind set on very specific things," Wonwoo smiled.

Straightening out the large shirt that draped around your frame—another garment belonging to Wonwoo that you had pulled from his dresser—you glanced between each boy and smiled.

“So... now I'm curious. How did this unlikely pairing meet?”

As Vernon was busy with navigating his toothpick, Wonwoo decided to tell the story, prompting him to sit up straight and alleviate his spine from being crooked against the hard bottom of the couch.

“I was convinced into attending a little New Year’s Eve party thing by these guys I don’t talk to anymore. Spent about half an hour wandering the halls, doing aimless laps, hating every second of it, debating if I should just take off. Not like anyone would notice. Then I bump into this guy—” Wonwoo nodded at Vernon, “—who was all tattooed and pierced up with this girl all over him. She was on the kitchen counter, one hand gripping his bicep while she was laying hickies to his fucking neck from behind.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Who was that?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Vernon?”

“Uh—I don’t know if I remember, honestly. She used to buy poppers off me like every damn week so I called her Poppy. That’s not her real name, though. She’s long gone. Moved cities months ago.”

“Yeah, well, he told me I looked like a lost ghost. Asked if I wanted a swisher. I agreed for some reason, and we went out back.”

Brushing a hand down your neck, you giggled. “A lost ghost?”

Vernon nodded, folding his arms.

“Yeah. Glasses always used to have that look to him. Dead man walkin’ kinda thing. Just wanderin’ around with no purpose.”

Wonwoo hoarsely chuckled at his friend, “jeez—thanks.”

“You can’t deny it.”

“I know. But to be fair, I was fucking going through something.”

“Mmhm, that’s why I took you under my wing,” Vernon sang, his eyes swimming with their usual gold-tinted mischief, “I could just tell you needed some guidance. Gave him the swisher of eternal friendship.”

“Is that what you call it?” Wonwoo huffed sarcastically.

“I call it many different things.”

You smiled sweetly at Wonwoo while your fingers played with the long cuff on the borrowed t-shirt. “Whatever it was, I guess it turned into something pretty good... and, Vernon, I am sorry for how I acted at the gas station. There was just a lot going through my mind.”

True to his casual, untroubled nature, Vernon swung his head dismissively while letting an arm collapse across his knee, the toothpick now in his hand and being spun between his ringed fingers. “No, you’re good. Don't worry 'bout it. It was just ‘cause you care n' shit. I get that.” Quirking his expression in an endearing manner, he proceeded to flash you a solid grin. “You didn’t singe my hair off so, I’ve got no grudge.”

You laughed, “I wouldn’t have actually done anything to you.”

“Eh, it’s hard to tell, isn’t it?” Vernon answered in a smirk.

Reaching for your drink, you sipped from it and then snuggled the can between your criss-crossed legs. Wonwoo examined that very intriguing smile opening its way across your mouth like a spring blossom, wanting to know the exact moment that sparked it.

A quiet pause passed, and then you were sighing with bliss behind it—that relaxed kind of sigh when everything seemed to click.

“It’s nice hanging out with you guys…” you murmured, staring across the coffee table scattered with ripped-open sauce packets, empty cardboard containers, wood chopsticks, and unfurling napkins. “It just feels lighter… I don’t know… making friends has always been so tough for me. The right friends, I mean. Friends that actually feel like friends.”

Wonwoo pinched his lip in his teeth.

“It can take a while before you hit the right people.”

Vernon shrugged, concealing a burp that had him rubbing down his broad chest. “If we’re all friends, then we’ve gotta be the weirdest fuckin’ collaboration of people I’ve ever seen.”

You snickered into your hands while Wonwoo lounged an elbow onto the couch to help prop up his head, rolling his eyes toward Vernon.

Though, Wonwoo could easily understand what Vernon was getting at. You, a popular and high-fashion campus honorary who at first glance seemed to have very little patience for anyone but yourself, followed by the guttural and unbothered drug dealer without a care in the world, beside an anxiety-ridden hermit just trying to exist and somehow not turn to a puddle in the process. Vernon was right—it was a strange grouping of people suckled together despite their completely different paths and choices. Somewhere, somehow, though, there was a connection.

Like a fated string weaving everything into a knot.

Since Wonwoo had already ordered the Chinese food fairly late, it was quite difficult to find an ice cream place in the area that was open past midnight. Vernon and his sudden craving for cookie dough had offered the idea, and you easily caved, which led Wonwoo on a spiral of searching through his phone. Unfortunately, the only ice cream they could order was vanilla soft-serve cones from a twenty-four-hour fast-food chain which arrived to his apartment dripping. But no one really cared, and Wonwoo threw on the television for some background noise.

The conversations lasted until about two in the morning.

Vernon had not so gracefully taken up the entire couch, his face shoved into the embroidered pillow, an arm left dangling limp over the edge, and a smear of soft-serve dried to his cheek. You and Wonwoo were sitting side by side on the floor, a blanket spread around your shoulders with your knee spilled onto his lap, attempting to finish up the random movie that he couldn’t even remember playing. When the credits began rolling, it took him a moment to process that the drama flick was even over. Your head was tucked against his shoulder, eyes shut but still twitching against the dull, meek light flooding from the screen.

He placed his hand on your bare thigh, fingers stretching eager over the warm and soft skin to carefully grip it and give you a squeeze.

Then, with his lips feathering at your forehead, he mumbled your name to get you awake. Wonwoo did feel somewhat guilty about stirring you, but he’d rather you have a comfortable sleep on his bed than the living room floor. He continued to rub your thigh nice and slow, watching your eyelids flicker open and squint at him through the dark room. There was a shallow grin that you gave him, full of contentment.

“You’re all fuzzy…” you yawned, proceeding to rub at your eye.

“It’s late,” he answered quietly, almost whispering, “I think I should get you to bed. You’ll be much comfier in my room.”

“Is Vernon asleep?”

“Mmhm.”

Turning back to glance at the couch, you yawned again.

“… Oh… so, we’re going to your room?”

“Yeah… c’mon, I’ll help you up.”

Wonwoo didn’t turn on the light in his bedroom since there was already a small separation in the curtains, allowing just the right amount of moonlight through to outline everything around him in bluish-silver.

You sat down on his bed, letting your fingers travel along the sheets to feel all the slight rumples and divots, only to look up at Wonwoo with a tired smile and sincere, blinking, gorgeous eyes that felt akin to a gut punch. As much as he wanted it—needed it—Wonwoo knew that he couldn’t sleep next to you. He couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t fathom having you so fucking close in the intimate, cocooning darkness and not being able to squeeze his cold hands along every perfect part of you.

But you weren’t making it easy.

In fact, you were making it excruciatingly hard.

“Are you not going to lie down with me?”

Wonwoo felt the twig snap in his chest. You wouldn’t stop staring up at him through those wispy eyelashes and nibbling on your lip.

“I’ve got the recliner in the living room…” he could hardly choke it out. There was so much heat in his body that he could melt.

“Why sleep there? The bed is big enough.”

His deep voice twisted into a laugh he couldn’t avoid. “Yeah, the bed’s not the issue… uh, it’s fine, though. The recliner’s nice.”

He took a step back, but then you had grabbed his wrist.

“Wonwoo,” you said his name in a tender, breathy, desperate sort of way that sent his heart shattering to his feet, your eyes glistening through the sparse light like two comets, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Fuck—it was all he could think—fuck, fuck, fuck.

With your fingers still wrapped to his wrist, Wonwoo pushed his hand gently against the side of your face. He was closer to you now, applying a soft pressure to angle your head up at him. You were breathing thick per every second that passed, holding his eye contact without one fracture, smiling arch. Wonwoo wanted to drink you.

Leaning into his palm, you swallowed and squeaked, “please?”

His thumb was on your chin. Right under your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you can't look at me like that…” Wonwoo rasped in a low, hushed voice that was struggling not to crack.

Truly, he meant it.

Your hand slid further along his wrist, almost tickling him.

“Ple—”

Immediately, Wonwoo pressed his thumb past your bottom lip and onto the ridge of your lower teeth, stifling that dangerous little word before it could hit his ear the wrong way and render him spineless.

“No more, okay?” He murmured, slowly sliding the digit from your warm, damp mouth, feigning obliviousness to your thighs clamping together and the manner in which your fingernails dug at his skin.

There was another moment of intense, humid silence while he wiped the wetness against the edge of your jaw.

“Seriously,” Wonwoo firmed up his voice, “no more.”

When you at last seemed compliant, nodding, Wonwoo let his hand drift from your heated-up face. You stayed in place, quiet as ever, on the edge of his bed, watching him disappear through the doorway.

As he collapsed onto the recliner and pulled the blanket once pooled on the floor over his body, Wonwoo didn’t even bother shutting his eyes or removing his glasses. Instead, he stared up at the popcorn ceiling, letting his heart thump, thump, thump and his mind wander until he naturally couldn’t fight the imminent feeling of sleep.

It certainly didn’t help that you had wandered into his dreams—dreams that he should probably keep to himself, warped fully by desire and longing.

—END OF PART FIVE.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagines #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #svt fanfic #jeon wonwoo #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen smut

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georgiapeach30513 · 3 months

Text

With Your Touch, Part 5

Summary: Some things just weren’t meant to be ignored.

Pairings: Lloyd Hansen X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: Language, voyeurism, masturbation (M&F), pillow grinding, The Verb, non con moment, implied fighting, tension, mentions of childhood trauma, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5.4K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

You were getting to Lloyd. He should have noticed it sooner, but he was too worried about his daughter, and then it was you that was occupying his thoughts. The forbidden fruit. Lloyd loves the succulent taste of something he’s not supposed to have, therefore you became an obsession. An obsession that he began to care about. An obsession he desired more than anything.

You entwined your kind and damaged self into his very being, and he needs to keep you for himself. Protect you from the world that so desperately wants to destroy women like you. Women who have it all, and are still overlooked. You were even going right down the path that they all did. A prick of a boyfriend that you didn’t love, didn’t want, but you just made it work because he ticks off imaginary boxes.

You were too pure for the men in your world. They’d have you beaten into submission, and be their perfect little housewife, while you became a woman like your mother. Did whatever your husband said because he paid the bills. You would make exceptions to your happiness because he gave you a life of luxury. He could go off and spend all his time with whores and secretaries while you sat at home becoming bitter.

He hated The Verb with every part of him, your dad was just barely below The Verb. The only reason he tolerates your father now is because he’s the reason you were searching for the love of a man. And because of your mother you accept subpar men like The Verb, and make excuses of it being love. It wasn’t.

Love is the way you lift Lyla up in the air above your head, while she giggles down at you. Love is pulling her closer to your face so you can kiss all over her cheeks. Love is sitting on a blanket in the park with the stupid expensive pram so Lyla can get outside. Love is enjoying the time that you get to have with her. Love is the confusing feelings you feel for him.

Because no matter what you say, he sees the feelings you have for him. You even got off with his name on your lips, and it was beautiful. He wants to hear it again. Hear it whisper across his skin, while your walls both literally and figuratively crash down. Becoming so soft after you orgasm over his cock that you are pliant, and just need him to hold you. His obsession runs deep, but at least it is pure intentions.

“Was watching her through your phone not enough?” Ari asks, as he sits down on the bench beside his friend. He looks in Lloyd’s direction as you lay Lyla on the ground, praising her when she flips over and gets into a crawling position. “I didn’t take you as a sap.”

“Me neither,” Lloyd barely responds, but smiles right along with you. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you?” Ari looks more at his friend before he looks back at the two of you. “She’s a natural,” every time that he has seen you with Lyla you didn’t look like her au pair at all, you looked like her mother. Even now, she seems like your baby.

“Yeah, she’s raising her daughter the way she wanted to be raised,” Ari opens his mouth, but closes it immediately. His eyes drift around the park, trying to make sense of whatever is going through his partner's head. “I didn’t want this. Either of them. I was supposed to continue to slut around with whoever I wanted, and go to work. That was my life. So you tell me why either of them came into my life, and I’m not supposed to do anything about it?”

“You should know that life gives us curveballs, and we have to figure it out along the way. Like Lyla. You brought Roman’s daughter into your life. And now you’ve got another problem.”

“A fucking hair in my eyeball that is festering and is named after a damn verb. That boy,” Lloyd releases a growl low in the pit of his stomach as he thinks about the vile things that boy said to you. And that is just what he has heard. He’s sure that Chase has said messed up psycho babble to you, that you never asked for. The way he looked down at you, and was already putting you in your place makes him sick. “Fuck.”

“Is that what you’re wanting to do with your sweet little au pair? Fuck her?”

“Yes. Dream about it every night while I fuck my fist,” Ari rolls his eyes, pretending he didn’t hear any of that. Last thing he wanted to think about was Lloyd fucking someone’s daughter. “But it’s more than that.”

“You want her to take care of your daughter.”

“I want to protect them both. And I enjoy the moments that don’t have this intense sexual tension. I enjoy her. And what she wants, and I just get her,” he did. Chase doesn’t know what he has, but Lloyd does. You would see. “I’m tired of this conversation. They’re both mine. And I don’t share.”

“You’re talking about a woman that actually isn’t yours.”

“She will be, Ari. I can promise you that. Let’s go. I’ve gotta get home early,” he gives the two of you a final look. Wishing he could linger, and watch you all day. See how patient you are with Lyla even if she cries. See how you adored her so much you couldn’t stop kissing her, and smiling at her. He is tired of avoiding you. And he isn’t going to avoid you anymore. Sexual tension be damned.

“And you go in your seat,” Lyla pulls her feet up in a silent protest to not sit in her high chair. She’d been doing this all day. “You are so needy for attention today, but you need to sit in your chair,” furrowing her brows, she looks at you with her bottom lip puckered out. “No, don’t give me that face.”

Opening her mouth to babble incoherent words in a sassy tone. “Are you really going to sass me after I made dinner, and made you your special food,” she keeps her legs tightly pulled up, and you look at your plate and her plate both getting cold. Maybe you were giving in to her too much, but she is a baby.

“Okay, okay. You’ll just sit in my lap, and we’ll wait for daddy. Say dada,” she giggles, shaking her head no. Her chubby little fingers reach for something to gnaw on for a moment, and you sneak a bite of your own. “Your daddy is scared of me. Yes, he is.”

Since that night, Lloyd had avoided you. Claiming he was working late, but you knew better. He checked in less, too. Having cameras gave him the ability to not check in, you suppose. Before he didn’t care. He’d call or send a text, now he does nothing. You figured he just didn’t want to see your face. “I think things got too heavy with us. He’s a bit strong, you know. But he’s pretty cute,” you giggle, making sure to kiss her cheek again.

“He’s very cute. And he has these arms, and his legs, and his lips. I think I like his hands the most. They’re so thick — and soft,” you close your eyes a moment, drifting off into a fantasy of being draped over his legs. “But it’s a bit too complicated,” sighing because you know that you’re not going to go that route. It was too complicated already. It was best if the two of you just kept going the pace you were going.

“But you know you’re daddy’s cute.”

“I am?” Your smile fades as the very man you were talking about waltzes into the dining area with a cocky grin. Lyla’s legs kick around, and she makes the sweetest grabby hands towards him. “Can daddy make him a plate? He sure is hungry,” her giggles turn into shrill screams, and her legs and arm flail. “Lyla Bee! You quit that, girlie.”

“I’ll make you a plate, Lloyd. Here, take Lyla biddy boo Bee,” the sound of your silly voice to her as you walk to her daddy who is already sitting at the table makes her squeal laugh. Her eyes closing with how much she’s smiling, and when he pulls her from your arms, she buries into his warmth. “She’s been a bit needy for attention lately, but tell daddy, it’s okay, huh?”

Leaning over, you grin, rubbing your nose on her, but Lloyd is encapsulated by the scent of your hair. Rolling his eyes in the back of his head at how sweet and sinful this moment all is. It’s almost normal. Almost the family that neither of you had. “Now, you behave,” you whisper.

As you stand up straight, you catch Lloyd wafting your scent with his softly closed, and it makes you smile to yourself. “I’ll be back, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” he didn’t even realize what you had said. Him being silly with a crush makes you happy.

“I was talking to the baby,” you remind him. A brief moment flashes between the two of you, and you want to stay. Want to will his hand to reach out and grab your own. You see the flinches of his fingers like he wants to, and then you snap out of it. This shouldn’t happen. He is your employer and things will get difficult, and you didn’t want them to. Lyla needs you.

Going into the kitchen, you plate up his dinner while you think. What the fuck are you doing? This is getting too intense, but the feeling of being so close to both of them made you warm and tingly in a different way than being alone with him. Plus you had to deal with your asshole of a boyfriend.

You knew Chase was no good, but what other choice did you have? Even though you didn’t see him daily, being with him made you stay away from Lloyd, and just fantasize about him. How much damn porn have you watched about the babysitter and the dad. Fuck, how many dreams did you have of Lloyd telling you that you would take his cock.

Why did you have to make this difficult? Why could you just forget about Lloyd and his fucking arms? And the need to see what he looked like with no shirt on. You bet he sleeps in boxers. Maybe completely nude. Shaking your head you back into the dining area and freeze. Why is him being with his little tiny daughter hotter?

Holding up one of her hands he slowly counts each of her fingers, moving onto the next one until getting to ten. Lloyd then reaches for a foot, pulling the socks off and she screams in laughter, “Oh, honey, are your toes ticklish?”

“You should see her when you have to clean in between them.”

“I bet you kick and giggle the whole time, huh? Do you not want to sit in your chair?”

“No, her doesn’t,” picking up her spoon, you give her a little bite of her food. Making sure that you remain close enough for Lloyd to smell you again. You did smell nice today. “Her gets all stressed out when you mess with her toes, huh, sweet girl.”

The touch is so quick, but you feel his hand on your thigh. You don’t even react, but he flinches away the second his finger touches your leg. You wish he’d keep going higher. Higher. Higher. Until he breaches your drenched hole. That’s how he made you. Soaked.

“You didn’t work late today,” you note, walking back to your chair. You take another bite while you smile at him. “How is it going?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, swallowing nothing while he nods his head, “It’s fine. Perfect. You haven’t requested any days off?”

“There’s really nowhere for me to go. I’ll go eat at the bar, and you and Lyla can bond before bedtime,” sitting at dinner with him and Lyla seems a bit too familial, and it suffocates you. You like it too much, and you need to step away.

“No,” Lloyd answers firmly. This time his swallow was of food. “No, I think you need some company. You’re around a baby that can’t talk all day. Unless you’re needing to make a phone call of course,” he had read being a stay at home mom was difficult, and to always engage in conversation when you came home. That way she didn’t get overwhelmed and feel isolated.

“I don’t,” and you didn’t want to leave him anyways. You just felt he wanted you away for whatever reason. The two of you settle in a comforting silence. Like Lloyd needed time to ground himself after whatever he did at work today. That the conversation flowing between the two of you was just as much for him as you. He seems to be seeking something more comfortable and sweet.

Stolen glances happen throughout the meal, but you’ll blame it on wanting to watch him be sweet with his daughter. While that is a bonus, the reality is you just want to look at him. Trying to keep it PG and not envision him hovering over your body with sweat glistening around his hair. Smiling as you go into a beautiful state of euphoria, and he tells you that you have to give him just one more time as tears drift down your face.

Fuck. You’re as big of a mess as your panties, and all you want is to curl into him, and let him take you down from a high of the most beautiful highs. God, you want to feel his arms wrap around you so bad. Looks like another night with your toys.

You aren’t sure why, but there is definitely a shift in the air tonight between you and Lloyd. And you sure are a glutton for punishment as you walk down to his room, but you want to just talk. You and him. There is one hundred percent no ulterior motive as you take each calculated step down the hall in your kinda sexy sleeper set. Maybe your ass is hanging out of the booty shorts, but who cares.

Tiptoeing down to his room, you lift your hand to knock, and then you hear a sound that almost knocks you to your knees. Your name. But not just your name, panting. Deep breaths. He is talking to an imaginary version of yourself. Not just talking, he was fucking the imaginary you, and you are right here!

He’s a vocal lover, and it causes you to drip. Weak from the way he was imagining fucking you. You knew there was a shift, but you couldn’t fathom Lloyd whimpering your name. Not Dolly, but your name. You couldn’t have prepared yourself to hear his grunts, and his coaching you through orgasms. You want to really orgasm. You don’t want that fake you to have all the fun. You’re throbbing all over, and ready to just break down the door, and jump on his cock.

This isn’t fair! It’s cruel torture. You find yourself nearly humping the air, and ready to beg for Lloyd to fuck you like that. Why can’t you have him? Oh, that’s right, a dumbass boyfriend. Breakup. No. Breaking up entails too many temptations now that you have heard — you stop walking, listening so intently as he squeaks out your name.

“Oh fuuuuck,” he sounds delicious as he comes undone. You want him to come in you. No. On you. No. What did you want? Him. His dick. His baby. More of his babies. Fuck. You’re fucked. This was fucked up. You haven’t kissed him and you want his babies? This was only a weird kink because you see how he fathers, and your mind and your desire to have a family is altering your usual steady mind.

Now you need to angrily get off. Fuck him. If he wants to fuck an imaginary you, you’ll fuck an imaginary him. It is only fair. You stomp back to your room. Yanking off your stupid sleep set. You’re quaking. Slamming a pillow down on the bed, you straddle it. It isn’t your finest hour, but you grind over the satin. Tweaking your nipples, and imagine his hands on your hips, guiding you to go faster, and you do. You just need to get off. You don’t want sweet, you want angry.

Fucking the frustration and confusion right onto the pillow so hard you actually feel him. His hands coast down your sides, and tighten on your hips. His mouth caresses the sensitive column of your neck, giving it a tiny little nibble, “I knew you’d be frustrated. Show me how angry you are.”

With your chest heaving as you bare down harder. You want to make Lloyd proud at how good you can ride his dick. “There’s a good girl. Let it all out,” his hands come around you as he fondles your chest. God he feels good.

“Lloyd, I’m coming.”

“Lloyd?” The grip on your tits turn harsh, and you stop moving, looking over your shoulder. Fuck. “You want to tell me why my whore of a girlfriend is fucking the boss? I knew it, you goddamn slut. He’s just using you to fulfill the babysitter fantasy.”

“W-w-why are you in here?” You can’t think properly as Chase’s cold blue eyes stare into you with so much anger. Hatred. You’ve never seen him look at you like this, but you have felt his wrath. You grab onto his hands, trying to pry them off your chest with no luck.

“I was going to make sweet love to my girlfriend, and I saw you naked and fucking a damn pillow, and wanted to have fun. This whole fucking time you were pretending it was Lloyd?” You shake your head aggressively trying to push his hands off you. He is too loud. “You want something to fuck, I’ll give you something.”

“No, Chase, don’t. He’ll hear. Stop, please, don’t,” your voice whispers through your tears as he pushes you forward. All the way down until your face is squished up against the blanket. Running his fingers through your folds. “Chase, don’t he’ll kill you. Please, stop.”

“This is how wet you get? You’re a fucking slut for the boss, huh?” You feel his blunt head at your entrance, and you clench your eyes closed. You could scream, and Lloyd will hear you, but so could Lyla. Chase would surely be killed. Or you can just sit like this, and take it until he is finished.

“Now, be a slut for me. It’s all I ask,” you gulp as he pushes through your walls. Fist clinging to the bed. “There’s a good girl. Since you’re dreaming about him, call me daddy.”

“No,” sick fuck. You didn’t want him on you. You didn’t want him touching you. You didn’t want to give that name to him. You aren’t even sure how you feel about that naturally coming out with Lloyd.

“Go on, you slut, call me your daddy. Tell daddy to fuck you like the bad girl you are. Let me ruin this little cunt.”

“No!” You didn’t care. He just drives harder into you. “No! Get off!” You hate him. It’s over. You didn’t care what Lloyd did to him or his body. He is the asshole. “Stop!” You can’t even pretend that he’s Lloyd. It’s all wrong. So very wrong. Lloyd would be hard, but tender. Demanding, but giving. This is just wrong. Shutting down everything that is happening in the present. Get out of reality, and go into your fake world where everything is perfect. Don’t let Chase have this.

And then he’s all pulled out of you. “She said stop, you fucking piece of shit!” Your mind shifts into an altered state as you try to take yourself out of this situation. Memories of someone else in your house. Your mom, screaming. The sound of fists hitting bone, and the sickening sound of blood. Your dad, screaming to get back in your room.

So many memories of your dad you blacked out, and that’s where you wanted them. Buried deep in the depths of your brain, and to never be seen or thought of again. They are cruel men with a deadly job. They protect their own, but invite evil into their homes. Close your eyes, and pretend that nothing is happening. Because nothing is happening.

Sing so you can ignore whatever is happening behind you. Remember your day with Lyla and how pure it was. How she smiled up at you like you had hung the moon. Lyla couldn’t remember the neglect her mom issued her, and you would make sure she didn’t know what being without a mother’s love was like. Lyla is what keeps you sane while hell is trying to suck you back to reality.

“Hey, sweetheart. Shh,” he covers your back with a blanket, but you keep your eyes closed. “Can I carry you out of here?” You nod your head quickly, and feel his thick arms pick you up bridal style. Keeping your body close to his warmth as he carries you out of your room, and you finally open your eyes.

You see the marred knuckles clinging to your body, and deadpan, “You need to wash your hands.”

“I need to make sure you’re not hurt. Did he hurt you?” Even though he’s trying to be soft, you see the edge of darkness cover his eyes. You don’t know if he killed Chase or he was badly misshapen. You didn’t care. You couldn’t care anymore.

“No, he didn’t.”

“What happened?” There are two options here; lie through your teeth and tell him a bent story or tell him the absolute truth.

“He saw me, and I was…I was — and I said your name, while he was behind me, and I didn’t know. And then…then…th-th-then he wanted me to call him — to call him daddy,” you hiccup as he carries you into the living room, and sits you on the couch softly.

You sniffle, trying to calm your sobs as you look at his hands again. They are hideous. They’ll be badly bruised and swollen come tomorrow, “Your hands. Go wash them.”

“No.”

“I don’t…I don’t like the look of blood,” he gives you a nod, and stands up to wash his hands. He wears boxers in his sleep. You wish you were in a place you could enjoy the sight of him in just boxers, but you’re just numb. So numb that even Lloyd almost naked does nothing for you.

“Ari, I need a clean up, and a new apartment,” what an odd thing to say. “I don’t want it in this building at all. Don’t ask questions. This is immediate,” walking back into the living room, he stares at you. You’re in a state of shock, and your eyes are glassed over into nothing.

“Can I get you some clothes?” What? You look down your body, and pull your blanket tighter around you, then nod your head, and he’s gone again. It all went wrong because you wanted to hear the night life. How could you be so stupid to think you could just live your life carelessly, and Chase wasn’t going to ruin it.

Returning, Lloyd sits on the table in front of you, and starts to dress you. There’s nothing demanding or harsh about his movements. It’s caring. Loving. Nurturing. Instead of trying to black everything out, you watch him. You’re completely nude in front of him but he’s not fucking you with his eyes. He’s making sure you’re alright. Tenderly pulling over your top, and then sliding up some shorts on your legs.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is so meek, and you hate it.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“This isn’t your job.”

“The hell it isn’t. This isn’t your job. My job is to protect you, and I failed. How long had he been here?” You shrug, because you aren’t sure when the lines of your imagination and reality blurred. Didn’t know when Lloyd’s hands morphed into Chase’s. “I’m going to get us another apartment. You’re also going to have a security detail, and this isn’t for discussion.”

You just nod your head, not in the mood for arguing. You’re just cold. And then a cry. “Lyla,” you jump up without hesitation, practically sprinting to her room, and she sits up in the bed, crying and pouting for you. “Hey, baby. Did you miss me or do you need a diaper change? You’ve been sleeping through the night almost every night. C’mere.”

She isn’t wet, so you just hold her tight to your chest, and her cries start to soften. “You need someone to hold you, too, huh? Shh, I’m right here, baby,” you rock her in your arms, and turn to see Lloyd standing in the doorway.

He’s like a dream, nearly naked and shadowed in her doorway. It hurts to look at him sometimes. Always being something you shouldn’t desire. “She just wanted to be held.”

“You said, too,” he’s being odd this evening. You don’t understand what he means until he walks right up to you, lifting you up again. Carrying you and Lyla over to her rocker, he sits down, wrapping his arms around you tighter. “If you want to be held just ask.”

“Okay,” he holds you like you’ve never been held before. How can something feel so secure and soft at the same time? He is adding just the right amount of pressure on your body, and you start to relax in his arms, and Lyla is right with you. Yawning so big as her eyes get heavier. “Am I stupid?”

“No.”

“Do you know what I was doing when he came into my room?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I was — you know on a pillow, and I said your name, and it pissed him off,” you don’t have to see Lloyd’s face to know he’s smiling. Of course he would smile when it came to you ultimately choosing Lloyd over Chase, “I heard you tonight,” he hums, but still doesn’t say anything. “In your fantasy how was I positioned?”

“On your back. Your legs wrapped tight against me, a pillow under your lower back to get this amazing angle, and you're pulling me so deep into your warmth, and I can’t get enough of watching you come over my cock,” it’s your turn to hum as you look down at the baby. She is so cozy, but asleep, and giving you nothing but her sweet face to distract you. This is far from an appropriate conversation with her present.

“How deep are you?”

Lloyd takes a deep breath. Kissing on top of your head, “Sweetheart, I’m so deep that you can fill me in your throat.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Silence falls over the room, and it becomes too apparent what is going on in your room. You heard Lloyd call someone, and they are doing what he asked, cleaning up whatever mess was made. You lift up off his shoulder, and stare at him. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I don’t think this is the right time now.”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m terrified,” you gulp, averting your eyes back down to the baby. How could a man like Lloyd be terrified? And why? “And she’s only part of the reason I’m scared.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“I said I didn’t think this is the right time for me to show you I’m not lying, considering the things that have transpired this evening. But whenever you’re ready for me to show you exactly how deep I can go inside your body, but also — inside your heart, I’ll only be a few doors away. But I don’t want to just fuck you like an animal. I want to hold you and…my daughter at night, just like this. You need to be held just as much as she does, so let me. But for tonight, instead of showing you just how right you would fit me inside you, let me tear down the walls you’ve built up, and show you there are good men out there. Men that stand on the things that they say. Let me just hold you, so you can finally relax for the first time in years because you don’t have to worry about that prick ever coming into your life and hurting you ever again.”

Your vision becomes blurry as tears fill your eyes, and you let them fall down your cheeks one by one. It’s freeing to know that Chase can’t ever try and pick apart your brain and memories that you have no desire to explore. Lloyd isn’t just taking your walls down, he’s obliterating them. You didn’t even realize the amount of walls you put up for your own self preservation. “I hate them.”

“Me, too. I hate anyone that has ever hurt you or made you feel you aren’t worth it. Because you are.”

“You don’t know me.”

”I know more about you than you could ever understand,” the cameras. All those times you felt like you were being watched. It all makes sense. “Yes, there’s some in your room. And yes, you knew and pointed yourself right at them.”

“Did not.”

“Want to see the footage?” You snort, shaking your head no. At least you didn’t have to end the night on something as severe as whatever Lloyd did to Chase. “Little minx. I’ve got videos, too. Yeah, I thought maybe it was a coincidence, until you flashed the camera and smiled. You’re smarter than people give you credit for.”

“I was just taking a guess,” Lloyd does not believe a word you say. “I did. It was just a guess. Why did you have cameras in my bedroom? Are they in my bathroom, too?”

“No, I don’t get off on that.”

“You just get off on me in my room?”

Lloyd rolls his eyes with a smile. Is that what you think this is? He’s trying to figure out how to say it without being too forward, and there isn’t another way, “Were you just in your room when you had your legs spread pointing to the camera, shoving your fingers in that tight little cunt, and whimpering my name? Were you just in your room when you’d prance out of the bathroom completely naked, and do a little shimmy right in the camera? Were you just in your room every time that you were fucking that pillow and saying Daddy fuck me harder.”

Oh my god. “Should I go on?”

“No! There is a baby in my arms.”

“Fine, admit you want me to fuck you, and you want to call me daddy,” you didn’t have to admit shit. You do like when his cocky little self comes out though. “Go on, say it.”

He wants you to say it? Then he’s getting the full on works, “I want you to fuck me so deep and hard, daddy. I want you to come in my pretty little pussy, and then I want you to fuck it deeper with your fingers,” Lloyd bites on his lip, and looks up at the ceiling. Good. He wants to try and torture you, he’s getting it right back. “But not tonight.”

“No, not tonight. You’ve been through enough,” you really have. And you just want to feel the warmth coming off his body. “I want you to pick out which room is Lyla’s in the new apartment. She…” it’s too soon. Lloyd can’t ask much more of you. You’re vulnerable at the moment, and he’s taken advantage enough, “She already looks at you like her mom,” fuck fuck fuck.

“Is it weird to say I look at her like mine, too?” He sighs, and shakes his head no. He hopes you really let this conversation sink in before you come crawling into his bed. Because he will fuck you, and he will only hold back if you ask him. If your body shows him, he’ll stop. He wants you more than anything he has ever wanted before and it terrifies him. Because now he has two things he’s willing to kill for, but worse, willing to die for.

Terrifying.

Masterlist

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